a prophetic voice-

     It all began, this vigil-keeping, with my husband, Carl- keeping watch as leukemia ravaged his young, once-healthy body, robbing us- me and our children, family and friends- of this caring, lovely man far too soon- me, thirty-three, him, thirty-seven...watching that last week as fevers raged and chills convulsed and so little of him- the him that had been, the him that I loved- remained... my sister, Susan, keeping vigil with me until, exhausted, I slipped into sleep, only to be awakened by his final ephemeral kiss good-bye, (did I only imagine it?) even as Sue was shaking me awake to say he'd gone, Death welcome as it slipped silently through the door.      Countless Hospice patients later crossed my path, inviting me to share their journeys home, honoring me with their trust and an awareness of Holy Ground each time I sat and held a hand, soothed a brow, wept with a spouse or child- holy vigils all.      T...

Grant that she many finally Rest in holy peace At home with you and those in whose Company she will live in love Eternally. Amen. Let it be so

The sunlit turquoise window niche casts a lustre of blessing on the room where she lies... sometimes fully here sometimes seeming far away, her eyes fixated on a view I cannot see, I cannot know. "Who touched my shoulder?" she asks- a touch which only she can feel. "This morning I feel great," her weakened voice insists, as nailbeds cyanose and cheeks are sunken more and more with each passing day. It's a slow and plodding process, this dying... a path which I will one day also walk... and I cannot help but wonder what's it like for her- to know that each passing day, each passing hour, brings her that much closer to what?- the end of all she's known...relationships and work and love and creativity... though in the near distance a door is opening and those she loved and lost are beckoning with smiles of welcome, just waiting to embrace her and bring her to a place of light, even as we, here in this darker place, wave a tear-stain...

Life has been reminding me lately that I am not in control of it...not my own, nor anyone else's. Unexpected death, ongoing illness, and my carefully-planned schedule is turned on its ear. Like the weather in this part of Carolina, things can change in the twinkling of an eye, and the path I'm navigating becomes uneven, rocky, giving me no sense of what lies around the next corner. Many of my recent days, in fact, have felt like I was stumbling along in the dark, or at least in a murky fog in which I am uncertain where next to place my foot, lest I stumble and fall headlong into who-knows-what. My prayers have become pleas, I'm afraid, for peace...for strength... for courage...not only for myself but for so many I love. And I cling ever firmly to the Incarnation of Divine Love made known to me in the countless friends in countless places who have been supporting and uplifting me. How would I ever survive without them? But then, I don't think I'm suppo...

The end of the year 2015 approaches, and for the month of December, I have been using a lovely little booklet of writing prompts, courtesy of Jacinta and Cyndi of "Snapdragon Journal", an on-line literary magazine ( www.snapdragonjournal.com ). Faced each day with a meaningful quotation and an equally-meaningful question, I have been writing...sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, always from the heart, and today, I'm sharing some of these scribblings with you, dear reader. Merry Christmas, Happy Holiday, Féliz Navidad, Joyeux Noel.   The Year's Last Red Light I stand in the last red light of the year, watching as the almost-setting sun paints the sky in glowing hues aware that I have journeyed far and long and wondering just how long           sunset will last.        wondering when the light will go            and darkness come  ...

I was going through some of my poems this morning, ones written several years ago, and I came upon this one, so very apropos to the current political and world situation, and to my feelings about what I see and hear. And so, I'm sharing it with you, in the hope that somewhere, somehow, some heart will resonate with mine. Christmas Pilgrimage O God, though I have long lived with more questions about you than answers, of one thing I am certain- from you flows all Creative Energy, from you flows Life, from you flows Love. How, then, God of Creativity, Life & Love, have we, your children, so perverted your gifts that we can look at another human being, created- like us- in the Divine Image, and see only differences, permitting them to separate and divide us? Beneath this thin covering we call skin, beneath the surface appearance of uniqueness, we are the same! We are one! A beating heart enlivens each of us... blood of red flows through arteries and vein...

       It washed over me like a tsunami, the wave of overwhelming grief. Totally unexpected. Taking me totally unaware. And there I stood, my tears co- mingling with the water of my morning shower, as I was bathed in the mellow strains of Annie Murray's "I'll Be Home for Christmas" wafting up from the CD player in the living room.     I hadn't felt this way in many years... and yet the grief was so raw, so present, belying the fact that the loss had happened 37 years ago. It was Christmas Eve 1978 and our family was gathered at the home of my parents for our traditional Christmas Eve celebration, before going to the Candlelight Service together. This had long been a highlight of the holiday for all of us- my parents, my sisters, and their families, and we were all eagerly awaiting the arrival of my youngest sister, to complete the family circle.     The kids wanted to eat so the gifts under the tree...