Marigolds and Mums.

A month or two ago: 

 Marigolds and mums, moonlight and Matilda Jane from the worn porch in Arkansas. 

Matilda Jane

 Midnight morning glories, as I go inside late,  and my home. 
Men in youthful glory, moms in aging beauty--yeah, it's beautiful being "mom". 

Muffled laughter, many voices, moments and memories made. 

Menagerie and me.  

More and more and more in Him who holds that moon up high in the night sky.  

Manifold awareness of manifold blessing.  Mouthing hallelujahs as best as I can and true as it is to me.

Sweet moments with my sweet ones.  Oh the love, and oh the feelings!  

Knowing the rest of being carried many miles, then walking, running and standing in "my place", made by my God for all time.  My Maker making my merry heart sound and free--ever may it be.

My mounting mosaic.

Now the frost has swept away the miracles in buds and blooms, but I'm o.k. with that.  And don't think there is only the prettiest of pictures here on this place of mine.  Don't look and think only precious moments parade past our path.  My pictures are pinches of the whole.  Beauty sometimes comes right beside the torrents, don't they?  I aim my words and my camera at the beauty.  This, a choice offered in the most Beautiful Book---to think of what is good. Philippians 4:8

--Though praise rises from it all-- all is met with Him, not apart from.  I have power to pay props in prose. So do we all.
Some call this perspective and I like that.  And aren't we all free to aim our own lens and focus on what we choose.  It's a wonderful, powerful choice. 

The Many "May I's" of This Morning

I am sometimes saved from spirals downward by better thinking with pen on paper.  There is a whimsy in the whip of the wrist and the push of the pen that picks up the pluming, posing prose. I can pluck them up poetic-- sometimes playful from the path of purposeful pondering. 

From the pen: 

 I wake to worship.  I want to wait for One who weighs hearts.

 I wait in winsome wonder for Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God and Everlasting   Father.  

 Whimsy is my waking word.  Wonder is my morning destination.  

 May these words wear out on me.  I am not ashamed. Here are my many morning   "May I's":

 May I be like your spring freshet, even in December.

 May the intent of my words and the wandering here mean something to YOU, Father   on HIGH and Father in me.  

 May I give You more than I have before.  

 May I wait longer, call louder, display the heart growing into more room for You. 

 May all my springs flow into Your ocean. 

 May all of my ways be paved with Your own laid stones. 

 May the "Ark of Your Covenant" find its resting place in me, Your presence abide as   you make me into a steady habitation, yes, even in difficult me.

 May my peace become a placid water for You to rest by, the place You are making   Your own-- a place of Your satisfaction. 

 May You be satisfied with me. You can do it, because You are You.

See, He turns weary ones into worshipful warriors in no time at all-- in December, on the 8th.

He turns directionless daughters to projecting praise to pinnacles higher than before-- on paper.  Planting praise on mountains, propagating platforms of peace, prefacing life with possibility, YES, supposing sensations in place of sadness, demonstrating gladness overtaking discouragement, choosing child-faith to put away reckless cynicism.  Choices, choices, choices!  What powerful choosing people we are! 

May we always choose to marvel at Marvelous!  On my own, I say to myself that I’m always gonna be this sorry way that I am, but in YOU I choose to BELIEVE.  I choose to believe the sparkle is just under the duvet of “not yet, but soon”. 

OH!  Preposterous Grace!  You have taken me by surprise again!  Oh, Surprise!  You have made my mind merry and my heart merry, too.  Oh magical Truth!  You are what the adjective really means;  beautiful or delightful in such a way as to seem removed from everyday life.  Your synonyms continue the parade of illustrious explanation:  extraordinary, remarkable, exceptional, outstanding, incredible Truth! What a way to wing into cold December 8, as if lifted off of the cold hard earth into a wide and wondrous thermal.  It is warm up here.