Just this.

Dear friends,

There’s absolutely no reason for me to write this post. No urgent topic. No compelling story to tell. Nothing really.

Just this:

I’m sitting in my kitchen, staring out the window at the beautiful Missouri foliage and drinking coffee while my family sleeps in for Fall Break.  And my heart is full. Full to bursting.

So many times, it seems, we are pushed and pulled and frustrated and exhausted and worried and terse. I sometimes get a Bad Case of the Terse and I hate it even as I feel it overtaking me.

But every now and then, in fleeting moments, we soak up a drop or two of now. Of just this. For me, I relax my jaw. (My jaw is hardly ever relaxed by the way.) A surging tide of calm washes over my heart and I startle myself by actually being in my surroundings. I feel the comfort of my favorite chair. I see the soft stubble on Mr. Mom’s face. The narrowing of Parker’s eyes when he grins. The delicate beauty of Kate’s hands.

That, my friends, is God.

I may startle you by saying that because I never talk about God. (That’s because I figure God is not mine to talk about. God is yours to experience and I get fidgety, frankly, when people start talking about God like God is the celebrity on this week’s cover of People magazine and they’re all Oh, yeah, I know ALL ABOUT God.)

I won’t say anymore because you don’t need to hear it. But you may want to feel it, see it, let it wash over you and flood your heart like beauty sometimes does on a Thursday morning for no particular reason.

With gratitude {for tiny quiet moments just like this},

Joan, who has no agenda for the day other than cooking a great supper for her family and soaking up as much of this as she can

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Taking notice.

Dear friends,

With gratitude {for glimpses of wonderful whenever or wherever they may be found},

Joan, who loves all verse,  free or rhyming, simple or eloquent, abbreviated or epic, and the poets who dare put words to paper