I’m walking the neighborhood on one of the unusually not-as-hot days in July. I love looking at the growing blooms around my neighbors’ houses—the pink notes of shiny begonias, the bright spots of impatiens in shady yards, the unending variants of green in ferns, hostas and coleus. I turn the corner and see the stunning purple of what look like delphiniums, their tall stems swaying in the breeze—and then I notice the gorgeous tiger swallowtail butterflies flickering in between the stalks like candle flames, light on light on a summer’s day. I stop and watch. They latch lightly yet tightly to a bloom....

It is a hot Sunday afternoon. My husband and I are having lunch on our covered patio, enjoying the breeze created by a fan whirling above us. The air is sweet like the fresh cherries on our plates, alive with the trickling of our pond and the songs of birds. The plants around our little patio oasis are blooming and bursting with summer greenery: striped hostas, unfurling elephant ears, bright basil and an abundance of mint. But they all need water. I head over to water the two tomato plants first, picking the first ripe tomatoes of the season. One tomato plant expands up and around the cage, multiple...

My mother and me, perhaps in 2008 It is hard to describe the memories I’ve had of my mother these last 11 years without her. Yes, there are the anecdotal memories, like the time she prayed with me to give my life to Jesus Christ and the Bible verse she read to assure me that I belonged to Him. And the time she carried me from the creek up the incline of our back yard toward the house when something exploded into my knee while we were burning trash. I can almost see her tears as the family car drove away, leaving me in Chicago for my first year of college. Usually, what comes to mind is a mish-mash of...

honeysuckle a thousand candles burning in memory I savor the cool air of a quiet dusk, the trees still dripping with rain from a downpour earlier in the evening. I walk down my favorite street alongside the leafy banks of the creek,  stop to listen to frogs calling back and forth, and then find myself wandering in the direction of the honeysuckle bushes nestled into the overgrowth of a steep slope where the creek is hidden from view. My mind wanders as well, thinking with sadness of the national and global loss of life over the past month. Irreplaceable sons lost to unjust, hard-to-comprehend...

my heart awakens like the unfurling petals and leaves around me, brightens like pink and white cherry blossoms splashed over green leaves and blue sky yet hunger lingers in my soul, builds and grows like the neighborhood creek after these spring storms, a thirst for the vigor of its waters: full and flowing, energy bursting through distractions and weariness to follow after and follow through to the oasis of ultimate satisfaction and perfect rest— the kind of thirst that does not stop until I find it: the presence of God it is, vitally, the meaning of Easter the gift of the Resurrection: God’s...

An orange spark appears on the horizon, gently growing, brighter, rounder, until the fully risen sun casts its fire over the ocean. Sanderlings dance on the shoreline, dashing their feet into the edge of the watery universe, then charging with gusto away from it. They make no apology, only thrilling at daybreak, basking in life and breath and fresh ocean air, doing their part, occupying their space with natural beauty, with their own significance. I watch the birds and their breakfast exercise against the magnificent backdrop of sunrise. I am taking a respite from winter and work and routine, savoring...