brown oak leaves finger the slender grass, deep with memory   poplar leaves in varying shades of ochre pile calf- and ankle- deep over the terraced deck   the pointed red stars of Japanese maples plaster the sidewalks like confetti after a parade   old trees—sycamore, maple, cherry and apple—   arching over creeks and country roads, marching up and down the hills, strip in the breeze, holding onto both gold and pennies, sifting their treasure in measured sums   my hometown in autumn counts the years one leaf at a time— meted memories, dropped tokens of every forgotten summer...

I miss the glass stars we hung in the kitchen window at Christmas time,   blue, orange, red, the big one in the middle with the candle.   Light of the old year gone, candlewick spent. Decorations and ornaments put away the last few days of December   stripping the old year bare, back to its unadorned state. The holidays are like dresses, fancy, glamorous, long and covering. Fireworks that illumine what—the year going or the one coming?   We won’t know until this December 31, when the same window stars have come and gone once more   and this year’s white wax is spent.  ...

It is a quiet overcast Sunday. Daffodils roll up their sleeves. Grass makes room for the dandelions. A silent green and yellow parade of acknowledgement. Look closer if you don’t believe in redemption. White blooms on the pear trees die for young leaves. The blossoms are new every year, no matter how old the branches are. Daffodils reveal their orange smiles, periscopes of life.    

There are different kinds of crying. There is the terror of dusk, the sun’s acquiescence to closing darkness, the starkness of the emptied trees in silhouette as it goes, second by second, deeper into the unknown. There is that relief, and that hollowness, and that awareness, that puncture of sudden comprehension, when the sun finally finishes its descent, when the blackness settles in and you can bear it no longer, when you have no choice but to turn your face the other way and wait for the dawn.  ...

I recently met a young woman who seemed to be pursuing a college education because she hadn’t yet married. Her main desire in life is to be a wife and mother. But what do you do when that doesn’t materialize when you thought it would?   Recently I’ve heard several older single women question their purpose in life. They have college degrees and jobs, churches and families and friends. Yet, it still seems like there’s something eluding them, a purpose they’ve not yet fulfilled.   In recent days, I myself have dealt with questions about the purpose of my life; as we enter new years, seasons, or...

Sovereign Lord, Designer of all—   from the pattern of stars splayed across the skies to the detailed shapes of flower petals   Your purpose is fulfilled—   intentional beauty nothing wasted nothing without benefit   nothing that cannot be redeemed   In You I find the hope for all my failures, the strength in all my weaknesses   Crafter of hearts, Creator of souls:   I trust You to fulfill Your beautiful intentional purpose in who I am   nothing wasted nothing without benefit   nothing unredeemed   Amen.  ...