There’s a real post brewing. It’s been brewing for a while, actually, and I have felt it keenly. But it’s not quite ready to be put into words yet. So while my internal percolator percolates, here are a few of the views that have inspired me and the yous that have…uhm…tired me. But in a good way.
(Rural Bliss)
(The marker on this crucifix claims that a local family financed to buy itself 100 fewer years in purgatory.)
(My fave…)
(My friend Tifah, on whose foggy, French farm these shots were taken…)
(Ahram calling Squirt in Mali.)
(The boys, shortly after a crepe party and moments before setting off a fire-cracker under my car. Repercussions still to come.)
Mari Ellen, my New Year’s Eve partner in crime. I’d planned on pork tenderloin in a Cognac-cream sauce. My poor German skills landed us with what we un-affectionately termed “ham tenderloin.” It was…uhm…disappointing. But the home-made Spaetzle and Cognac sauce and Reeser salads were lovely nonetheless.
A new year? Really? How did that happen so fast? Two thousand seven was a year of health and surprises and accomplishments and the kind of unexpected joys that only God could have orchestrated. And now? At the cusp of the Unpredictable that brims will Possibility, I stand braced–with joy and serenity–for whatever the coming months may hold. Richard of Chichester wrote a prayer in the 13th century that still resonates today. It has been revised and repeated by artists as varied as Andy Williams and the composer of Godspell, but its truth has not weakened with time. It remains my prayer for this year:
To see Thee more clearly
To love Thee more dearly
To follow Thee more nearly
Day by day.
mereeser
Amen.