More to Come...

I’m here, I’m here. Just busy. Here’s a taste of what’s to come:


Life has been good lately, no seriously, it has. I can’t explain it, but this new awareness has overtaken my mind, heart, body, emotions.... just about everything. I don’t know exactly what it is, but it’s greater than myself. I can’t stop it, nor do I want to. I’m not in control of it, nor do I want to be! It feels good—incredibly good. Better than I have in a long, long time. I’m in love, but I’m not sure with what. Life maybe. Hopes? Dreams? Success? My future? Somehow I’ve become less afraid. Somehow, nothing much can be said to rock my world. No one has control over me anymore, not if I can help it. Not if I allow God to work in my life, powerfully only as He can.

Anyway, I’m late for work now and have to get going. I have a busy week ahead, and same for the weekend, so I’m not sure when I’ll post next. I’ll just leave you with these things below. The excerpt somewhat describes where I’m at this week and last. And the photos? Well, stay tuned. :)

Mystery is what happens to us when we allow life to evolve rather than having to make it happen all the time. It is the strange knock at the door, the sudden sight of an unceremoniously blooming flower, an afternoon in the yard, a day of riding the midtown bus. Just to see. Just to notice. Just to be there.

There is something holy-making about simply presuming that what happens to us in any given day is sent to awaken our souls to something new: another smell, a different taste, a moment when we allow ourselves to lock eyes with a stranger, to smile a bit, to nod our heads in greeting. Who knows? Maybe one of those things will open us to ... a sense of the presence of God in life.

So mystery, the notion that something wonderful can happen at any time if we will only allow space for it, takes us into a whole new awareness of the immanence of God in time. God comes, we learn now, when we least expect it. Maybe most likely of all when we least expect it.

From The Gift of Years by Sister Joan Chittister