Yellow. The hue is changing in Seattle. The leaves are gold. Rustic even. The Autumn air is crisp. I keep trailing right to the M’s contention for the playoffs. Alas, it’s over.
Grace. It’s the feeling of sweatpants at the end of a crumby day. As of late, I’ve been thinking about the mystery and outstretched bounds of the grace of Jesus. Grace is the TNT Wiley Coyote gets blown up by and he doesn’t die. He gets up.
Retreat. Yes, the retreat from all the voices to hear the one I’ve been waiting for. The still, small voice to remind me of everything I am. Who I was from the very beginning, and to protect the call of God on my life at all costs.
Fullness. Here I found my hands clutched in my coat pocket. The breeze chipped at my nose. My feet were heavily protected in my black boots. I walked like every step had a purpose. I was searching. I was filled with awe as I was still. I found contentedness. My mind was at rest. A hot almond tea w tapioca would’ve made it better. I could see my breath. The night was cool. I like this time of year.