Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you. Mid-September. The sunrise is getting late, creeping around the side of the house a little farther each day. Garden leaves are curling. A new set of kids are waiting for the bus now. This morning they are finally willing to wear coats. A sheet is draped over the morning glories on the mailbox against the night cold. In the meadow the rising sun lays its yellow fan among the trees, the grass the color of the rising sun. Trees begin to emerge from the solid green of summer into different shades of yellow and ochre, some reds. Here and there a tree goes ahead, a single branch flames out. Overhead a squiggle of geese pass by, schoolgirls chattering on their way south, only at the moment they're headed east. The Panellis have built a ramp up to their front porch. The flowers in the pot that I broke are doing OK in the new pot I stuck them in, though it's too small. The old pieces are still lying there, behind the corner of the porch. I need to call my sister. In the early morning the ornamental grasses wear little crowns of light.
Surrender looks different for each of us.
Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
__________________ Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net
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