Monday, February 28, 2011


Snow is not always weather. Sometimes it’s a message. Snow is a rare event in my life. So it captures my attention. Like the time I spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s in Manhattan. I longed for snow, but Newark shone mottled mushroom grey from the sky. When we exited at Penn Station and clambered into a cab, pearly bits of lace swirled in a joyful promenade. I didn’t get my long walk in Central Park tromping through fresh powder, but the crystal flakes welcomed me to New York.

A couple of years ago I spent some time in Bend, Oregon to have surgery. I was thrilled that Bend gets a fresh whitewashing each November which stays around all winter, and I was visiting in December. Imagine my dismay when I landed after swooping over fields of pine trees and chaparral to a camouflage green and brown world. The prologue, powder-sugar sprinkling script appeared outside my window the first morning but the full text remained hidden for days. It came giggling out at the end of this scene.

Alabaster feathers exploding down at the exact moment they are discovered in a film that centers on the wait for snow. What a wit.  

What is this message? Who is my creative correspondent? Why, the One who makes the snow of course. And the tender missive reads, with lovely simplicity, I love you.

So this brings me to now. Now, when I am bruised, limping and seem to have only garbled cell service when my Beloved calls. What message if any comes to me now?

Miraculously, awe-inspiringly, celestial kisses rained down here, on me, in my own backyard. Saturday, in view of the Rose Bowl, fifteen minutes from downtown LA, and steps away from my kitchen, fluffy white flakes anointed my hair.

Message received.
Blog Med Sig 4

Friday, February 25, 2011

Random Report

Just wanted to say that I spent a few quiet days with a fluffy friends and I'm glad to report that no mailboxes were harmed.

Thought you might want to know,
Blog Med Sig 4

Wednesday, February 23, 2011


no matter how



i am still not


enough to see the world from Your perspective

and mine


not make

much sense


to turn back the clock

but it only moves forward

is this grace

in disguise?
Blog Med Sig 4

exploring life with Emily and friends

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Today or Learning Mind Control from Winnie-the-Pooh

The second stage of grief, denial, can be described:
people in this stage refuse to accept or are unable to accept the reality of the situation.
I find myself contemplating loopholes, elaborate rescue schemes and explanations to disbelieve what my

eyes see. But instead of shutting these ideas down, building a dam to keep these thoughts out I want to let

them flow through me like Poohsticks floating down a stream: bob into my mind and siphon on out. 

I don’t want to grab onto 

them as if they are life

preservers which may firmly

drown me in denial. Nor do

I want to shut down the

flow of grief in order to

protect myself from them;

this will just leave me stuck.

I tried both of those ways in

the past with disastrous

results. I don’t think these

ideas and feelings can harm

me if I experience them and

move on, letting the healing

(I hope) flow.
Blog Med Sig 4

Monday, February 21, 2011


This week my world got rocked hard core. Pain like I haven’t felt in years. Losing Stinkerbell was excruciating and shocking but I knew where to take my pain: how to deal. Right now, not so sure how to go forward. (By the way if I know you in 3d life, my family is fine, my health is fine but please don’t ask. I really can't talk about it.)

Weather wise I had been complaining about our non-winter following our non-summer. So Cal weather this year has been just plain weird. At the end of this week as my perception of my life seemed to implode winter rolled in.


and cold.

But totally appropriate to where I am.

I’m too numb to be nurtured by warm days.

I need to see my inside on the outside for a time.

In the midst of this I was scheduled to sing on the worship team for two events (a total of 3 services) this weekend. And I felt so far away from what I was singing.

But there were moments when a lyric lit up

Give me grace to see beyond this moment here
To believe that there is nothing left to fear
And that You alone are high above it all

or this

I will yet praise Him, my great Redeemer
I will yet stand up and give Him glory with my life
He takes my darkness and turns it into light

or even this

You can bear the weight of every heavy heart
You can heal the pain
You can clean the stain
You can turn our tears into songs of praise

And just for a moment, my soul can stand and say,

I want this.

Right now I feel like this applies to other people and not me,

but I want it.

So in winter I will sing.

Blog Med Sig 4

Saturday, February 19, 2011


too hard

too high

this city’s walls are too high

i am so small

i will be destroyed

how can this be the first stop in a promise?

everything in me longs to

run         hide         release         abandon

anything triumphant must come from You

there is nothing left in me.
Blog Med Sig 4

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

My Big Fat Big Sur Road Trip: Golden State

When I was a kid I lived on the east coast, North Carolina to be specific. Those were difficult years for me. I really didn't fit in. Even though I was born in and love the Northwest (it’s my heartland), in the South the comment I heard most often was that I was a California girl and why didn't I just go and live there. So when my parents told this bruised ten year old that we were moving to California, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was sojourning home, where everyone said that I belonged, where somehow I might possibly fit in. It's funny how as I look at my pictures from this trip those feelings came up again, this traveling to the golden land of dreams, in my case dreams of not being outcast.

Beautiful ocean views I expected, what took me by surprise on this journey was the land.

This golden, rolling fertile land.

This land of dreams and disappointments. This incredibly varied landscape.

In 350 miles of coastal wanderings, I passed through a major metropolis and the heart of the entertainment industry, vineyards hugging gentle slopes soaking up the sun, awaiting a late harvest,

flat valleys, brimming oceans of fields growing food to feed a hungry world,

with silvery sunlight blazing off of protective plastic blankets tenderly protecting young shoots in this blessed soil which grows year round,

and steep or rolling pastures, ranch land fit for kings of grass-fed cattle.

There exists a Harmony, CA, population 18, can you believe it?

And the scents. I drove with the top down and the beautiful sweet smells were a story unto themselves. Santa Maria is dry and dusty with tractors billowing clouds next to a gas station.

San Simeon, with its glowing yet austerely proud Hearst Castle looming over the valley, smelled like fish.

It was the closest the highway had come to the Pacific, mere feet, and was the first time I smelt not just the fresh briny scent but the life in the ocean.

It's proudly sheltering these beautiful California residents. I'll write more on them later, but here's a peek at my new friends and the source of the fishiness.

Close your eyes (although not while driving) in Cambria and you'll swear that you're in Bend, Oregon. Open your eyes and the illusion remains.

And after 70 miles of fantastic cliff views,  Big Sur assaults you.


Glorious soaring redwoods permeate the road with intoxicating fragrance.

It's at once earthy, pungent and achingly sweet.

If I could bottle it I would breathe deeply of its perfume every night and have lovely adventures as I dreamt.

Cruising through this golden land, not my heartland, but my adopted home.

My land of hope, of dreams and yes of disappointments, but a golden land none the less.
Blog Med Sig 4

Friday, February 11, 2011


As you may have gathered from comments I’ve dropped here and there, I do not have my own home. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have a home, but the city I live in is very expensive and some years ago, well, financially I was going under. In that moment God’s rescue came, as it often seems to, in the last boat I wanted to climb into: moving home with mom and dad. I planned on being here months at the most, but it has been years: good years, frustrating years, lo-o-ong years but vital years. I have found healing here, in a number of areas, including my finances.

But you see I like my own space. Prior to coming home, I lived alone (except for Stinkerbell) and loved it. I want my own little nest. Now in the real (at least 3d) world I think this is coming, but I don’t know when. Then the other day I was experimenting with my test blog-trying on different blog backgrounds, building stand-alone pages (to be revealed at a later date), playing with the order of my sidebar to see what makes the most sense and is the easiest for my readers-when it struck my that I have a nest. I have built my own on the internet. A Songbird in His Court is my cute virtual home and when I “redecorate” I am thinking “how can I rearrange the furniture so that guests will always feel welcome?” Isn’t that cool? I have a cottage here, and you, my lovely readers, are my houseguests.


Seaside Cottage  exterior

Come on in, put your feet up and sit a spell.

You never know where the conversation will go.

Skona hem  dining room

It may trill along with outlandish frivolity, it may become keenly focused on what I made or found that was pretty,

Living Room eclectic living room

 what I whipped up that was tasty

Coastal Living Kitchen  kitchen

or it may suddenly dive, plumbing the depths of my heart to find God’s fingerprints and sometimes it may seem to go nowhere at all. I have to tell you, this is an apt description of any conversation you may happen to have with me in my 3d living room.


At least you now know what you are likely to get. Isn't God sweet to meet my need in such an unexpected fashion?

So again I say, welcome to my nest!

Blog Med Sig 4

Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young-a place near your altar, LORD Almighty, my King and my God.
Psalm 84:3

*all pictures courtesy of Cote de Texas and
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