That sound stopped me dead.  It snatched all my thoughts and focused them in one single direction.

Unexpected discovery. Humbling, yes, but also funny.  It’s creative.  Who knew this cottage would be so perfect for helping people. . .

It sits there, in it's place, torturing me. I know I need to write. I know I need to confess. I leave it there with its accusing black sc

A beautiful mess?  That is an oxymoron of my hyper organized personality. My brain wants to believe messes mean one thing. .

In truth, life is a menagerie of easily doable; too hard to even try; and a million intermediate steps. 

It hit me just as I was about to click on Google. Girl! Your faith is at its limit. You know it is.

I tried not to gawk.  I’m not at all sure I succeeded.  I hope I did not look as astounded as I felt.  This.  This is, well, more.

I stood there in the rain for a while, letting it wash the emotions (and what was left of my makeup) from my face. 

The questions are many and answers are few. People don’t understand stuff like this.  Mostly, I don’t either. 

If you want the truth, they will tell you the truth.  Now, do not be misled. Truth is not a synonym for their personal opinions. 

The black sheep may feel unworthy, but there is one who seeks and will find him, bring him home and give him what he has always wanted.

How do we get through the fields and the forests of our problems? Journey together. That is how.