THRESHOLD CALLING Standing at the threshold, draped in crimson silk that speaks of both flesh and life, I challenge my own assumptions: What does a woman called by God look like? This dress speaks of paradoxes, it hosts both: blood and light. I see myself, and ask would God really want such a one as I? Yet here I stand, my silver cross a bridge between Moab's abundance and Bethlehem's dust. RUTH'S EXODUS Like Ruth, I leave the certainties of...
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Evening's Sacred Dissolving I face my mirror in the evening's sacred hush, where familiar contours of self begin to blur at the edges. Here, in this liminal light, I feel clothed with a veil caught...
The Weight of Morning Mist In the soft morning light filtering through stained glass, I stood at the threshold of our church, heart full of carefully crafted welcomes and thoughtfully woven prayers....
Evening's Sacred Dissolving I face my mirror in the evening's sacred hush, where familiar contours of self begin to blur at the edges. Here, in this liminal light, I feel clothed with a veil caught in divine breath – lifting, falling, dancing between what was and what might be. How does one surrender the knowing to embrace the mystery of being beheld by Love? Some days I want to pin down the floating edges, to still these billowing notions...
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THRESHOLD CALLING Standing at the threshold, draped in crimson silk that speaks of both flesh and life, I challenge my own assumptions: What does a woman called by God look like? This dress speaks...
The Weight of Morning Mist In the soft morning light filtering through stained glass, I stood at the threshold of our church, heart full of carefully crafted welcomes and thoughtfully woven prayers....
The Weight of Morning Mist In the soft morning light filtering through stained glass, I stood at the threshold of our church, heart full of carefully crafted welcomes and thoughtfully woven prayers. Yet somehow, I remained as translucent as the incense rising to the rafters. Oh, beloved, I see now the gentle irony. The same voices that penned passionate pleas for "women priests" floated past me each Sunday, their eyes searching distant horizons...
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THRESHOLD CALLING Standing at the threshold, draped in crimson silk that speaks of both flesh and life, I challenge my own assumptions: What does a woman called by God look like? This dress speaks...
Evening's Sacred Dissolving I face my mirror in the evening's sacred hush, where familiar contours of self begin to blur at the edges. Here, in this liminal light, I feel clothed with a veil caught...
