where the writers are

Growing.  I said the other day that joy swells.  It grows.  It becomes and happens but sometimes gradually through the journey of choosing.  And then the growth unrecognized because it suddenly so strong upon you.  Could everything grow just this way?  Ideas, thoughts, children, even love?  What we call growing, maybe, God's work all along?  He the hand that waters the seeds?  And then suddenly, the flower has bloomed.


I think of my children and how so quickly, my oldest son creeps up on ten.  How quickly I came into myself at thirty.  How love has become something so different than what it was.


It seems as if so many times we are unaware of the process and when within it seems long, tedious, hard and rocky but though the wind and the rain there are days of sun and breeze and if we beam up long enough we create an invitation where our roots might be fed, our petals spread.


Hope grows, too.


But these are choices to choose the life offered, the bread, the light, the air and the water.  To not whither but to bravely do our part.  Our part may only be a small willingness.


He can work with that.