Flame

 It’s warmer today

but not warm enough

to thaw 

the underlying blanket of immobility 

pressing on my good intentions 

not warm enough to ease the paralyzing numbness

so effectively preventing my lungs

from daring to inhale 

a restoring breath of hope

I find myself waiting for the unflinching heat of change

before I shed the embarrassing layers of self-preservation 

I seem to have accumulated

over this winter of chaos and cruelty 

Heavier than a weighted blanket is

this oppressive mistrust of people and systems

The constant and intentional onslaught has

knocked me flat.

Has left me playing the role of victim 

rather than the able-bodied author of my own story

Today, I’ve allowed discouragement

to fall like a boot on my neck

preemptively squashing my optimism. 

I’ve succumb to the chill 

of the defeated.

Okay, now I’ve named it.

And next I’m going to shed at least a few of the heavy layers I’ve been collecting.

I’m going to be brave.

I’m going to be hopeful. 

I’m going to remind myself LOVE wins. 

I’m going to unearth my box of matches.  

Against all inclination to burrow in, 

I will set my intention on sparking a flame

And I will pray that flame 

might lend the warmth 

someone else needs

in order to do the same. 

I am reminded of the first three verses of a hymn I love. 

1. O love that will not let me go,

I rest my weary soul in thee;

I give thee back the life I owe,

That in thine ocean depths its flow

May richer, fuller be.

2. O Light that follows all my way,

I yield my flick'ring torch to thee;

My heart restores its borrowed ray,

That in thy sunshine's blaze its day

May brighter, fairer be.

3. O Joy that seekest me thru' pain,

I cannot close my heart to thee;

I trace the rainbow thru' the rain

And feel the promise is not vain

That morn shall tearless be.

These Days

Buffoons in full wartime regalia are invading the homes of our neighbors 

People’s workplaces are a hunting ground too, where desperation labors to scratch out an existence 

Where terrified brown-skinned human beings show up for menial work so they can feed the children they will be violently forced to abandon 

Somehow

in this nauseating stew of corruption, 

the entitled and inhumane deal-makers… 

the proven felons 

and documented pedophiles

are still calling the shots.

These days, the good guys appear to be finishing last.

White supremacy is having its day. 

The death rattle of the patriarchy is being funded by the elites and oligarchs. 

And the church of Jesus looks on.

A grieving remnant of them in horror

with tear-stained cheeks 

and stomachs roiling in disgust.

Disgust at the files…

disgust at the willful blindness preached at volumes to fully drown out every word of the sermon on the mount…

disgust at the sacrilege on display at a national prayer breakfast…

and disgust at the inconceivable complicity of those claiming the name of our redeemer. 

When?

Please, WHEN will any of this be redeemed?

Lord, how long?

Lord, how long will the wicked be allowed to gloat?

Psalm 94 asked the same.

Lord, have mercy.

These days, I feel around with chapped winter hands, fumbling in the dark, trying to hold fast to tiny bits of increasingly elusive hope. 

I wake up determined to DO something helpful 

To reflect heaven’s light SOMEWHERE. 

ANYWHERE.

And too often close my eyes at the end of the day defeated by no measurable illumination.

The work is wearying.

These days, cruelty and disinformation are more plentiful than cat reels as I scroll. 

Lord God, I miss the blissful naivety of watching cats, greeting neighbors, and relying on my siblings in the church to be salt and light.

(📸 photo credit Galen Guengerich)

It’s Time

 

For those still somehow refusing to admit that the Republican Party has been fatally wounded and no longer represents limited government, the rights of states, freedom of religion, the backing and friendship of our NATO allies, the reduction of federal debt, a respect for the judiciary, or even basic constitutional rights. Many have clung to this party because of one issue. The sanctity of life. For this regime, it was never about saving the lives of unborn children. It has always been about controlling women. You need only look at the mothers dying because they can’t find healthcare when they have pregnancy complications or the administration’s total disregard for human life or the health of anyone once exiting the womb to know this. 

Any original well-intentioned policies have been defeated and the entire establishment is shattered.

Please hear me out. We have moved into a period of moral reckoning. The cognitive dissonance must end. 

For years, tenacious members of the party have been rejecting the truth they see with their own eyes (and hear with their own ears).  Fox (and now other mainstream media) spew lies and the people soak it up because it gives them someone else to blame. The propaganda machine is staggering. Remnant Republicans have protected their carefully constructed world view, assigning religious meaning and patriotism to the undeserving and the unholy, even going as far as rejecting the words of the Christ they claim- in favor of sweeping power grabs and “owning” the alleged “libs”. They’ll live in a closet, eat canned rations, hand their dollars to oligarchs, and destroy their own grandchild’s future as long as the “left” has it worse. It boggles the mind. The Democrats are not blameless by any means. But Republicans (now in name only) control everything and the whole system is flat-lining. Folks supporting this administration have bolstered and defended an earthly empire of greed. I refuse to believe they all have hatred towards others in their hearts. I know some of them to be good and well-intentioned people. I believe many of them felt compelled because if they admitted they were wrong about this man and his ilk, their painstakingly guarded interpretation of the plan for repairing what they were repeatedly told was broken would fall apart and they would be forced to reckon with the level of destruction and abuse they so vehemently defended because they believed it a righteous means to an end. For years they excused atrocities and didn’t just do it in their own names, but in the name of God. Making it right is a painful process after rationalizing away the mounting evidence for so long. Like all of us, they wanted to make the unusual happenings of our current reality fit into their hopes and expectations. Though some (such as the inhumane people working for ICE) have evil and hate-filled hearts and intentions to match the darkness of this administration, I believe many Trump supporters truly believed the lies they were told and they sought a better end. This is not what they anticipated.  

But now it is past time for them to admit they were deceived. To start caring about their neighbors and come alongside anyone who still holds a soul to work for what is good and true. To patch together what is left of kindness and a dying democracy. To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly. To reach back, deep into their hearts until the words of Jesus ring louder than the nationalistic rhetoric they’ve been fed by religious systems gone horribly off the rails. 

Crazy Cat Lady

I painstakingly crafted my cat, Irene an “activity” to try to stretch her little feline mind. 

After watching her interact with it for ten minutes, I honestly don’t understand how she survived on the streets of Philadelphia as a feral cat. I think Stray Cat Blues was punking me when they penned her sob story and collected my three-figure adoption fee. 

Irene’s pitiful critical thinking skills are clearly a handicap. The idea was for her to figure out how to get the cat treats out of the strung-up paper tubes which had been meticulously cut from a cardboard wrapping paper roll and strung together with an upholstery needle and a tawny hue of fuzzy yarn. The bottoms of the tubes are just barely folded in against themselves and I left the top of the tubes gaping conveniently open so that if Irene flipped them over with her razor-sharp claws, the treats would easily fall out, making it obvious how to retrieve more. 

One of the incredibly smelly treats escaped when Irene accidentally flipped one of the tubes. The incident occurred as she moved her stout frame and impossibly round belly through the tubed length of yarn, bunting the tubes with her cheeks to mark the rattling cups on the string as her own. She was shocked to discover the treat resting on the basement floor beneath the contraption and assumed it had fallen like manna from heaven. It might as well have done so. 

The rest of the treats are getting stale as I write this, twelve hours later. She is definitely more affectionate than she was four years ago, but let’s just say my cat is not an apex predator. 

In fact, hanging that string of treats was like painting a “Welcome Hatfield Mice” sign in my basement. 😹

2026

 

How does one expectantly step foot into the next year when the departing one was such an overwhelming disappointment?

I’ll tell you how.

One thinks of the solidarity of sign-painters and postcard writers.

Of the dew that still forms unencumbered on early morning blades of grass.

Of the unbridled giggle of a five-year-old who has covertly tickled her grandfather’s feet.

Of the sun rising even after the hardest days.

Or of the blessed worldwide dissent which murmurs with encouragement across borders…

reaching the ears and bolstering the resolve of those still desperately gripping a waning democracy.

With trepidation we will stick our collective toe into this new year.

We will smile at strangers

Hold the door for others

Notice tiny glimmers of hope in seas of sorrow

Lift the concerns of people beyond our sheltered circles

Refuse to become numb to suffering

Stand for justice

And peace

We will fix our thoughts on what is true

Honorable

Right

Pure

Lovely

and admirable.

We will think about these things, as directed.

And we will act accordingly.

 

More Lancaster

The clip-clop soundtrack of horses pulling buggies along Camargo Road is one of my favorite things about the place we chose to stay.

Breakfast this morning was a marvelous feast at Rachel’s Cafe and Creperie in Lancaster City. We walked off some of the carbs by leaving the car where we’d parked it and appreciating the unique architecture of the city more intentionally on foot as we found our way to Central Market. Established in 1730, Central Market is the oldest Farmer’s Market in America. It had a distinct Reading Terminal Market vibe. Discovered some great shops along King Street where among other treasures, I found an entire claw foot tub filled with bar soap. (Apparently they heard I was coming.)

Two Ephrata antique shops and another farm market later, we drove south through Leola so I could stick half of my body out of the sunroof of my car, (simultaneously embarrassing my husband and capturing brief video footage of our drive through an historic covered bridge).

There is so much corn in the fields (and now in our house rental’s refrigerator), but also plenty of tobacco. We saw several tobacco fields being harvested, many plants cut, sun-bleached and drying in the fields, and loads more hanging from the rafters in old pine wood barns. I love spotting for the telltale vertical barn boards slanted out like bicycle kickstands to encourage the breezy circulation required for the air-curing of the leaves. You can spy the crops draped carefully in the eaves through all the open windows. I wonder whose job it is to race through the barn slamming boards, doors, and windows when unexpected summertime storms approach.

Being longtime fans of Lapp’s original farm ice cream, we were fairly certain there was nothing better. But this afternoon, we were proven wrong. Down on the Farm Creamery in Strasburg is the real deal. With two serious Shelly taste testers, their chocolate peanut butter and salted caramel slid with a creamy confidence into our top ice cream brand spot. 

From a little stand alongside a friendly blonde horse, we bought ourselves a $3 bright green horseshoe (the precise color of an inchworm) to mount on our home red brick alongside the existing crescent shaped moon who greets our front porch arrivals with a weary expression of resignation. Maybe it will bring Grumpy Moonface (and the rest of us) a little bit of luck. Can’t hurt.

Got an Irene update from friend, Madelyn who is feeding her today. (Furry petulant child above.)

Made a haul in the form of long-sleeved 5T-6 tops (and some pants that will no doubt require a growth spurt) at a consignment shop in Quarryville. Mimis of sweet Virginia kindergartners are driven to extreme sports like this. Shopping for pink items is important business with bonus points for girl power and unicorn embellishments. And Mimi(s) have to be quick because Pa(s) are languishing and toe-tapping out in the car….

Tonight will mark the scrappiest agenda item for our weekend. Before we attend our favorite annual juried artisan show at Long’s Park in the morning, we will rub shoulders tonight with the Lancaster County rednecks. You will find us at the Buck Motorsport Complex for their annual Labor Day Demolition Derby. We’ll be the two aging redheads in the stands. One will have binoculars. The other will have snacks. We sprang for the deluxe seats with backrests. 😝

Because life is all about balance.