As I walked and ran through a neighborhood and hidden path to a frozen lake, I could hardly distinguish between the grayscale of the landscape and horizon.

When many things happen a once, it can feel like all people and thoughts and interactions are nothing more than a blur. Where the sky ends and the land starts is difficult to decipher. The curious things is that at the same time, each conversation, each interaction, are individually separated in honeycomb pockets.

Days stitch along beyond a wedding and Christmastime, weaving the noise of work and routines back together in a banner each person holds and carries in their pocket, stitched with their own monogrammed life. Look around. Has a flag grown dim? Has a voice gone quiet? Notice this. Don't be afraid to hold the thin.

Might I weave a line of color in yours? You have surely stitched color into mine. Be very gentle and encouraging. Be very supportive and generous. Be very forgiving and risk taking.

Knots and tangles are courses of the most courageous kinds.

The bride gave her bridesmaid's gold bracelets and mine is still clasped on, slipping up and down my wrist, shiny gold.

A peel of undimmed clouds is all it takes for winter's stoic face to change.
A hand piercing and sewing a fresh word into your banner is all it takes for a heart to beat stronger.

Color, you penetrate me!



Ask. Your heavenly Father knows all you need.
Yes! Marvelous!!