In this world where suffering and joy are next door neighbors, won’t someone please sing out a bit of Glory.
Make it a song that comes out real quiet and gentle,
like rain on tender grass,
like gentle showers on young plants.
So hope grows.
In this world where suffering and joy are next door neighbors, won’t someone please sing out a bit of Glory.
Make it a song that comes out real quiet and gentle,
like rain on tender grass,
like gentle showers on young plants.
So hope grows.
Caution: Driver Singing. I saw this bumper sticker a few weeks ago. It reminded me of a couple girls we watched while stuck in traffic on a hot California day.
Desperate for a reprieve from triple-digit temps, we were flying down the freeway to escape the heat. After sizzling past Dixon, Vacaville came and went like a flash in the rear view mirror. We scorched on through Fairfield and down the hill, chasing a siren song lifting from cool waters of a distant bay and fluttering inland upon the delta breeze.
My dismay, though, melted into the richness and beauty of her writing. From this delicious feast served up one chapter at a time, she called to me to write. I you are an artist in hiding, a dancer in your dreams, a writer held captive by doubts…an kind of creative person who stands on the brink of a dream too afraid to jump…get your hands on this book. Her words will be like honey to sooth your soul.