Outdoors

Whirlwind

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

There is a restless, unsettled energy hovering around my heart and soul this morning as I take that first anticipated sip of coffee. The dark, earthy scent is familiar and safe; an old and expected routine. Yet, the familiarity is not calming and soothing this morning and that throws me off-kilter.

Watching the critter activity from my kitchen window, steaming coffee warming my hands, I am reminded of the power nature possesses to soothe, hush, and calm my spirit. It’s where I talk to You and hear You speak to me. Healing. Peace.

Time to get outside!

Donning a hoodie with Pacific Northwest on the front, I grab a hat. I choose the one that says “Sorta Sweet, Sorta Savage” on the front of it. That’s how I feel this morning. Restless, savage, a bit wild in the heart. I need movement.

The park with the pond is beautiful this morning. The geese are already up, fussing and snipping at the grass, finding their favorite delicacies. Their contented honks and bossy hissing are pleasant and funny. The routine of it calms and soothes. My chilled hands unclench, just a bit.

There is a big white egret sunning itself and hunting. It stands on its thin, nimble legs on a jumble of rocks in a corner of the pond motionless, yet always watching for the slightest movement of its next meal. The egret shares this rock with another pond dweller catching some morning sun. Always vigilant and suspicious, the large pond turtle appears to be oblivious to me, but I know it isn’t. I’m being carefully monitored.

Brilliant blue sky above me, dew-damp grass under my feet, and a spunky breeze skipping around the pond – the perfect morning.

On the other side of the pond the trees are showing off their gorgeous autumn colors. The vivid oranges and reds blend and blur with the yellows and greens like a startling tableau of beauty and peace. I take a few moments at the edge of the pond to soak it in. The sight is majestic, bold, and insistent – the contrasting loveliness of the bright blue sky and these gorgeous colors demand all my focus and attention. There is strength and defiance in the colors and tenacious hold these trees have on their foliage, as they shout their last hurrah before letting go and descending into rest, quiet and rebirth at the change of season. It must happen. The change is inevitable, predicted and set into motion by Your design. The letting go is part of life as it unrelentingly moves forward. I see that as I take in the trees and seasonal changes at the pond. It brings some comfort to my troubled and agitated heart.

This is a season of many changes and I’m forced to find my way in a new normal. I don’t like it and it frightens me. I struggle and kick, even though I know it will happen despite my stubborn clinging. I feel a bit savage about the letting go. Unsettled. Unknown. Defiant.

Moving along the edge of the pond, I look up through the stunning leaf color and pause to breathe deeply. I sense You here with me. Cleansing. Surrender. Beauty. Safe.

You are here in the season of rebirth and new life, and the season of release and rest. It is incessant, this change of season. It is needed, necessary and it will happen. My shoulders slowly drop, and my back relaxes as You speak to my soul and minister to my heart. You remind me there is beauty in the letting go. It is the precursor to a season of change, growth, and intimacy with You. The status quo never brings the exciting feeling of a new chapter and fresh adventures. You have more in store for me. My purpose on Earth is continually moving – being blown by Your breath and Your plan. The journey to get there involves upheaval and letting go. Trust. Intimacy. Faith.

The spunky breeze is back and becoming a bit more playful in its bluster. Resuming my walk, I am suddenly caught up in a whirlwind of brightly finished leaves and brown grasses, whirling, and tossing and pulling at my hat. Laughing, I raise my arms and let it dart, tease and play!  Zipping and dancing all around me and sticking to my sleeves, the leaves embrace the wildness and seemingly random whim of the wind and let go. It is magical, beautiful, and joyful! My heart responds and softens – restlessness and fear melting away.  “Can I trust You with me, Lord?”, I ask in the wind. “Absolutely!”, the leaves reply, as they dash away in freedom on the adventure You created for them.

The Beach

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The brisk wind snaps and fluffs the tendrils of auburn hair peeking out from under her olive-green beanie. It feels so invigorating, as if the wind is beckoning her to come out and walk the beach. Perhaps it knows something feels different this morning, like that feeling when an elusive word is on the tip of your tongue, but your brain won’t quite let it go.

This beach is Misty’s favorite place. It has been since she discovered it several years ago, quite by accident, actually. After spending time with friends in Santa Cruz before one of them headed to a new job in Texas, Misty decided to take a little detour on her way home, just to see what she might see.  Rounding a curve, there it was laid out before her in all its glory! A lovely beach cove, set off the road with a sandy little parking lot to accommodate visitors.

Misty pulled off, parked her yellow VW Bug and that was it – she was in love with this beach and knew it was her place.

Lately, life has been hard and confusing, complicated, and draining. The life path she dreamed of following is not panning out and it weighs heavily on her heart. Patience is not her bent and the desire to move things along is a constant battle in her weary mind. Shouldn’t she be there by now? Why wasn’t she finding her niche?

Full of hope for a day of clearing her mind, she steps onto the sand into the wind and salty smell of the sea. Deep cleansing breaths, she tells herself. Deep, long and cleansing.  The vibrancy of the water holds an anticipation in the micro sparkles she sees dancing on the swell of each wave.  Heeding the call, she gingerly hops into the foamy sea and catches her breath at the cold, crisp tingle on her bare feet. The dramatic inhale of breath feels lovely and empowering. It feels comforting. Some of the fear and worry escape on the exhale. Is that a lightness in her soul?

“What do I do now?”, she asks the sea, willing it to part with its ancient wisdom.

Walking along the wet sand, she alternately runs toward and dodges the ever-coming waves. For the first time in a while, she is having fun!

Up ahead she sees something in the sand just out of reach of the waves. How odd, she thinks. What is it? It appears to be a small pile of driftwood. Ever curious, Misty investigates and discovers someone has spelled the word JOY with the driftwood. It is gnarled and holey with striations of dark and light in the sea-soaked wood. Pausing to look at the driftwood she feels what might be joy.  Her mouth relaxes into a gentle smile, which if she is honest with herself has not happened in a while. Well, not a genuine smile. Hmmm. Joy. Yes, she does feel it. It’s been simmering there just below the surface blocked by worry, fear and feeling left behind while others are off making their mark.  Feeling like she doesn’t measure up.

As Misty continues down the beach soaking in the joy, letting it do its thing, she detects a lightness in her step and her shoulders relaxing. The sweet sun pours warmth into her bones, yet not the overwhelming heat that makes one want to run for the shade. Stopping to scan the sea and the sand behind her, she sees her footprints. They look purposeful and confident, like these prints have a destination in mind and are confidently heading there. The sea is edging closer to her footprints and will soon wash them away as if they never existed. The past being taken and what is before her opening wide.

There are not many beachcombers out this morning. Mid-week keeps the crowds away and Misty likes that. Up ahead, she hears barking and yipping from a sleek, brindle dog dancing with delight over the stick about to be tossed into the shallow waves.  Being a dog lover, Misty briskly walks toward the middle-aged woman tossing the stick. She notices black yoga pants pushed up near the woman’s knees to keep from getting soaked, a camo-colored hoodie with rolled up sleeves and short, fluffed light brown hair that dances and tosses in the crisp sea-wind.

Smiling as she approaches, the woman waves, calls out a greeting and tosses the stick high at the same time. As the wet dog returns with the stick, the woman reaches down to stroke its sleek body and gets a sandy, toothy grin. He wants her to hurry and throw the stick again. “He will do this all day, you know,” the woman laughs. “This is our happy place where we escape to refill our souls.”

As they exchange small talk and watch the escapades of the dog, Misty notices the woman has tattoos on her arms. One says Be Still and another Faith over Fear. She is surprised how these simple words tattooed on a stranger fill her with such emotion – this is what her tired heart and dry soul need. How she longs to just be still and let go of the fear that cripples her; fear of the unknown, that she isn’t making a difference and the constant striving that saps her energy.

Shyly, she asks the woman, “May I ask about your tattoos? This sounds weird, I know, but I am drawn to them. I think they’re speaking to me.”

“Of course!”, the woman replies. “These tattoos hold special meaning for me. I’ve been through some rough patches; things I thought would break and destroy me. These words remind me of all I have weathered – mantras the Creator spoke to my soul. They mean so much I had them etched in a place I could revisit anytime, anywhere.”

As the silence spins out the woman turns to look at her; her forest-green eyes compassionate and knowing, holding her gaze for a moment. “I don’t know what’s weighing on you, honey, but I believe everything happens for a reason and we all have a specific purpose on Earth. Sometimes to find it, we simply need to be still and let it come to us. Joy will come if you make room and give it permission.”

As the woman speaks, Misty feels peace flow over her back and neck. She has a more confident tilt to her chin and senses a shift in the atmosphere as she embraces the letting go.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Misty replies. “I know why I needed to be here this morning.”

As she moves down the beach and circles back at the cliff with the purple flowers, Misty’s parched soul feels softer and her insides less strung up with anxiety. What if all she needs to do for now is be still? What if there is a Creator who has plans and a specific purpose just for her? Walking toward the car, the small smile on her face is brighter. She feels joy at the beautiful beach, the warm sun, the constant reassuring shushing of the sea.

After a few more hefty tosses of the stick, it’s time to head home. The dog drops the stick at her feet and the woman smiles and offers up a silent prayer of thanks. This random, yet not, encounter on the beach blessed her, too.

Gathering up her coffee thermos, the wet dog and the precious fetching stick, the woman in the camo hoodie understands why she felt such a pull to the sea and this specific beach today.  Tattoos and JOY written in driftwood. The still small voice isn’t wrong and what blessings come from heeding it.

Hope Grove

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Hope Grove

He is up before the sun rises. His camo-colored backpack lies on the backseat of the old, dark blue Jeep. It’s full of water bottles, snacks, a sketch pad, and sunscreen. A few haphazard beach towels and a trusty old blanket are tossed on the floor, below the backpack. The smell of his hastily grabbed cappuccino wafts and swirls around him; it’s a comforting scent and tastes like liquid gold.

He enjoys road trips, especially heading to the forested mountains of the Sierras. He gets an early start to avoid traffic and people. The many laned freeways of suburbia will inch down into 2 lane, curvy mountain roads. The gentle hills give way to the foothills dotted with trees and brush.  Soon he will be in the mountains and the anticipation in his bones is invigorating!

As the Jeep climbs up and up and twists and turns on the winding road, he feels some of the tension leave him. His shoulders drop a little and the tightness around his ears and neck loosen up. He really has been full of knots and worry and vague feelings of frustration.

It won’t be long now. His turnoff is coming soon. He can feel the pull and tug on his heart and body that this mountain trail always conjures up in his soul.

Turn signal on, he eases into the small, wooded, empty parking lot. Yes! He doesn’t want distractions today. He deeply needs to be alone to refresh and get some perspective. Such unsettled emotions plague him lately. They bubble up and at times consume him. Life is difficult right now. How does he get out of this slump? Nothing is going as planned. His big interview was a disaster. He was completely unprepared and the failure of it still reddens his face with embarrassment. High expectations and dashed dreams camp out in his mind. Others in his sphere are successful and fast moving. They are further along than he is, and it rubs, scrapes, and gnaws at his thoughts.

Yet…another feeling has been hanging out in his mind, as well – a rushing sensation that pulses along in his very blood. It’s not unpleasant but unusual. He can’t quite put his finger on it. Deep down he knows whatever it is, it’s calling and beckoning to him; an insistent feeling telling him it is time to get to the mountains.

Well, here he is in the mountains…

He takes in the stillness punctuated by calling birds, rustling trees and the beautiful, blessed silence that is the forest. He belongs here. This is his place. He feels known and accepted by the mountain, the trees, the very scent of warming pine that he loves so much. He takes deep, deep breaths to capture the scent in his lungs and hold on to the scent memory.

Hefting his backpack from the Jeep, he grabs a beach towel. He plans to find a lovely place to sit and become one with the earth and forest for a bit. Maybe he will break out the sketch pad. Downing the remaining cappuccino, he is off to the trail and whatever adventure awaits him.

He chooses a brisk but easy pace for his hike. He likes to feel his blood pumping but doesn’t want to miss a single thing the forest has to show him this morning. It has been a while since he’s hiked here. He wonders if it’s changed; in his heart he hopes not.  He soaks up all the mountain offers him; sounds that only the forest makes – creatures scurrying and fussing in the undergrowth vying for bugs and seeds; loud jays that scold and screech at each other shouting the forest gossip; louder, more defined thumps and rustles that come from a bigger animal making its way over and around whatever is in the way.

All these are music to his ears and a feast for his eyes! Moving gingerly along the path, he notices some random bursts of white hidden among the detritus on the forest floor and snagged along the bark of some trees and bushes. Hmm. Odd. In all his years of hiking forest paths he doesn’t remember seeing this strange white stuff. He stops and waits a moment along a curved spot in the trail.  He looks back and sees that the placement of the white doesn’t seem quite as random as he thought. Was it placed here purposely? That urgent feeling of beckoning and calling is coursing through his blood again. Interesting. “What is this?”, he wonders aloud.

He heads off again, alert this time for more white. He spies it snared on a fallen old pine tree and heads over for a closer look. Oh, it appears to be feathery and light, a bit silky, airy, and so soft.  As he runs this white, airy softness between his fingers, a peaceful feeling of safety and rest settles over him. He senses that he is going to be ok; somehow all is well and will be well.

Not knowing what to make of this, he searches the path in front of him and spies more white as the trail twists and turns out of sight. Senses piqued, curiosity and bravery filling his soul, he travels along this mysterious path that enchants him.

Rounding a bend, he spots a small, weather-beaten sign. It sits on a dilapidated post covered with moss and lichen. Tiny yellow flowers surround the crooked base. The sign says Hope Grove and there is a faded red arrow pointing off to the right. The white, airy material is profuse here at the right-hand fork. He doesn’t remember any of this; is he lost? He does not have that frightened, adrenaline rush feeling of being lost. Oddly, he feels found.

He doesn’t hesitate as he follows the fork to the right toward Hope Grove. He feels anticipation and wait, is that joy? It might be…

There is a small tunnel-like area up ahead where smaller trees and creeping vines, snagged with the white feathery material, make a covered spot over the trail. He moves through and emerges into a lovely little grove of pines. There is a small area of meadow grasses and some wildflowers dipping in the breeze. Fascinating! He moves about this little grove stopping to look closely at the flowers, sturdy grasses, and the light; the lovely, beautiful, soft light. Excited, he finds the perfect spot to toss down the beach towel and sit a spell. His mind is clear and uncluttered. He enjoys the sounds, scents, and beauty. It refreshes him. It is actively restoring him. He feels it, he knows it. His soul and spirit unclench, and he decides to let it all go. Peace. Safety. Rest.

After sitting for a bit, allowing his tired body and battered spirit to breathe again, he opens his backpack, grabs snacks and water, and looks at the sketch pad lying there. It wills him to open it, to capture and fill the pages with what his senses show him, and the grove speaks to him.

Taking in the entirety of the small meadow and grove, he sees a well-worn sign to his left. Hope Grove. The words are written in blue faded letters. Floating off one corner of this aged sign, he sees the white again. The way the light hits it, the way it flutters and moves with the gauzy breeze looks like feathers – white, airy, wispy feathers. Happy and joyful, they beckon and call to him. He is not alone here in Hope Grove. The presence is not sinister; it is a Spirit of joy, belonging, peace and love which permeates this sacred place. It is sacred and intimate. Here he is wanted. There is no expectation put on him because he knows that he is enough. The fear that sticks to him of late falls away. In its place is confidence. Confidence that he’s got this and is right where he needs to be in his life journey. Opening the sketch book, he surprises himself at how deftly, yet simply he captures the light of this place. The way it falls between the pine trees, in stark but gentle beams. The sign is dappled by the rays that penetrate its corner of the grove, illuminating the white feathers in a mysterious, forest-y, and peaceful way.

In between his drawing and snacking, he allows the peace and silence of this grove to seep deep into his spirit, soul, and bones. He will not forget.

As the light and sounds of the forest shift to early evening, it is time to go. He feels wistful as he packs up his things, careful to leave this magical place undisturbed. What he will leave behind him is fear, defeat, expectations, and comparison. What he will take from the grove is joyful determination, confidence, peace, and the ability to rest and enjoy his life journey. He is enough!

Making his way back along the trail he sees that his feathery white guides are gone. He smiles to himself. He knows the way back but needed their help to discover restoration and hope for his tired and restless soul.

Pruning

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Summer is drawing to a close. The months of bright, festive flowers that beckon and sing to the pollinators and picnickers is dwindling down. There will be a few days of heated fury and defiance, where summer rebels just a bit – blazing hot and fierce. Time is almost up, and it knows.

The garden knows, too, and begins the descent into autumn. The spring and summer flowering plants and bushes slow and droop, dropping dried blooms, except for those that flourish and delight in autumn, bringing fresh color and excitement to a waning garden.

With this changing of the guard comes a season of pruning.  Much needs to be done to keep the garden looking loved, cared for and peaceful. Garden shears, trimmers and trowels are still needed.

Upon close inspection, one sees the stems, leaves, vines, and small branches shut down, wither, and die back. The perennials need this season of pruning for survival; they need someone to cut away and remove those areas that are no longer serving them or the garden. At times the pruning seems brutal, harsh, and perhaps cruel as some parts are cut away so severely there is hardly any of the original plant left.  All is cut away that is not actively helping, nurturing, and stimulating growth in the plant. Those dead and dying off parts suck vital nutrients from the healthy stems, branches, and leaves. A good gardener knows that they cannot be left to compete with and deplete the healthy plant.

Bending close to check each branch and stem, the gardener determines where best to trim and cut away. At first glance, a stem or branch may look completely wasted away, yet a closer look reveals tiny, minute new growth attempting to push its way out. The gardener values this new growth, barely visible except to the one who actively seeks and delights in nourishing this fledgling sprout of new life. All that is above it will be removed and tossed away, allowing plenty of room and careful tending to encourage the new life.

Do you see how this imagery of a master gardener lovingly tending his or her garden applies so beautifully to how the Creator loving and intentionally prunes, tends, and cares for each of us?

The pruned plant may look bedraggled and worse for wear, hacked and shorn off, appearing vulnerable and fragile. But this is where the unseen work takes place in the root system below the surface.  With the dead and decaying parts pruned away, the roots are free to prepare and strengthen the fragile plant for the new life waiting for rebirth when the season is just right; when spring comes and the time for its new beginning arrives. The quiet season of strength building is vital for this plant and is vital for us, too. When the Master Gardener deems it is time, new life will burst up, break forth and take its place in the Garden of Life, amid humanity, where the plant and you and I will live out our purpose, delight those meant to encounter us and be deeply nourished from a root system well established and fed by the Master Gardener and His living water.

The pruning season is hard. It hurts and can leave us feeling like there is nothing left of us but stumpy, stick-like nubs that are ugly, barren and have no purpose. But we can’t see with the eyes of the Master Gardener, who sees these shorn off places as a thing of great beauty and Divine Purpose, because He knows what’s coming. He sees the pruned places for what they are; stealers of joy, a heavy weight of bad habits, bitterness and anger, idols we erected in our search for happiness and value, and greedy competitors that robbed precious energy.  I imagine Him smiling and laughing in anticipation of all that He is doing below the surface to the root system of our lives. Every nip, cut, snip and prune hold tremendous value and purpose. So, can we endure for a little while, during the quiet autumn of the pruning season, to see the joy, delight and surprise that will spring forth?

Book Promotion Divine Encounters…

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

I’m currently running a promotion on my eBook on Amazon, AND If you are a Kindle Unlimited member, please check it out, my eBook is listed as KU book.

If you have read my book in either format, I would absolutely love it if you’d leave a review of it on Amazon. It helps me as an author and it keeps my book from being lost in the sea of algorithms that is Amazon, hahaha! I so appreciate the lovely reviews that have been left so far. It only takes a few minutes 😉

Divine Encounters…is LIVE

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 2 Comments

Divine Encounters…IS LIVE!! Available on Amazon (Kindle eBook & paperback), Barnes and Noble (Nook), almost finished uploading to Kobo (eBook); available soon in Target.com, Walmart.com...

I’m in happy shock that it is out doing what it was created to do, sent forth with prayers and blessings to accomplish its purpose. This has been such an amazing journey; I hope I get to do it again! 😊 For those of you who supported, prayed, encouraged and gave feedback along the way, you made such a difference to me and I am very grateful. These are things I can hold and treasure up in my heart.

If you purchase and read my book, I would be so thankful if you would leave a review/rating. It helps me grow as an author and it keeps my book from getting lost in the algorithms and bottomless pit of Amazon books, hahahaha!

Ahhh…it’s time to rest my brain a bit now. I can call myself a published author and I still can’t quite believe that’s me.

Cheers!

Melissa

Coming very soon…

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Hi everyone! I’m excited! My book is very close to being published; waiting on a proof copy of the paperback to arrive. Once I see it’s just how it should be, Divine Encounters…will go live on Amazon KDP (eBook and paperback), Kobo, Barnes and Noble Press and Google Play Books. Here is a sneak preview of the cover and blurb.

When it is out there and ready I will publish again with the links.

I can’t wait for her to be out in the world, doing what she was meant to do!

Nostalgia

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

It’s going to be another hot day, so I’m up early.  I head to the patio and warm coffee comes with me. There is a slight chill, oh so slight, but I can feel it on my skin.

There is something vague and wistful in the way the air feels this morning. The hint of the warmth that’s to come, mixed in with that slight chill. It feels so familiar.

It’s the way the light is coming up over the apple tree, shadows from the branches falling just so on the green grass and touching the edges of the 3-tiered fountain. The yellowy-white light pulls at my memory; I’ve seen this light before. I know it.

I hear it in the way the finches, bold blue jays and grey titmouse call and chatter. Fuzzy squirrels scampering and digging in the grass and garden tug at something hovering in my mind.

The scent in the air has a subtle, comforting, reminiscent quality to it that dances on the fringe of memory. It’s happy and calming; stirring up a sentimental longing and wistful affection for something… Is it a specific memory or snippets of various memories stirred up by the sight, sound, scent of this peaceful morning? I wonder…

Sitting here at the pine table I allow my thoughts go where they will.

The scent in the air, the light and the creature sounds call up memories of my grandparents’ house in Lakehead, CA. I loved this place! It was nestled in and around pine trees with squirrels and birds galore! I recall the warm, safe scent of those pine trees, the dusty earth, and bubbling excitement of walking through the wooded area to the little market with my grandma. Exciting!

In the warm afternoons, the blue kiddie pool was set up in the backyard under some shady pine trees. Buckets, cups, Barbies, and various other toys made for a fun and easy afternoon. I think time stood still for a bit. My grandma sat in the shade on her 70’s era lawn chair with a sweating glass of sweet tea and chatted with me. Always the safe, old, lovely scent of warm pine and earth.

I remember the thrill and exhilaration of hurtling down a big hill near their house in my little red wagon with the pine-y wind in my face – what a memory of freedom and adventures. I looked forward to the summer-night strolls to visit neighbors and see a few deer as we walked along. Pleasant and friendly.

The sound of scampering squirrels on my fence reminds me of hearing pattering squirrel feet run over the roof of their house and my grandpa’s garage in the early mornings. The garage was a wonderful place. It was full of gadgets, boxes of nails and rakes, the fishing gear, and all sorts of fun things to play with and examine. It had the distinct smell of cars and a tangy scent of oil and gasoline. Order and routine, everything in its place.

I can smell the fishy, earthy, watery scent of Lake Shasta where my grandpa, my Dad and I spent many hours on his boat fishing and motoring around the lake, stopping in the small, quiet coves to cool off and swim. Even in the summer heat, there was the distinct lake chill that danced above the water. Dinner of fresh caught fish back at the house gave me such a warm, cozy, homey feeling. We sat and ate on the enclosed porch at the picnic table, talking and laughing about the highlights of the day. As the adults talked on into the summer night, I would drowse and day dream.

Yes, these are cherished memories. Interesting how a subtle scent on the air, a ray of sunlight and nature sounds have the power to trigger the mind and bring these memories flooding back.

I wish I could go back to relive those parts of life to recapture the feelings and sensations. Happy memories of pleasant times where life seemed simpler, sweeter, and not so complex. I often feel this way around the holidays as I look at old pictures of my family gathered around a festive table, carving a pumpkin, or sitting by the Christmas tree.  When I look at paintings of the holidays in times past, there is a wistful, yearning feeling of wanting to be there. Nostalgia.

Life can be chaotic and unpredictable. I wonder if our adult brains unconsciously seek out the sights, scents, and sounds of those times where things were ordered, reliable, safe, and predictable. I think God wired us to treasure and preserve those moments. We can pull them from our heart-memories as a comfort and break from the monotony and loneliness of life. Blessings.

I think I will pray that nostalgia visits me often, like an old, dear friend; full of comfort, comradery, and memories to make me smile. What a gift!

Exciting News!

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Hi friends! I have some exciting news to share with you – I have written a book called Divine Encounters!

It’s been edited by Pia Edberg at http://www.piaedberg.com and is now in the beginning stages of cover and layout design with Karolina Wudniak at http://www.karolinawudniak.com. This has been a long time coming!

Divine Encounters is Christian/spiritual devotion and prose book. I am a firm believer that people seek and find the Divine in everything from ordinary life to spending time in nature. In times of chaos and confusion there is always hope, redemption and healing waiting to be found. I love how ordinary life, a walk in the park, and every day circumstances become Divine encounters, when we allow our hearts, ears, and eyes to be open to it. The Divine is all around us.

I am passionate about this book and getting it into the hands of those who need the words God’s given me. Everything I have written has personally touched a place in my heart that God knew needed encouragement and joy, as well as hope and healing.  

I will be self-publishing Divine Encounters as an eBook and paperback via KDP and will keep this blog updated as the release date gets closer. An author Facebook page and Instagram account are in the works! I appreciate every one of you who have read my blog, subscribed to it, and encouraged me to keep on writing! Blessings on you!

Cheers!

Melissa

Look to the Clouds

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The summer morning is warm with a brilliant, Robin-egg blue sky. The warm dirt under my young back is soft, yet bumpy with divots, small rocks and tamped down grasses. It smells comforting, earthy and old. It feels safe.

The air is warm and a bit close, broken up by the occasional snippet of breeze, that lazily puffs over me in my earthy spot; grasses and wildflowers tossing and bobbing as the breeze slips through them, forcing movement on this indolent summer morning.

I fancy myself a cat; lazy, snooze-y and hidden from view; yet spying and aware of all that is going on around my little nest.

There is a Blue Jay, raucous and naughty, dipping and darting as she looks for her breakfast in the oak trees. She is not afraid of disturbing the more stately Robins and Sparrows that are seeking out their morning meals. The birds do not notice me in my lair and continue about their morning business; or maybe they do…

A variety of ducks and some Canadian geese glide by on the rippled water of the canal just a few feet away from me; blackberry brambles and other sticker bushes guard its banks like stubborn sentries. You can get through to the water, if you dare to pass through them. Brave creatures have carved paths under and through these sentries, to make their way to the water and safety. Their dens are cozy and well protected. Easy access to tiny fish, frogs and maybe crawdads.

Ah! There is the distinctive splash of the muskrat, slipping through the cloudy waters of the canal. His path can be traced by following his bubbles, as he searches below the waters for his breakfast. Routine. Safe. Ordinary.

Looking to the sky from my child-sized hollow in the summer faded grasses, I notice the white, marshmallow-like clouds floating past. They are fascinating! Some are huge and billowy, while others are small, wispy and seem to vanish or meld into bigger clouds nearby; as if swallowed up.

Imagination has free reign while cloud watching. My mind can wander and make up all sorts of fantastical stories. I see one cloud that at first glance, is just big, fluffy and non-descript; but then it emerges; a boat with a crooked, tilted mast and a scraggly, wispy sail. Peeking over the side of the boat, is a horse’s head and strange looking bird. What stories that boat has to tell! Another cloud is almost perfectly round, except for one edge that has a thin, feathery tail wafting off to the right; like a child’s balloon rushing off in the wind on exciting adventures.

Breaking up the daydreams, the sleek, black cat saunters into my grassy hideout, curious and nosey; casually attacking a random leaf, sniffing around my hideaway; demanding pets and chin scratches. Having determined a spot near my head as acceptable, she settles in for a drowsy rest, as the warm morning is becoming a hot, summer afternoon. The shade is moving with the shifting sun, flooding my little earth-nest with a bit too much heat and light. Maybe it’s time to get the sprinklers out, as another dreamy, lazy, hot, Northern California summer day plods along into the next one.

Summer as a child was pleasant and predictable with routine, yet full of adventure by the canal behind my house. Lovely memories of feeding ducks and meeting the new ducklings each summer, picking blackberries and making pies, cobblers and jams, taking long walks along the grassy, wildflower laden paths near the canal bank. It felt joyful, exciting and new; yet familiar and safe in that familiarity. I recapture bits and pieces of those feelings, when as an adult, I revisit the canal and all its creatures, scents and sounds, as I relax and observe from the patio swing or from the lone bench nestled under an old oak, with a blue wind chime tinkling; ducks, geese, river otters and muskrats going about their business. The familiarity soothes and calms. Tilting my head back to feel the sun, I allow the warmth to penetrate and loosen the chilled, hardened, practical places my adult mind has created. Sometimes life forces that on us, just to survive the onslaughts of life. Peering up through the gnarled, old branches of the oak tree, I see clouds. Puffed, billowing, white clouds and I remember my child-self lying in the tall, warm grasses, surrounded by the stout wildflowers and nosey cats. Content and care-free. I remember the day dreams and simple joy of seeing life, nature, and me in the cloud shapes, imagining the Creator with his paintbrush, delighting me with adventures and laughing as each stroke of His brush changed everything. There is peace and contentment for an exhausted, stressed, adult mind, when I simply look to the clouds and allow that child-like joy and imagination to have its way for a bit, and laugh with my Creator as He fills the sky with Himself.