Tinges of sunlight peek through tree branches brightening the dew that gathered on the leaf tips.
The first gentle birdsong of the day breaks through the quiet morning in the meadow.
Nature’s alarm clock for sleepy, nestled down creatures.
Twitching noses tentatively sniff the chilled air. Who’s passed through during the night?
With that first chirp, meadow life shifts into motion for another day.
Grasses and tall flowers sway with the breeze, their stems bending low as fat bumblebees sip and tiny birds snip at seeds and insects along the delicate leaves and petals.
A mountain stream chatters and sings as it makes its way over branches and rocks.
Teeming with life, furry creatures wait motionless along the edges of the stream for their breakfast of insects, tadpoles, and crawdads. A full smorgasbord!
Far off, the repetitive pecking of a woodpecker echoes off the surrounding trees, blending in harmony with the full chorus of birdsong that resounds in the meadow.
So much life, so much beauty. Divine fingerprints everywhere.
A warmer afternoon lulls and soothes the busy inhabitants of the meadow. The pace of hunting, gathering, and gossiping fades and slows.
Traveling along its Creator made path the sun begins the descent toward the horizon.
The light and air take on a different feel – cooling, dimming, winding down.
Ethereal. Supernatural.
The day dwellers begin their tasks of settling in as snug dens and cozy nests beckon.
Night falls and the moon and stars take over the sky.
Night dwellers stretch, sniff the cooling air, and begin their routines. Their time in the meadow has a different energy than that of the day timers.
It is a time of quiet, stealth, and keen observation. Eyes and ears always alert.
They are just as busy as the day creatures, but go about things in a careful, hushed, and methodical way.
Moonlight and shadows are their friends as mystery and other worldliness take center stage.
His Divine Presence is here in the cover of night just as much as in the light of day.
He looks at all of creation and says, “It is good.”
The wool threads display the richest colors as they flow across the loom, some vibrant and brilliant, which immediately draw the eye and capture attention, while other shades and hues are subdued, calming, and deep, visible only to those who truly see. The Master Weaver has been at His work forever, and He will not stop until it is completed. His breath creates and calls into existence that which was not into what is. His thoughts and His songs, His glance, and His robes are all part of the Divine dance that weave and blend to make a way where there wasn’t one. Supernatural, unstoppable, beautiful.
We each have a unique tapestry. No tapestry is the same, yet our individual threads intersect, overlap, advance, and retreat as the tapestry is woven, and the Creator’s plans come into being. What He sends forth will not return void. It will accomplish the exact and perfect purpose for which it was sent. Perfection. Mysterious. Holy.
I imagine an open space that is peaceful and joyful, where the Master does His creating. It is a place filled with pure, flowing water, incense, and beauty. It is called Holy Ground. This sacred spot is where the weaving happens. It is precious and well-guarded. There is joy, tender love, hurt, and tears. Laughter and grief intermingle and twine about each other in a dance that is gorgeous, fierce, completely untamed, terrifying, and yet carefully orchestrated. Who can contain and control what Heaven has spoken and breathed into life?
The individual tapestries stand alone, yet they do not. Each one is carefully and precisely ordered to intersect, surprise, and flow into the others. Each tapestry is necessary for the others to come to fruition. Certain tapestries will be woven together for a lifetime, others for a few moments, years, days, or seasons. Some may barely skim the borders of another, yet there is a Divine purpose for the skimming and the overlapping, the touching, and intersecting.
The Creator knows, and that is enough. He sees it for how it is, how it was, and He will see it long after we are called home. Perhaps we will see His master plan with unveiled eyes, once blurred from striving to understand, force, or remove these divine intersections. What is woven together can’t be undone by the tapestry. Struggling is futile and distracts from the beauty unfolding minute by minute in front of us. No, we can’t foresee, tame, and reverse that which was breathed by Holy breath into existence. This is where hope and faith must come into play.
There are lessons that must be learned, hurts healed, and other tapestries that need the colors, hues, and patterns the Weaver chose to color your life tapestry. These will not always blend in perfect harmony. This mixture will, at times, appear chaotic and unsafe, as if they should not have been allowed to brush against each other. The Master Craftsman knows how it all unfolds because He saw it from the beginning. Alpha and Omega.
What appears as chaos, pain, and discord at the moment is part of the dance. He knows the steps because He created them. We can’t pretend to understand the whys and purposes behind His plan, but one day I hope we will. When the final thread in our tapestry is woven, and the Weaver shepherds us into the place called Holy Ground, we will see how it all blends into something lovely, ordered, and precise, and we will stand in awe of it; smiling through tears of understanding as the height, breadth, and depth of His perfect love covers us. We will watch in fascination as the remaining tapestries are sung and danced over, breathed upon, and woven together until He leans back from His loom, declares it is finished, and brings His masterpieces home to be forever displayed in the Most Holy Place, for all of eternity.
The early morning sun offers the promise of warmth and expectation.
An indolent day at the beach is exactly what is needed!
Arms laden with a beach bag full of vittles, sunscreen, and a towel, I discover the perfect spot to settle in for the day.
Cliffs behind me, ocean before me, sun above me, sand below.
Perfection. Shelter. Peace.
My little space is set up; all is in order and ready for me to be one with the breeze and old-Earth smell of brine and life and decay.
Shoes off, sunscreen on, now to the water.
Contradictions.
That is what I see in the ocean, yet also safety, born out of the ancient rhythms of the Earth—forever marching on, steady and unyielding.
The tide’s constancy is relentless, untamable, fierce; all without apology, the ocean does what it is meant to do.
The water laps and rushes and chases my feet, startling and elemental in its coldness. Invigorating and inspiring.
The birds, crabs, and tiny sea creatures count on the unchanging ways of the ocean because it is life to them. The ocean gives, and these creatures take.
But I think the ocean is also a taker. It takes the worries, stress, fears, and uncertainties in life; it takes words spoken and wept and screamed by those who walk the beach looking for answers, solace, and peace. We push those things out of our hearts, and the ocean pulls them into itself.
A lovely dance.
Perhaps this is what God does for us. He takes all the fear, rage, worry, and tears that we spew out into Himself and pulls them away from us as we release it all to Him. He is fierce, constant, untamable, mysterious, and present. He gives life; He is love; we rely on Him.
Back at my sanctuary, the sand under my legs and back is so warm, relaxing, and inviting. It is solid and permanent; warmth leeches into my chilled bones, lulled to a drowsy peacefulness.
With closed eyes and warm sun baking down in pleasant coziness, I notice my other senses stirred; susurrating waves whisper and breathe, birds call overhead; somewhere, a dog is barking.
That scent of salt floats on the ever-present breeze along with notes of a barbecue and the cloying scent of flowers.
Drowsy and dreamy, my mind wanders in that half-dreaming state of blissful rest.
The sun has shifted in the sky, and there is a slight chill in the air. How long have I been lying here?
Hunger gnaws, so here come the snacks.
Seagulls make an appearance and scold and demand that I share, watching closely every move I make. I share.
Before packing up, it’s time for a walk.
There are footprints going before me in the sea-soaked sand, and I wonder whose they are and what secrets they’ve spoken to the sea today.
Interesting how before long, all traces of my footprints will be washed away, as if I had never walked here; as if the past is washed away and cleaned up and brand-new sand is offered up for a new direction, new footprints, new promises.
Jesus cleans up our lives like this; the old washed away, the new offered up; clean, lovely, and ready for a new journey. Sun dipping down, air quite cool, water coming higher; my signal to call it a day.
Heading to the car, I feel rested, new, and cleansed, a little wild and wooly from the rawness of the ocean and its wild and chaotic yet perfectly ordered dance.
The December night is dark and deep, stillness and chill seeping into bones despite a layering of coat, scarf, hat, gloves, and thick-soled boots.
Footfall is muffled and shushed along the pine-strewn path, boots stirring up the ancient scent of the woods and winter-shrouded earth.
The hush of the forest has a particular sound—not truly silent to the careful observer but full of the rustle, scurry, and purpose of those living in the night. Frigid air gives their purpose a new vigor with warm dens and beds of fern, pine needles, and forest detritus waiting to give shelter.
Deep, full inhalations fill lungs to the brim with invigorating, life-giving air. Oddly, the heavy chill, though it burns and startles, offers peace and affirmation of knowing one is alive and well. Sometimes it takes the cloak of a dark, wintry, forest-y night to bring clarity to the chaos and exposure of living in the light.
Rounding the curve in the path, the stillness of the pond with the shimmery moon-glow trail on the dark water is breathtaking. A path of light and love painted on the water by the brush strokes of One who loves to bring awe, redemption, and delight. Loved. Seen. Safe.
The sound of stealthy prowling comes from the edge of the pond as a night hunter shifts and waits for dinner. Circle of life.
Moving along as the chill ever deepens, the hooting of an owl adds to the frosty night noises—haunting and lovely, it is primitive and wild.
The path around the pond circles back on itself, and my boots head back to the cabin. Thoughts of the cheerful fire in the firepit on the deck and the warm sherpa blanket urge me onward at a brisker pace.
Wrapped in the cozy blanket, Irish coffee in the large Christmas mug warms my cold hands, steam rising merrily as the fire mesmerizes me.
A scrabbling, crunchy noise interrupts my reveries as a creature moves about to the left of the deck, digging through pine needles and foliage for a midnight snack. Curious glowing eyes spy on me. The shadowy outline of a fat raccoon in the faint reach of the firelight watches me until her curiosity wanes, and she moves along.
Leaning back in the deck chair, the stars appear strewn about like so much glitter landing at random points. But nothing is truly random. The night sky is beautifully planned and decorated with patterns and puzzles of light created to lead the ancient traveler.
Frosty breath wafts up as if making its way to the austere moon that guides, watches, and travels the night sky. Fascinating to imagine all the eyes that have looked up in the night for navigation and a sense of constancy in a world that doesn’t always seem that way. A balm to lonely souls, the shining beacon of light makes things feel safer and less chaotic.
The shepherds on that holy and silent night looked up into the same chilled, star-filled sky that I see on my deck as the fire glows and snickers to itself. The same moon watched on as the Holy One became man, as angelic hosts filled the still and starry night with the most awe-inspiring, stunning display of power and love that humankind has ever known.
It is not by happenstance that eyes are drawn upward—seeking wisdom, direction, meaning, safety, love, and blessed peace.
From a cold and silent winter night, filled with moonlight and stars, came the Light of the world. A Divine exchange between Creator and creation. Ultimate gift. Unconditional love. Emmanuel.
Warm bed beckons, and I head inside, mind full of awe as I struggle to comprehend the enormity of the gift humanity was given on that night so long ago.
The old wood stove burns quiet, drowsy warmth. I curl up under quilts and comforters as the light of the moon gently glows through the snug window. Thoughts of angels, joy, and eternity soothe and calm into a restful sleep—a silent and holy night where all is calm and bright under a December moon.
A crescent ray of filtered sunlight peeps in through the upstairs bedroom window.
Languid, lazy stretches; it’s cozy under the heavy heirloom quilt. I doze a bit longer, enjoying the peace and quiet, until the calico cat frisks and pounces on my moving foot, forcing me to get up and begin the day.
Soft, fluffy slipper socks wait next to the pine wood nightstand. Quilt-warmed feet are toasty padding down the narrow stairs; the familiar creak at the fifth step from the bottom is comforting.
Snow!
A light snow has fallen in the night, coating the garden and the stone fence with a sparkly spunkiness that beckons a walk to the village.
But first, coffee!
The warm, comforting coffee scent permeates the chilly kitchen. Crispy bacon on toast sounds delicious this snow-bright morning—just enough until I make my way to Penny’s Pastries in the village square.
The watery sunlight filtering through the slowly building clouds begs for knee-high snow boots, the puffed navy-blue snow jacket and thick, red tartan scarf, navy gloves, and a beanie. Festive and snug!
The fluffy white cat lounges in his cardboard box bed on the end of the couch, watching sleepily as I don my winter apparel. He is quite happy to lie about for the morning, nestled down on the red fleece blanket tucked into the box.
Wrapped up and warm, I venture into the pretty snow-covered garden and out the creaky, wooden gate to begin my snowy adventure.
More snow than I realize has fallen during the night. The way it gently drifts and pillows the lane into the village square is lovely and inviting—that satisfying snow-crunch underfoot.
Winking, colorful Christmas lights add a festive sparkle to the windows of Della’s Curio Shoppe on the corner. Antique Christmas decorations and assorted glass bowls filled with hard candies invite one to step inside and browse the eclectic trinkets. A calming scent of vanilla, fir, and old things tease the senses. A jolly-looking antique snowman catches my eye. Carefully wrapped trinket in hand, I venture on into the village.
The small group of well-bundled carolers gracing the entrance to the old stone church sing with gusto as they nod a greeting to those who stop to listen. Their blending sopranos and altos swirl up and away into the wintry air on frosted breath. A wistful sigh of nostalgia brushes against me as I remember Christmases past with caroling, hot cocoa, and festive holiday laughter…the anticipation of Christmas Eve and the Greatest gift to mankind.
Ah! Penny’s Pastries!
The scent of baking, heady and delicious, wafts from the wreathed door as patrons come and go, leaving a path in the powdery snow. Will she have fresh cream currant scones? She does! I settle myself, the scone, and some steamy Winter Blend tea at a rustic table near the windows. People watching!
Across the square, Nadia’s Toys & Treasures is doing brisk business this morning! The festive window display draws in the strolling families as they watch the model train set navigate the miniature hills and tunnels covered in flakey snow. Tiny sheep and cattle settled on the snowy fields watch its progress. Wide-eyed children beg to go in and see where that tiny train goes on its round-and-round journey. Adventure!
Kitty-corner is Bea’s Nifty Notions n’ Such, serving the sew-ers, knitters, and crafters of the village. Brightly colored holiday ribbons, soft knit hats, mittens, and a plump Mrs. Claus at an antique sewing machine, adorn her display windows. It reminds me of my mother and grandmother—their beautiful handmade gifts and crafts so lovingly created. Two older ladies with bright purple hats and matching scarves bustle out the door. The holiday-themed bags are filled with supplies for their next sewing project.
The clock-tower bells chime the hour with a deep, silvery gong. How time flies! There is more to see, so I head out into the bustling square.
Lunchtime!
Next stop, Lazzaro’s Deli. A prosciutto, ham, and Swiss cheese sandwich with a few swipes of golden mustard, thin-sliced red onion, a splash of balsamic and olive oil, just a touch, mind, and some plump grapes accompany me on a hike up the hill behind the village. There is a small grove of pines at the top where adventurous children haul their sleds and all varieties of hand-made sliding contraptions to fly down the slope—yelping, shouting, and having a splendid time. Freedom and flight!
Weathered pine picnic tables are scattered around the grove for year-round picnickers, each table with a view of the sledders and village below. What a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Memories pop up of climbing the hill at night with thermoses of hot cocoa and Baileys to look at the village adorned in Christmas lights. Spellbinding!
A quick brindle dog and large German Shepherd dash through the grove, pouncing and digging in the snow in search of the ball they have been fetching. While the dogs are busy, their owners pull out their picnic, hoping to get in a few bites before the ball is found. The dog-kicked and flung snow comes dangerously close to my table. Laughing, I take that as my signal to head back down the hill.
Crisp, pine-scented, wintry air tousles my hair, peeping out from under the beanie. Filling my lungs with the cold air is so invigorating! I’m alive and well on this wonderful day.
At the edge of the village, I change course and walk the lesser traveled side lanes. The snow drifts are deeper here but still navigable. The sun begins an early descent in the mountains, and the shadows grow longer. The fading, muted light is a bit eerie as clouds move in and hover lower in the winter sky. An unmistakable feeling of snow.
The quaint and tumbled houses are pretty with their covers of snow and puffing chimneys. Safe and homey. A group of children jostle out one of the doors and into the nearby field, pummeling each other with snowballs. Shouts and whoops of laughter break up the quiet.
Heading to the left, I follow the lane running along the banks of a stream. It passes from the hills through the village and out and beyond. Normally noisy and full of life, the quietening of winter renders it silent and still, as if in a deep and restful sleep. As I cross the sturdy stonework bridge spanning the iced-over stream, it broadens out into a wide, gentle lake frozen into the perfect ice-skating rink. Ordering a large hot cocoa from the festive concessions stand, I grab a seat on one of the nearby benches.
Dinnertime!
The Aberdeen Café and Mama’s Diner fill up with hungry shoppers and families who need a quick refuel and rest before ice skating begins. I’m happy I have half a sandwich left over from lunch. Trekking up and down the hill made me hungry. As the heat from the hot cocoa leaches into my chilly hands, I gaze around the square at the beautifully lit fir tree with its merry winking lights and lovely lit-up angel at the top. I imagine a dark starry night long ago when angels’ songs announced the arrival of Hope.
With dinner finished, the brave and adventurous head out onto the ice. They are all in top form! Some glide by with calm, happy smiles, while others slip along with mouths formed into a nervous O as they precariously zip and zing across the ice. There will be more than a few sore bums and knees before the night is over.
The village is festive and welcoming with its lovely lights and lit greenery. I hesitate to head home yet, but it’s been a long day. The coziness of my aunt and uncle’s cottage, with the crackling fire they will have blazing, beckons me to go on home.
Finishing the hot cocoa, I take another look at the cheerful shops and happy skaters. What a lovely day!
I scoop up my package from the curio shop and make my way along the darkening lane to the cottage. As I walk and breathe in the frigid night air, gentle snow begins to fall on the winter village. The large fluffy flakes are soft and gentle. So peaceful. I marvel at the way they flutter and float on the wintry night air, each going their own way. There is a deliberateness to the random way they descend and find their landing place. Each one with a specific spot that adds to the piling snow drifts—each one needed. I imagine the Creator’s joy and excitement as each one is uniquely crafted and thought out. Humanity isn’t so different from these beautiful snowflakes.
Turning onto Lakeview Lane, I pause to take in the cottage before heading inside. So lovely, the way it sparkles and winks, white lights outlining its edges and curves, smoke gently chuffing from the stone chimney. Inviting. Lovely memories of my day in the village are safely tucked away as snowy peace descends on the winter village.
Good morning, friends! I’m hanging out at local coffee shop organizing/ plotting/ planning/people watching ! Book number 2, title in progress, is in beginning stages…maybe I’ll get some inspiration from the fascinating humans coming in & out. Have a good one! A good thought & a prayer for this next book would be appreciated- you all are fabulous!
I will keep you all posted on the progress – have a fabulous day!
I wanted to share the link to the new author page I set up on Facebook. You can find me at https://www.facebook.com/MelissaGiomiauthor. If you are on Facebook you can search @MelissaGiomiauthor.
My book, Divine Encounters… is in the interior design and layout phase right now. It is so exciting for me to see it all coming together. Thank you for joining me on this journey. Looking forward to where this will lead and the next steps God has planned out for me and for this book that He inspired me to write.
! Book number 2, title in progress, is in beginning stages…maybe I’ll get some inspiration from the fascinating humans coming in & out. Have a good one! A good thought & a prayer for this next book would be appreciated- you all are fabulous! 
Extravagant Hope 