Rooted Hearts

  Yesterday, as is my practice each time I drive home from UIC, I stopped at the Maywood McDonalds to get a Diet Coke for the road. As I pulled into the parking lot, I spotted an elderly man. He was diminutive in stature and holding a sign that read; Please Help. Homeless. God Bless. I knew right then and there I would add to my order and buy him a bag of food. As I pulled around, I signaled for him to come over, so that I could hand it to him. It was hot and fresh, and smelled delicious. I was certainly excited to place it in his hands. As he approached me, I felt a nagging that I had to do more. But what? I didn't want to hand him cash, I really had nothing else. And then a voice inside of me grew louder, Give him your blanket. My blanket? How odd. Next to me in my tote was the blanket my dear high school friends had given me when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was adorned with pink ribbons, and probably one of the softest blankets I have ever had. I carried it ...

  Alone in the place which I dwell. My eyes give light to all around me, I dwell alone.  The trees of golden hue Grass that carpets miles and miles of beauty, boats floating aimlessly in the sea, Until the horizon swallows them from sight. Boughs of clouds dancing to their fancy, words come softly and crafted.  Angels sing a glory song and I recuse.  I'm not ready I beg, there's so very much to do, Joy to appreciate, love to impart. Beauty to embrace, footsteps to follow. Warm wind swirled about me, caressing my heart. My soul came alive,  leading me to a new day. I will carry that glory song, always listening, always thankful.

  I have been going in and out of Chicago recently 2-3 times a week. Driving the Eisenhower Expressway or the toll road makes for a white-knuckle experience. I prefer to take Roosevelt Road all the way in. Filled with stop lights, and at times congested traffic, it feels like a level playing ground for me. I have come under scrutiny for taking this route as it travels through a myriad of neighborhoods, especially once you get into the city proper. To the casual observer, one may be put aback by the scenery. For me, it is God's daily nudge to put me in the presence of gratitude. It is, my Humility Road.  Where you might see unemployment or lack of ambition, I see opportunity lost. Lost to poverty, lost to circumstance, lost to an abyss of despair. A vicious cycle of generational teaching. They live as their parents before them. Can you imagine looking out your window and all you see is a littered street with grown men loitering and spending their days in idol solitude...

  Dancing With Mortality I have danced, Danced bravely. Danced Strong. Danced till the moon fell into the horizon. Danced so they believed.  But my legs grew weak. My inside hollowed and screamed.  I could not slip into the heavens. I stood wavering, praying, shouting, and at times, whispering in Gods ear.  no eloquent prose, just tear soaked words.  He answered me, and so, I dance again,  A thankful dance of life. Teri Carlson

  One Song One Song Solitary Song Restless in the wind that created it. One Note Solitary Note Burst forth - a tsunami of melody. One man solitary man Holds the hands of many. One heart solitary heart beats to hold a nation. Mankind solitary mankind waits for the song.  Teri

  If you are lucky enough to have friends that have spanned nearly a lifetime, then you know exactly how I feel. Every year, I load up my car and travel north to Wisconsin where four of us from high school gather at Melinda's lake house. I have food, way too many clothes, and a heart so filled with excitement it nearly bursts. We come from all over. Suzy lives in Georgia, Jenny lives in Peru Illinois, Melinda has her main residence in Oswego Illinois, and I am in North Aurora Illinois. For 3-4 days we meander through trails, spend hours on their boat on the lake, and stay up late talking about our deepest thoughts and memories. And, if we are lucky, we have Brandy Alexanders! Because our birthdays are all within weeks of each other we celebrate them all while we are there.  When the last bed is stripped, and parcel of food put away, with the sun gazing over the lake, its time to say goodbye. Not just goodbye to treasured friends, but goodbye to the lake who hosted us...

  I was settled in driving the back roads to Sycamore this morning. My Apple playlist shuffling from one song to the next when all at once I heard Josh Groban. His voice is made from that of the angels. I began thinking back to the first time I heard him. I was awe struck. He was all of 17 years old, singing for the lighting of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. He was wearing a turtleneck and a double-breasted pea coat. His curls flirting with wind as it's cool echo swam around him. The first note beamed through the night, and I had tears in my eyes. He went on to sing Oh Holy Night in perfect pitch, I was instantly a fan. Today, nearly 20 years later, I couldn't help but think about all the gifts each of us has been given. And just like Josh, it is imperative we share them. In contrast to the number of people in the world, a relatively small amount has been given such an incredible voice, but we all have so much to offer each other. God designed us to s...