Rooted Hearts

  God speaks to you when you least expect it. Today it was while I was doing the laundry. Prayer of Peace Like a petulant child, A tantrum for your truth. The river that yearns for the sea, Your light contains me. The anticipation of a child reading their first word May your words encompass my very heart. A bird who flies about the moon sculpting a nest Let the Spirit find rest within my soul. Then I shall stand bold and strong in a place known only to you and I, It will be sacred, steeped in Grace, held in splendor by my Creator. Teri Carlson

 I always become a bit melancholy in the days directly after Christmas. Some might say that isn't unusual most feel an anticlimactic let down. But mine goes much deeper. Of course, I am sad that after months of preparation the day seems to come and go, like a quick summer storm that disappears back into the clouds from which it came. My heart almost aches as I walk through the stores with sale signs cascading the picked over shelves. It's as if December 25th is a distant memory the day after it dawns. Even now driving down the street (December 28th), I have seen any number of Christmas trees cast off to the curb. Why do people insist on erasing any trace of this beautiful day? Theologically the Maji are still tracking their journey to meet the newborn king.  Yes, I can still hear the squeal of my youngest granddaughter when she opened the Barbie she wanted. The sparkle in her eyes will light my dreams for months. Or my youngest grandson's smile when he saw the collection of...

  Like a curve ball that doesn’t make it across home plate, or a Spring without rain, we are sometimes left to wonder whether God has heard our prayers. Often people imagine a Santa like figure in heaven keeping track of who has been naughty or nice. But reality is our God is ever knowing, he doesn’t need to keep track! More like a patient parent waiting for you to come willingly to him with your pain, God is doing the same. I remember when I was very young and would pray. I would pray for ridiculous things and expect them to appear as if it were magic. Afterall, if blind men could see and the lame could walk, what was a little Barbie doll appearing in my room? And that   was how my immature mind thought of God, like a magician. One night I knelt next to my bed and began to pray out loud as my parents made their way upstairs. I don’t remember my exact words but ended it by saying I was in awe of God and his magical ways. My mother turned white as my dad’s teeth dropped. Th...

Yesterday I thought a lot. I thought about my life, where I am, where I have been, even what may be ahead of me.  When I talk to my friends who married later and had an entire lifetime it seems before they even said I DO, it makes me wonder how things may have been for me had I not gotten married at 20. I imagine a glamorous life, living in the city, working at a huge teaching hospital and catapulting my career there. Spending weekends out on the lake, having my own apartment, and carrying out the life few dare to dream. Whether that would have been the reality of it, I rather doubt. But, as so many say, the grass is always greener.  The fact of the matter is that I am the sum of my journey, however mundane or exciting it may seem. I completely own all of the joys and all of the losses. And by most people's estimation, it has turned out to be a blessed life. I firmly believe that God has predestined my journey, and it is my ministry in life to wri...

  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...