Inspirations and Illuminations

My Bible reading this morning is from 1st Kings, and includes chapter 19, verses 11-12.  In the NIV (New International Version), it says: "'The Lord said [to Elijah], "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by."' "Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind.  After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.  After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.  And after the fire came a gentle whisper." There is so much to unpack in this passage.  Some versions translate the first part to the effect of "I [the Lord] want you to see Me"; or "I want you to be there when I pass by."  I love the idea that God wanted Elijah to be close to Him.  So often we think of God being out there somewhere, in the heavens (which, of course, is in outer space).  Our id...

"Do you ever feel like a plastic bag Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again? Do you ever feel, feel so paper-thin Like a house of cards, one blow from caving in? Do you ever feel already buried deep? Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing?" Yes, Katy Perry, I do.  Maybe it's because we seem to have skipped over most of fall and gone right to winter this year (I measure this by the amount of time between air-conditioning and heating the house).  Maybe it's the time change, which affects me more negatively every year, mentally and physically.  Maybe it's because after almost 20 years in the same job, and only a little over a year in my current one, I haven't quite rediscovered my place in the world.  Maybe it's seeing my daughters grow up, the younger who just turned fourteen a couple days ago and the older who will be nineteen this weekend and is in her first year of college.   Maybe it's none of these things, and I'm ju...

I was looking through a journal entry from last year, and it made me laugh.  I was working through some journal prompts, hoping for inspiration, and thinking that if I could at least write something, it would be better than nothing.  That day's prompt was to write a rhyming poem about a poem, and here's what I came up with: A poem is something you write About trees or your love or the night And after it’s finished, Imagination diminished, You sit back and hope it don’t bite. © Pamela Roy Howell, 2024 I've never been much of a fan of writing poetry.  Honestly, I'm not all that crazy about reading most of it.  There are a few that I enjoy, mostly written by Shel Silverstein or Ogden Nash.  A couple might be favorites simply because I can say that I have them memorized:  "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost and "Richard Cory" by Edward Arlington Robinson.  In general, though, if there's not a melody, poetry is not my favorite genre...

Today is my last day of being 54.  At 2:28 tomorrow morning, my odometer flips to 55.  I'm not sure how I feel about this.  40 was traumatic.  I cried a lot.  At 45 I still had a little one to navigate through growing up and finding herself in the world, so my focus was anywhere but the number I had to put on forms.  50 happened during the whole COVID mess.  Disappointing that this milestone had to go by without the celebration I'd been looking forward to.  And now 55.  I'll say all the things everyone says, because, why not:  I don't feel a day over 30 (except for that pinched nerve in my back that just happened while I was brushing my teeth this morning).  If 50 is the new 40 then 55 is the new 45, right?  Maybe in terms of life expectancy, but 50 is still 50.  I'm growing old gracefully, embracing the wrinkles (laugh lines) and gray hair (silvery sparkles), but I did go pink for awhile earlier this year.  My memory...

I'm feeling out-of-sorts this morning.  This last couple of weeks have been exhausting (I'll get to that in a minute), and I think it all hit me today.  I set my alarm for 5 a.m. every day, but I'm usually awake by 4:30 at the latest, so I have time to do the New York Times Wordle, Connections, and Mini before I get up.  A little brain wake-up before the shower and coffee do the rest.  This morning, the alarm woke me at 5, and I realized I'd slept "wrong"--my head felt like it was going to explode.  So I snoozed, as per usual, but my alarm clock has a mind of its own:  the alarm went off again after three minutes instead of nine.  I stayed in bed for another couple of minutes, wondering if the headache would cease once I got up and moving.  So I did, and it did.   The shower and the coffee are being put on administrative leave, because they are just not doing their jobs today.  I feel fuzzy.  Does that make sense?  Does an...

It's been a while since I last felt I had something to say.  I'm not really sure what I want to say, but I feel compelled to write, so here I am.  Dear Lord, guide my thoughts from my head to my fingertips.  If I can't be eloquent, at least let me be coherent.  Help me to say what someone else needs to hear, in the name of your precious Son, Jesus. The other day, I started listening to Margaret Becker again.  I never go very long without listening to her music, because I find that she says what is so often in my own heart.     "Who am I, Jesus, that You call me by name?"     "May I never grow so strong my heart cannot be moved . . ."     "Calling for deeper love, calling for higher truth, calling for anything that leads me deeper and farther on with You."     "You remain unchanged, unchanged." So many of her songs speak of longing.  Wanting something more . . . meaningful, more satisfying, more fulfilling.  Yearn...