From this view you can see my son and his friend attempting to fly the plane out for the first time this year.

The first ride

It’s late and I’ve put in some hard time getting done all that my courses required.  As I washed dishes after supper the little voice in my brain told me to “just accept the lower mark and relax.  In the whole scheme of things it isn’t going to matter.”  But a verse kept rumblin’ through my head (paraphrased) “run the race set before me.”  Would I stop at a meter before the finish line?  How dumb is that?  So I’m running.  Just like Forest Gump.

My brain has been in overload since I applied for that She Speaks scholarship.  I didn’t get it but a VERY worthy woman did and I am so happy for her.  It could be spring, could be revival in my heart, could be the lovely little gifts that come in Ann Voskamp email’s.  But my words are cooking.  I believe that all artists, especially philosophical writers need ideas to simmer in the subconcious.  For example, I used to stare out at our yard for hours in the spring.  Just sit and stare.  Day after day. And then all of a sudden the new garden plot would be envisioned and I would call for my Bobcat!

God has turned up the heat in my heart and I am so so thankful.  For the past year my heart felt like a dried up flower arrangement of the 80’s, collecting dust.  I take responsibility for that.  There was a season of discontentment and fear.  The move to the okanagan was hard.  So, like any fallen child I have to brush off the dust, tend to the wounds, and hug my parent and tell them we love them.

Thank you Lord for your love.

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