It is so easy to ignore the moments of wonder. And equally easy to stop, just stop, what you are doing and revel in them.
It was dusk - that in between time. The drive from work is short and as familiar as an old shoe.
As I rounded the curve toward town a long stretch of shoulder was polka dotted with snowy white petals. It was both a blanket covering the dull gray concrete of the old country road and an intricate pattern of individual petals each one holding it's place in the design of blossoms that had fallen in the recent rain. I glanced to the right as I drove on.
Church had just ended. I was backing out of the parsonage driveway when the flash of red streaked across my line of vision. A quick glance across the lawn to see a robin sitting fat and happy in the freshly mowed green grass. No, not bright enough. And then, the cardinal swooped down to graze beside Miss Redbreast. I put the old Volvo wagon in park and cut the engine.
The brilliance of the ruby red bird flitting about made my heart quicken. He darted in and out of site, dashing up and diving down. My heart beat faster still but the robin seemed unimpressed with the dance. I waited until the display ended and the bird had flown off into the woods leaving the serene robin behind before turning the key on again.
I wondered as I drove away, my heart filled with gratitude for the beauty of that moment, - do robins give thanks for such wonderment?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
THE QUEST HOUSE
The Quest House came to be from a dream and a typo. The Lord uses what He must to send the message:) My most treasured gift is the gift of hospitality and I have long been a retreat-ant at various retreat facilities. I can see my self greeting the walking wounded treating them to a sanctuary filled with homemade bread, flowers and a place to heal. And Laugh. Does healing happen without laughter? Perhaps, but it must be very slow. I shared this dream with my writing coach, mary anne radmacher, and in the missive typed " my dream is to own a "Quest house". And so it has come to be. The Quest House currently houses it's root stock in a small office in Red Hook NY that is filled with whimsy and vision, a slow computer and orange curtains. And laughter. Someday there will be a guest house, a garden, a great room. But for now, follow along, share your dreams with me as we write, inspiring ourselves and others and follow our dreams.
In June I will be offering an opportunity to participate in a writing process called RADMACHER FOCUS PHRASE™.
The first session called Wear the WORD, will provide a new way to start your day with Scripture. Using a passage I provide, you will view each day through the lens of THE WORD. At days end you will write three paragraphs about what moments of grace or joy, what trials or tribulations were presented to you and how the "phrase", the Scripture passage, helped you experience them.
I will be posting more in the days ahead and will invite you to share your writing with me.
This process has changed my life allowing me to greet each day with intention. Setting the course instead of riding the wave of work and play without noticing the highs and lows, the ordinary moments of wonder.
Go to maryanneradmacher.net to see the work of my writing coach and partner in this course.
log on often to see the details of registration to start your summer with me and to begin a daily writing practice that will bring a new vision to your life.
Please think about signing up for this writing opportunity. Whether your goal is to establish or revitalize a daily writing practice, to establish or revitalize a daily Scripture reading practice or to establish or revitalize a way of sharing your long neglected gifts of the spirit, I hope you will join me in June for Wear the WORD.
joyfully, beverly kipp
In June I will be offering an opportunity to participate in a writing process called RADMACHER FOCUS PHRASE™.
The first session called Wear the WORD, will provide a new way to start your day with Scripture. Using a passage I provide, you will view each day through the lens of THE WORD. At days end you will write three paragraphs about what moments of grace or joy, what trials or tribulations were presented to you and how the "phrase", the Scripture passage, helped you experience them.
I will be posting more in the days ahead and will invite you to share your writing with me.
This process has changed my life allowing me to greet each day with intention. Setting the course instead of riding the wave of work and play without noticing the highs and lows, the ordinary moments of wonder.
Go to maryanneradmacher.net to see the work of my writing coach and partner in this course.
log on often to see the details of registration to start your summer with me and to begin a daily writing practice that will bring a new vision to your life.
Please think about signing up for this writing opportunity. Whether your goal is to establish or revitalize a daily writing practice, to establish or revitalize a daily Scripture reading practice or to establish or revitalize a way of sharing your long neglected gifts of the spirit, I hope you will join me in June for Wear the WORD.
joyfully, beverly kipp
Friday, April 30, 2010
I see the moon and the moon sees me.
I gasped out loud when I caught site of it. How can that be? I wondered. I am almost 60 years old. How can it be that catching sight of the moon can make me gasp out loud? and yet - I did.. The huge yellow globe was so close to the horizon it looked like it was resting on the earth waiting for it's time to rise. We played hide and seek for fifteen miles. Each time I passed a clearing my heart raced. You would think that I had never seen it before though in fact I have looked out at the night sky more than 21,000 times in my life. 21000 times and I am still in awe. That is how amazing God's creation is. 21000 times and I never tire of it. 21000 times and no two night moons seem the same.
Awe. Wonder. Joy.
I see the moon. Does the moon see me?
Awe. Wonder. Joy.
I see the moon. Does the moon see me?
Monday, April 26, 2010
I am so glad for His company.
He is "mine" for such a short period of time. 24 hours. A Sunday.
I pick him up at his house. He is showered except for the top of his head - a place that rarely
meets the spray of shower water much less shampoo, yet he is sparklingly clean to me.
He smiles a bagel and cream cheese smile and we head down the steps together.
We are going north to my mother's to do spring yard work on this cool and drizzly day.
I am glad for his company.
Billy greets us. My oldest son, forty years old and "Uncle Bill" to this
boy at my side.
Uncle Bill cooks breakfast; bacon, one of Axel's few favorite foods, and we
chat with my mother and my Aunt Nancy, both in their 80's, hard of
hearing and easily riled with the mis-perceived comments, but fun too.
Natalie Bird, 2, and Elizabeth her mother, my daughter, arrive just as
the eggs are put on the table. My cousin and his daughter are there
also- it is a full house.
A full morning of yard work behind us, we head back south, stopping
along the way to try to find a few needed items without much success.
Except for Oreo's and coffee, we find those and so we are all happy on
the ride home.
Once settled in the door, Axel plays with Legos and I iron. A few hours later we
head out again, this time for a movie and a few groceries.
Approaching the video store we look to our left and there is a cloud of
fog hovering just above the bright green spring grass. it is like a
cookie sheet of thin white smoke resting on nothing; not touching the
sky or the earth.
We glance up and Axel says - "Gramma Bevy, look at the children's
moon." A 3/4 full muted yellow disc shining down on the clouds, floats just inches
above the horizon.
When we come out of the store, movie in hand, the parking lot is
shrouded in fog. Dusk has settled, the moon is hidden in cloud
casting a silvery grey light all around us. We are alone in our own
little bubble of it. I am so very glad for his company.
The words of God are sure and that which is holy and true becomes wind
at my back. The Lord governs all things. From all time without
measure, He reigns. He reigns over all - even the waters that rise,
the waves that storm. The Lord rules over the song of many waters and
is more powerful than the mighty waves of the sea. Psalm 93 1-3 paraPhrase by mary anne radmacher
And us. He reigns over us. In sunshine and in shadow. He reigns.
He reigns in the fog, and in the smile of this young man, He reigns.
I am so glad we have His company.
I pick him up at his house. He is showered except for the top of his head - a place that rarely
meets the spray of shower water much less shampoo, yet he is sparklingly clean to me.
He smiles a bagel and cream cheese smile and we head down the steps together.
We are going north to my mother's to do spring yard work on this cool and drizzly day.
I am glad for his company.
Billy greets us. My oldest son, forty years old and "Uncle Bill" to this
boy at my side.
Uncle Bill cooks breakfast; bacon, one of Axel's few favorite foods, and we
chat with my mother and my Aunt Nancy, both in their 80's, hard of
hearing and easily riled with the mis-perceived comments, but fun too.
Natalie Bird, 2, and Elizabeth her mother, my daughter, arrive just as
the eggs are put on the table. My cousin and his daughter are there
also- it is a full house.
A full morning of yard work behind us, we head back south, stopping
along the way to try to find a few needed items without much success.
Except for Oreo's and coffee, we find those and so we are all happy on
the ride home.
Once settled in the door, Axel plays with Legos and I iron. A few hours later we
head out again, this time for a movie and a few groceries.
Approaching the video store we look to our left and there is a cloud of
fog hovering just above the bright green spring grass. it is like a
cookie sheet of thin white smoke resting on nothing; not touching the
sky or the earth.
We glance up and Axel says - "Gramma Bevy, look at the children's
moon." A 3/4 full muted yellow disc shining down on the clouds, floats just inches
above the horizon.
When we come out of the store, movie in hand, the parking lot is
shrouded in fog. Dusk has settled, the moon is hidden in cloud
casting a silvery grey light all around us. We are alone in our own
little bubble of it. I am so very glad for his company.
The words of God are sure and that which is holy and true becomes wind
at my back. The Lord governs all things. From all time without
measure, He reigns. He reigns over all - even the waters that rise,
the waves that storm. The Lord rules over the song of many waters and
is more powerful than the mighty waves of the sea. Psalm 93 1-3 paraPhrase by mary anne radmacher
And us. He reigns over us. In sunshine and in shadow. He reigns.
He reigns in the fog, and in the smile of this young man, He reigns.
I am so glad we have His company.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The many faces of writing.
I had the privilege of being the guest speaker at a Reformed Church Womens conference on Saturday. It was wonderful.
These are my reflections of gratitude at day's end.
I was so excited. The conference had gone very well. " they liked me, they really liked me" came to mind and I was riding that wave. I had stayed up all night to prepare, and as usual, once I got out of my own way, The Lord sent the words. The topic was "Getting to the Therefore", about all the therefores in the Bible. About reading all the way to the therefores. As I prepared it occurred to me, this time it wasn't a sermon, I was a guest speaker, and so I would tell the story of my own faith journey. And I did.
I started with my late husband's eulogy, moved quickly into my first article published in the Church Herald neither of which led me to claim writer as a part of who I am. Then I shared the story of my " bulletin board nervous breakdown." a collage of pieces stuck up with push pins that let me know that I needed help healing and determining who I would be as a widow - black and heavy, or bright and joy filled. Next I shared my mountain top experience when mary anne, my writing coach, very gently yet so boldly made me see that there was no battle in my life. God had sent me a gift and I could use it or not. And so the declaration I had made in my bio had become a prayer of gratitude.
"I am a writer.. " I whispered into the microphone, "I am a writer". God sent the gift not to glorify me, but, so that I might glorify HIM. THEREFORE, I must write. Ah, a personal therefore.
The applause when I finished was quick and genuine.
There is more written, more to say, but for now, I will leave it there.
Today I declared my God given gift as a writer in a different way.
Today I went to Poughkeepsie, NY to the County Seat and filed a DBA.
Today my dream to have a retreat house has taken a giant step forward.
The DBA proclaims that I have registered the name
The Quest House a place for Inspiration and Healing
as my own.
Tonight I had Ice Cream for dinner. It seemed a great way to celebrate.
Thank you to all of you who have shed light on the path along the way.
With a joy filled heart,
beverly a kipp
These are my reflections of gratitude at day's end.
I was so excited. The conference had gone very well. " they liked me, they really liked me" came to mind and I was riding that wave. I had stayed up all night to prepare, and as usual, once I got out of my own way, The Lord sent the words. The topic was "Getting to the Therefore", about all the therefores in the Bible. About reading all the way to the therefores. As I prepared it occurred to me, this time it wasn't a sermon, I was a guest speaker, and so I would tell the story of my own faith journey. And I did.
I started with my late husband's eulogy, moved quickly into my first article published in the Church Herald neither of which led me to claim writer as a part of who I am. Then I shared the story of my " bulletin board nervous breakdown." a collage of pieces stuck up with push pins that let me know that I needed help healing and determining who I would be as a widow - black and heavy, or bright and joy filled. Next I shared my mountain top experience when mary anne, my writing coach, very gently yet so boldly made me see that there was no battle in my life. God had sent me a gift and I could use it or not. And so the declaration I had made in my bio had become a prayer of gratitude.
"I am a writer.. " I whispered into the microphone, "I am a writer". God sent the gift not to glorify me, but, so that I might glorify HIM. THEREFORE, I must write. Ah, a personal therefore.
The applause when I finished was quick and genuine.
There is more written, more to say, but for now, I will leave it there.
Today I declared my God given gift as a writer in a different way.
Today I went to Poughkeepsie, NY to the County Seat and filed a DBA.
Today my dream to have a retreat house has taken a giant step forward.
The DBA proclaims that I have registered the name
The Quest House a place for Inspiration and Healing
as my own.
Tonight I had Ice Cream for dinner. It seemed a great way to celebrate.
Thank you to all of you who have shed light on the path along the way.
With a joy filled heart,
beverly a kipp
Thursday, April 8, 2010
after a long absence, inspiration to write happens
Today is a work day at my house. I have my son and son in law and a
friend who is a horticulturalist all coming to work in my yard on
this beautiful spring day in April that feels like a summers day in
June. The sun wakes me and my attention recalls the phrase I read
before sleep.
occupy your attention with these things…that which is accurate and
known first hand… phil. 4:8
accurate as in correct? or accurate as in certain?
Well, there is a God, a divine spirit who brings order from chaos and
insures that the sun will rise each day, feels accurate and personally
known to me, but could, and would, be argued by many. Is it correct?
Can't win that one, but am I certain of it? Yes, I am.
I rise and greet the day, popped Popovers in the oven, cooked bacon,
scrambled eggs and greeted first one and then another of my expected
assistants. Then Nattie B arrived. This precious two year old, fresh
from sleep herself, more exuberant than any of us, took my cheeks in
her pudgy little pink hands, kissed my wrinkled lips with her full
rosebud, wet ones and said " Good morning Grandma Bevy, I'm gonna
play at your house today!!!!!!!!!!" and I was more certain than ever
that, not only is there a God, I knew him first hand, and today his
name is L O V E.
friend who is a horticulturalist all coming to work in my yard on
this beautiful spring day in April that feels like a summers day in
June. The sun wakes me and my attention recalls the phrase I read
before sleep.
occupy your attention with these things…that which is accurate and
known first hand… phil. 4:8
accurate as in correct? or accurate as in certain?
Well, there is a God, a divine spirit who brings order from chaos and
insures that the sun will rise each day, feels accurate and personally
known to me, but could, and would, be argued by many. Is it correct?
Can't win that one, but am I certain of it? Yes, I am.
I rise and greet the day, popped Popovers in the oven, cooked bacon,
scrambled eggs and greeted first one and then another of my expected
assistants. Then Nattie B arrived. This precious two year old, fresh
from sleep herself, more exuberant than any of us, took my cheeks in
her pudgy little pink hands, kissed my wrinkled lips with her full
rosebud, wet ones and said " Good morning Grandma Bevy, I'm gonna
play at your house today!!!!!!!!!!" and I was more certain than ever
that, not only is there a God, I knew him first hand, and today his
name is L O V E.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
beet water
The sink is filled with suds and, as the running water rinses the plate, I wait for the moment when the bubbles turn a delicious color of pink. Not blood red and not girlie girl pink but an amazing flush of red pink that delights the little girl in me still.
As a young child I was always the first to jump up to clear the table of supper dishes on the nights when mom served beets. Back then, they were from a can and the juice tasted a little like tin, not at all like the luscious root vegetable that was simmering on my stove tonight, but the effect of the pink swirling into the white porcelain sink filled with water enthralled me when I was ten and still holds a spell over me. It is mesmerizing to watch. First a tinge appears, next a blush, and finally a deep penetrating splash that would sink into the pours of my fingers and, to my great delight, stain them a telltale hue.
I would swish the cotton rag about in the water until the colors blended and then get the pan off the stove hoping there would be one or two drops of beet juice left to make the pleasure last longer.
I love beets. I love them freshly cooked with a dollop of butter melting and running in rivers over the bleeding grain of the firm fleshy food. I love them pickled , the tangy bite of the onion contrasting with the hearty sweetness of the beet. I love them in the thick sweet and sour sauce that you pour out of a glass jar. I love licking the spoon that scooped them out into the sauce pan. I love that the thick delicious sauce colors the water in a different way than the thin vinegary brine does. I love the taste and texture of beets and I love the color.
Beets are wonderful alone or in salad. They are scrumptious with juicy pork loin and if you serve them with mashed potatoes you get to watch the ruby juices spread out on the plate and run into the white lump. There is a perfect moment to take your fork and swirl it all into a beety mashed potato pink mush. What fun!
Tonight I cooked fresh beets while Nattie B, my two year old grand darling, colored with crayons at the kitchen table that my father built. I layered the beets in a pyrex dish with garlic, carrots, onions, brussel sprouts and sweet potatoes and drizzled olive oil over them. I ground fresh pepper all over the mix. Before popping the offering in the oven to roast I picked a small red cube up in my fingers, turned to nattie and offered her a bite. BEETS! she shouted as she tasted the treat. BEETS!
I didn't clean up until after nattie went home. I can't wait until she is a little bigger and I can pull a chair up to the sink and say - watch nattie - watch ! I just know she will fall in love with beet water, it's in her genes you know. But, she will have to be pretty quick to get to the dishes before I do:)
beet water. one of life's simple pleasures waiting to be shared. life is good.
As a young child I was always the first to jump up to clear the table of supper dishes on the nights when mom served beets. Back then, they were from a can and the juice tasted a little like tin, not at all like the luscious root vegetable that was simmering on my stove tonight, but the effect of the pink swirling into the white porcelain sink filled with water enthralled me when I was ten and still holds a spell over me. It is mesmerizing to watch. First a tinge appears, next a blush, and finally a deep penetrating splash that would sink into the pours of my fingers and, to my great delight, stain them a telltale hue.
I would swish the cotton rag about in the water until the colors blended and then get the pan off the stove hoping there would be one or two drops of beet juice left to make the pleasure last longer.
I love beets. I love them freshly cooked with a dollop of butter melting and running in rivers over the bleeding grain of the firm fleshy food. I love them pickled , the tangy bite of the onion contrasting with the hearty sweetness of the beet. I love them in the thick sweet and sour sauce that you pour out of a glass jar. I love licking the spoon that scooped them out into the sauce pan. I love that the thick delicious sauce colors the water in a different way than the thin vinegary brine does. I love the taste and texture of beets and I love the color.
Beets are wonderful alone or in salad. They are scrumptious with juicy pork loin and if you serve them with mashed potatoes you get to watch the ruby juices spread out on the plate and run into the white lump. There is a perfect moment to take your fork and swirl it all into a beety mashed potato pink mush. What fun!
Tonight I cooked fresh beets while Nattie B, my two year old grand darling, colored with crayons at the kitchen table that my father built. I layered the beets in a pyrex dish with garlic, carrots, onions, brussel sprouts and sweet potatoes and drizzled olive oil over them. I ground fresh pepper all over the mix. Before popping the offering in the oven to roast I picked a small red cube up in my fingers, turned to nattie and offered her a bite. BEETS! she shouted as she tasted the treat. BEETS!
I didn't clean up until after nattie went home. I can't wait until she is a little bigger and I can pull a chair up to the sink and say - watch nattie - watch ! I just know she will fall in love with beet water, it's in her genes you know. But, she will have to be pretty quick to get to the dishes before I do:)
beet water. one of life's simple pleasures waiting to be shared. life is good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)