Consider the lilies.

They do not labor or spin.

And yet,

how they are clothed in the greatest splendor.

Do not worry.

Do not fear.

Because not even the smallest sparrow is forgotten.

Are you not worth more than feathers?

Adrift somewhere

A DOOR just opened on a street—
I, lost, was passing by—
An instant’s width of warmth disclosed,
And wealth, and company.
The door as sudden shut, and I,	5
I, lost, was passing by,—
Lost doubly, but by contrast most,
Enlightening misery.

There may be an Emily Dickinson poem for every emotion and circumstance I experience...

...where am I?

I don't know what His voice is saying.

I thought I knew,

and I worked so hard to follow.

But the door is no longer as obviously open,

and I am 'doubly lost.'

I am waiting on You!

There is a question mark in my mind as I do so,

but I am waiting on You.

Could You please give me joy in this?

Descend upon me and make my soul be still?

Certainty

I have remembered what else is written in ink:

By grace alone.

Never will I forsake you.

The Saturday outside my window

Miss Emily.

Like Rain it sounded till it curved

And then I knew 'twas Wind --

It walked as wet as any Wave

But swept as dry as sand --

When it had pushed itself away

To some remotest Plain

A coming as of Hosts was heard

It filled the Wells, it pleased the Pools

It warbled in the Road --

It pulled the spigot from the Hills

And let the Floods abroad --

It loosened acres, lifted seas

The sites of Centres stirred

Then like Elijah rode away

Upon a Wheel of Cloud.

There is wind and rain today, and I love the rain so much. I am trying to be more careful using the word 'love' - expressing affection, affinity, preference, pleasure and joy is so easily done with the word love. But love is a sacred thing; no one understands it fully. It isn't a silvery thread woven through our universe, but rather the very essence of the good and beautiful and lasting things that compose our existence. God is love.

So I suppose I should say that I have that have a very great fondness for the rain.

I always write when it rains, and I could try and describe what is so beautiful about it each time the clouds cover the sky.
There is something I like about the soft lights that have to be turned on in the middle of the day. I like how everyone curls up - at a table in the kitchen, on a sofa, in someone's arms - and set about what they are doing in a little less urgent way. The rain makes you slow down, stay inside, and dwell for a little while in calm quiet. My heart is the most full, the most content in that kind of unhurried peace. The light is lower and gentler, the sounds are hushed and everyone seems to recognize that the world is not so important as we think it is. We are in a state of rest, even as we go about everyday work, or sleep, or play.