in small nudges.


This weekend I got to hold a fresh and rosy baby born 364 days after sucker punch loss. Exactly 364 days.

We rumbled over to wrap our arms around that warm, new life, all five of us piled together. Our five year old belted out off-key songs as he is wont to do. I grabbed every single fall foliaged tree as it ruffled by and stuffed it into my heart. I turned to Tom and promised that if I ever get to have a yard where I get to pick the trees? I’m only picking ones that are bright red, orange, yellow in Autumn.  Only those and nothing else.  I want them planted in rows or scattered. I don’t care as long as I can look out of my window and see my yard stuffed tight with the sparkle of Fall jewelry, as long as I can stand at the trunk and look up, up, up into unending layers of bright, saturated color.


This morning I woke with the same things nibbling at my heart. Fear, insecurity, worry, perfectionism: all companions that crouch around the corners of my hopeful heart and feast away on my joy.

Grover and I took a walk in the sunshine. It’s Fall here, finally, and there was a nip in the air and a clear, blue November sky. The clouds were twirling wisps. As I have been doing on every walk, jog, car line run, I circled by the run down yellow house. Except that now it is all built up and it’s creamy white with crisp, black shutters and an aqua door. The window sashes are black and it’s all walled in and roofed up. Almost finished. I wonder at people who can dream up something like that.


We kept trotting along to another favorite house, a yellow one, too. I love it for its ivy-covered archway and forever-shining twinkle lights. The twinkle lights were blinking and the cold was nipping and the trees were putting on a show and I thought about our again God.

A fresh and warm baby.

Beautiful dappled leaves.

Creamy siding.

People who love twinkle lights.

There are some corners of my life that will never meet an again. But, how can I doubt? How can I doubt His again and again and again? Maybe it will come in bigger ways than I can dream. Maybe it will come in small nudges on Tuesday morning walks. But I have to believe in His again.


One thought on “in small nudges.

  1. Ellen, what you do with words. it’s art. it’s beauty. it’s soul-filling truth. His again and again and again is daily grace and ways that are higher than ours. I love how walks and fresh air gives us perspective like this. love you, friend.

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