May you know what it is to rise each morning with work to be done.
May you know the stillness of an afternoon with a space laid bare for thoughts to gather and be stirred into vision.
May you look for the dim light in the distance when you’re caught in a fog–may you chase it with stubbornness and wild hope.
May you sniff the air and know that snow is coming, hike alone to meet with God, and put all your senses into noticing a crackling fire before you.
May you know silence–may you enter into it gladly, eager for its lessons.
May you travel and fill your minds with strange and delightful newness, may you see things that bother you, ask questions, listen well and long.
May you be overcome with curiosity from an early age and feel freedom to find out where the rabbit-hole leads. And, may you know that in this life you have a True North, watching and cheering, waiting to hear all about it.
Live, babies. Live your questions and answers. I can only see God smiling over you.
Inspired by Terry Tempest Williams’ When Women Were Birds: Fifty-Four Variations on Voice.
a feast of crumbs 