As I am praying my way into this week, certainty as a hiding place is becoming rarer. My present moments are taken up with tasks at hand where “little dyings” are the norm where relinquishing the future into God’s hands plunges me into those dark corners of my being – I anticipate that the final dark corner, my final breath just might be akin to Mary Oliver’s heaven “yellow finches bathing and singing in the lowly puddle”. For now I “feel into my body, my life— surrendering into embracing each moment as it is. Each moment- grace of another little death.
