You never know who’s watching

Read my letter to the old folks, and give my love to them,
and tell my brothers to be always watching unto prayer, and when the good old ship of Zion comes along, to be ready to step aboard

Harriet Tubman

Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching.
C. S. Lewis

(two ghost crabs eyeing one another / Julie Cook / 2015)

Are we ever truly alone, left to our own devices, quirks, likes, dislikes. . .
Are we scrutinized, analyzed, picked apart and studied by hidden eyes?

Do we hide away feeling safe in the stillness of what it means to be alone. . .
With the quiet seeping into our veins, offering a soothing comfort–
Where freedom is allowed to soar?

Are we lost in the silence of one?
Either pulling a welcoming blanket close, warding off the chill of frosty glances–
Or do we grow uncomfortable with perspiring nerves from heated examinations?


We are watched over before we are even born.
Monitored, measured and observed. . .
Wondered about, marveled over and hoped for. . .

Yet we grow constantly eagerly independent,
fighting any and all watchful care.
Hidden secrets kept from those who see.
Struggling to hide away from prying eyes.

Yet there will always be two who see. . .
Two watchful ones who know. . .
Ourselves and our Creator—

The question remains, are we comfortable with either set of watchful eyes?

He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

Psalm 121:3-8


I had crossed the line. I was free; but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a stranger in a strange land.
Harriet Tubman

(evening Georgia sky in early October / Julie Cook / 2014)

So weary and finally pulling into the driveway, I step from my car, after a long day, a long week, and what now feels like a long life.
A once lively body has grown tired and is deceptively deceiving.
Things no longer work as they once did.
The once vivacious youthful energy is now egregiously diminished.

The yoke and burden of life seem to lay heavy upon once strong uplifted shoulders.
I live in a place of the middle.
Caught in a place of caring for aging parents as well as for young adult children who still clamor for need and support–a precarious balancing act of the meeting of needs entangles both mind and body. The juggling act of lives on equal ends of the spectrum as I am left to perch on a limb somewhere in between.

Before heading inside I turn back, for whatever reason, glancing momentarily behind when I am struck by the beauty and enormity of an endless sky full of the swarth of colliding colors.
A paintbrush which been bushed across a blank canvas.
The magic of twilight is met by the emergence of a forthcoming cold front.

There in the sky, for any and all who are lucky enough or keen enough to glance skyward, is a gift for not only the eyes but for the heart and soul as well.

The stations of color–blue, orange, and grey stop me in my tracks.
The Glory of a Creator who subtly and yet boldly reminds me that He is very much present and active.
He is a constant despite my lack of consistency.
My woes and worries, the tears of the morning start, now long since faded, melt into the collision of the gasping vibrance of the day.

The jaded will simply note the science of the moment—dust particles coupled by the fading refracted light of a setting sun over the curvature of a rounded surface, prompted by the changing of a season.
But I know better.
I stand in awe of a masterful orchestration of something far greater than myself.
For When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?




I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”

Lamentations 3:19-24