Rivers, not reservoirs

Don’t think about saving your love as if you’re going to need it later. We’re meant to be rivers, not reservoirs.

~ Bob Goff, Everybody Always (paraphrase)

Welcome, child of God

I love walking through these doors at the Morrisville United Methodist Church. I’m pretty sure these words are intended for the children of the Montessori school there, but they make me feel special, too.

My bridge, our town

If you love a place as I love this place, how could you not love all the places in this world that other people call home? And if we did, how could there not be peace on Earth?

I was thinking of the hymn “This Is My Song, O God of All the Nations” when I took this picture this morning:

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine:
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.


Good to go

Getting ready to move house – literally. Change is so hard. It usually feels safer just to stay in one place. And then they tell you that if they’re careful, they can move this 234-year-old stone house across a narrow bridge and down the road a quarter mile, and you think, well, maybe it would be ok to let my world change just a little …

(The former Odette’s, a local landmark in New Hope PA)

Lifted high

Last one from Monday in Philly: St. Clement’s

“They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day … He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify … ” ~ Acts 39-40, 42

Reach high

Still processing some photos from my Monday am in Philly. I love the Philadelphia mural arts program. Even in the shadows, this one glows.

“Reach High and You Will Go Far,” Josh Sarantitis, 20th & Arch

Where we came from

‘T’is the day when we remember:

Wearing “Erin go brah” pins to school. The boy soprano who sang “A little bit of heaven fell from out the sky one day” and made the nuns cry. Corned beef and cabbage for dinner. (Potatoes, too, but of course they were on the table every night.) Telling the story of great-grandfather who sailed away from Ireland and left his mother tearful on the dock.

It’s the day when all of us who have a drop of Irish blood in us remember where we came from. I think of the Burns family, and the Phelans and the Careys, who fled starvation in a place they loved, but which had nothing for them, and made something of themselves here in this nation of immigrants.

They left behind family members they would never see again, and brought family members over after they were settled, each new arrival standing on the backs of those who got here first. My great-grandfather Patrick Henry Burns was the head of a household that included a brother from Ireland and a brother-in-law from Germany in addition to his own wife and kids.

The micks joined the Germans and the Virginia planters on other branches on the family tree, chain migrants all, and I’m proud to say they helped make this nation great.

Shame on us if we forget.