a windy porch

i love the sound of the chimes on my front porch...  

curtains billow and little slivers of shells {i assume} tinkle against each other in the wind.

the wind blows

they make music

the wind blows

i sit in a pink rocking chair and let it blow the clouds from my mind

i read Ann's words and wonder again. 
why he wants me? 
why he welcomes me in..beckons even.  ever patient

i have been running to him more, lately...on every little thing

each small breeze setting me to tears

wandering, as if lost, but wandering hand in his

i feel like i don't know what i am doing
i don't know what i should be doing

i forget
i never knew?

but i run to him and just tell him
reminding him and myself, not to worry about anything put pray about everything

to cast my cares on him because he cares for me {{and mine}}

to trust in the seemingly silent God

{{and how can a God be silent who has written 66 books full of love letters to me?}}

to not try to understand, to trust, and talk and run
hand in hand
in the wind
as the chimes tinkle their song