I write a newsletter (finally) and, with the help of Walt Whitman, ponder how wonderful it is.

Whoo-hoo. I finished my first newsletter. It was hard to cram it all into two pages, into the people-will-actually-read-this length. Will people read this blog I wonder? Probably not lately since nothing has changed here for two months, since I have been working so hard to not write too much in my newsletter. But now I am licking stamps (figuratively speaking) and stuffing envelopes, and saying little prayers that people will be as thrilled as I am with Mercy Ships and send money my way.

The whole money thing has been digging its dirty little talons into my skin for awhile now -but I think it (and yes I) have finally realized it has no power. Whenever I take my need to God, before I can say a word, I hear Him say, "I will provide." "I have a thousand cattle on a thousand hills," he says. Even in Texas that is a lot of beef, more than enough beef to send me and all my friends to Africa. And I know God has told me to go, so he will provide. He knows how many hairs are on my head (even my head, a shaggy head that sheds handfuls every time I wash it), so he knows how to get me to where he told me to go. So, despite my request for magic carpets, he will probably buy me a plane ticket to Togo.

And what else has been happening? I bought some pants today -they have SPF 50 protection! They were on sale here in Alaska where I now wear my thermal skirt to work, through the morning frost.

This is fun, this sending out a newsletter. I am, like my favorite Walt Whitman poem (A Noiseless Patient Spider), sending out threads through the distances to old and new relationships. This is good for me, the too-easily-solitary, independent (spidery?) type. And I'm beginning to realize, as I share with people, that this sharing even by itself brings hope, is a testimony. The News is full of terrors and catastrophes; let me bring you some joyful tales. I get to be a part of happy stories. Lucky me.

Blessings on you who read what I get to tell of. May these words I fling out catch you and anchor us both in the vibrant, hopeful thrum of their unfolding. These gossamer threads -they are the tender cords that will draw us up to heaven.