Standing at the edge, hands stretched out, ready to leap.
Good morning, beautiful souls. ☀️ It's Friday — we made it to the edge again. This week didn't go a single time the way I planned it, and yet here I am, still fed, still housed, still surrounded by good people. Let's look back before we leap forward. 🌊
🕯️ The Candles Are Lit
This morning I'm burning three candles, each holding an intention for us as we close out the week:
📖 The Word
"Verily, verily, I say unto thee, When thou wast young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not."
John 21:18 — KJV
This one found me this week, not the other way around. A ride I'd arranged for the food pantry never showed, so I drove myself, arrived early, and still sat waiting through my whole appointment slot while my paperwork sat lost somewhere I couldn't reach — nobody ever called my name. At the grocery store I had a plan for exactly how my benefits should be spent, and the register had a different plan entirely, moving money around on its own until we landed somewhere close enough. Even the car keeps handing me new information I didn't ask for. Every single time this week, I reached out my hands expecting to walk myself somewhere, and instead got carried. Not always where I would have chosen. But carried all the same.
🃏 The Cards
This week's three-card pull came in strong, and they have something to say.
Suspended, upside down, and not fighting it anymore — that was the posture this whole week. Waiting an hour at the pantry with no name called. Waiting on a mechanic's word instead of a husband's. Waiting on a rent call that could have gone the wrong way. The Hanged Man doesn't struggle against the rope; he lets the view change. That's what we were doing without quite naming it — hanging still long enough to see things from an angle we couldn't have reached standing up straight and insisting on our own plan.
Two cups, pouring back and forth, finding the exact right measure — that's the grocery register moving $22 from one account and $3 from cash until the whole thing balanced without a single dollar being wasted. It's the rent coming down by twenty dollars nobody asked for. Temperance isn't about getting your own math right. It's about trusting a blending you didn't calculate landing exactly where it needed to anyway.
After a week of being carried through things we didn't plan, The Star shows up quiet and unhurried — pouring water out under an open sky, no rush, no crisis, just steady hope. A reading this afternoon. A trainer waiting to meet us Tuesday. Even the transportation getting one more chance to prove itself. The Star doesn't promise the ride shows up on time. She promises that whatever does show up is enough to keep walking toward.
This week didn't go to plan once — not the ride, not the register, not the rotors, not the rent — and yet every single time, what actually happened was enough. Old friends around a pot of chili. A rent bill that came down instead of up. A hand stretched out again and again, and something there to meet it.
The candles are burning blue, white, and silver this morning — trust, guidance, and honest reflection on a week we didn't steer ourselves. The Word reminds us that being carried isn't the same as being lost, and the cards remind us the view from here is worth the wait.
🕯️ Rest. Restore. Rise. 🕯️
📖 One More Word
"Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed him."
1 Kings 19:18 — KJV
Elijah sat under the broom tree convinced he was the last faithful one left, and God's answer wasn't comfort — it was correction. Seven thousand he never knew about. I've had my own version of that this week, watching a familiar circle at my usual spot pull away one by one while another crowd moves in more comfortable claiming they know God's mind better than He does. It would be easy to feel like the last one standing at that pool table. But this week also handed me a whole pot of chili shared with friends, new and old, laughing at a table that didn't need anyone's approval to exist. The seven thousand are still out there. I just have to keep showing up to find them.