When I was in college I walked to the nearby elementary school with my guitar and offered to sing. Two teachers welcomed me, one in the first grade and another in the second, and I began a tradition that lasted until last week. I did pause for the births of our babies, and the circle of children varied. I went from classrooms, to Girl Scouts, to Sunday School, to campgrounds. The body of songs has ebbed and flowed, though some have endured since the seventies. 

 

 

I loved it. Young children are not prone to criticism, or unrealistic expectations of perfection. We can be silly, or joyful, or spontaneous. Sometimes they named the animal in the zoo, or the job their parents have. Their names became one of the verses, and their hands served as boats and sheep and hammers. 

 

There will be occasions for singing again, such as an event called Cathedral Camp Lite in a few weeks. But mostly this season has come to its natural conclusion. Endings, it turns out, are part of the path as much as beginnings. 

 

These daily stories are rounding their last bend as well. In a month and a week they, too will take their leave. They started as a tentative idea in 2010, and have flowed almost without pause each morning ever since. It has been a blessing for me to look for, and find, the stories that I believe are all around us. 

 

Love,

Lori