Glad tidings is one thing, but when the tide brings in flotsam and jetsam, or when it comes in fast and full, confusion and fear plague us.  Plague me.  Still, it is true that the tide washes up treasures, and low tide–less resources–reveal food and sustenance that was previously unseen.

One foot step does not make a path.  Continuous walking, or many people walking, along the same way.  Keeping with my herd, connecting with family, friends, here and there.  Leaning against a tree when I need my feeble frantic figuring-out brain to rest in the peace of stillness.  Listening to others and what they do when the voices get louder.  Those are good tidings.

And remembering that this boat of faith–no matter how tipsy it feels, or tentative its power–cannot sink.  That the Way I follow, even if it seems obscured in briars and thistles, is true.  I stand motionless and listen to the eternal song of Her Love.