My children’s children

Turning 70

/ jill autrey dorman

For you formed my inward parts;
    you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
Praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
    my soul knows it very well. psalm 139:13, 14.

This last sunset of my 6th decade has left me pondering my life. The consistent thread in my life has sewn a beautiful tapestry of life’s many different colors and stitches. Like every other human being on earth I have known tragedy and triump. I have sorrows that scar my heart but I have great love which heals my heart. I have had illnesses, chronic pain with many moments of healing and reprieve.
I have known great gain and loss. I caused most of my own heart ache so I blame no one but myself. To sum it up, I journey just like millions of others. So here now is my testament in 70 years there has never and I mean never in my life when I cried out to God and he was there for me. Upon hearing the voice of The Good Shepherd every time I stumble. He, Jesus, has been here with me and for me without fail. I know His voice!

So here I go…
Heading out this morning, into the sun
Riding on the diamond waves, little darlin’ one
Warm wind caress her, her lover it seems
Oh Annie, dreamboat Annie
Ship of dreams
Oh Annie, dreamboat Annie
Little ship of dreams

Photo by Made Gunawan on Pexels.com

Word Gravity

/ jill autrey dorman

I often have concern all my words may scare you away or maybe they already have.
I respond to words intentionally. Words compell me. Words challenge me. Words soothe me…
I guess it depends on what kind of word person you are. Maybe all my words won’t scare you away, but If they should I understand.
I see words in “color” sometimes. Words are never, ever black and white.
There are “you’re a liar” words.
There are “absolute Truth” words.
There are “profound” words.
There are “stupid and ignorant” words.
There are “death and life” words, and so many more.
The list is exhausting but you get my drift.

Photo by Pixabay

perfect and stubborn

/ jill autrey dorman
A Beach Morning Glory Railroad Vine growing on the Beach

Love will grow over barriers and around obstacles still blooming and still fragrant. Love is having the strength to stay. Love is a wild and furious risk, a pouring out of all that one can from that cup and drink it. Love is rich and poor. Love is sickness and health. Love is a verb, an action word. Nothing about love is passive. Love cannot be manipulated. Love. Risks. Everything. The Holy God is Love’s name…ponder this, ponder Him on this busy Tuesday of your life. Love changes everything!

Sandpiper Dance

/ jill autrey dorman

The little seabird with twigs for legs hurries up and back about three feet.  Waves rolls seaward and the Sandpipers skirmishes lighting fast to peck a little minnow and hurries back …the water never once touches her. It is comical, this dance of the Piper. Her spindle like legs never seems to tire…

This is the beauty that fills my mind.  ” everything that is created was created by Jesus. By him all things made above the earth, below the earth, on land, and in the sea. Everything visible and invisible were made by him for his pleasure. Jesus hold all things together and in him all things live and move and have their being.

Even the Sandpipers Dance is for Him.

Photo by Georg Wietschorke

    Snapshot Dreams

    / jill autrey dorman
    Photo by Tina Nord

    Pages of snap shots in my dreams.


    I rise early in the morning a few seconds post dawn. The melted butterscotch sky is streaked with baby blue and left over indigo. A nice squall blew up last night and the sand has no footprints in it. The sand dunes are pregnant with sea oats. The oats, my favorite tropical grass, sway charmingly in the breeze and quietly support the island with their roots. The large oats smell like salt and theirs stalks tall and sleek weave into grass.


    Just in a snap spot of my dreams I take off running from shore as the rain begins. I dash and grab my laundry on the clothes line.. At that moment your camera just happened to find my face and you say,” your eyes are blue- gray, like seawater.” I close my eyes. When I open them you are gone.
    Shutter stop.

    The Knockout Punch

    / jill autrey dorman
    Photo by Musa Ortau00e7

    The knockout punch…

    I have eaten nothing in three days.

    The pain in my chest is a slow agony.

    I have no memory of warmth with others of my kind.

    Although fading, my longing drives my soul forward.

    A primal memory of Joy beats like a captured bird in my brain.

    Yet somehow I know Him and see the full Glory of God.

    So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me. Genesis 16:13

    Watercolor Garden

    / jill autrey dorman

    Camellias are blooming stout and ruffled in oh so many rosy shades of pinks!

    Azalea bushes lay a thick carpet for Gulf summer heat and rain.

    The golden-green sea oats weave and spin the island’s core in an endless ballet.

    All the while, the Faithful Morning Glories, pink and yellow, vine along the sand like a hodgepodge of holiday lights.

    The salt sits thick upon my skin and hair.

    I am baptized in a wave and the horizon melts into carnival colors of pulled taffy in my Watercolor Garden.

    Trace of Sorrow

    / jill autrey dorman

    It is an iridescent dragon fly purple and blue
    It so cleverly hovers over the pond of your brow
    It is an agile flyer and can be high or low, come and go
    It has life expectancy of a week or so…

    This is how I see traces of sorrow
    A vivid an electric color, impossible to miss
    An aviator like no other, comes from anywhere
    This trace may be brief, a week or so…

    or maybe no one knows…

    High School Fiction

    / jill autrey dorman / 1 Comment
    Photo by Polina Zimmerman

    These high school halls are not hallowed halls but they are unsurpassed in the scheme of life lessons….Truth and Fiction …

    Remember that boy with the unfortunate eyebrows hurrying down the hall as if afraid or embarrassed? He was.

    Remember that girl passing a note to her “steady” guy declaring her undying devotion because he said he “loved” her? He did not.

    Remember when you thought a certain friend’s family seemed so perfect? They were not.

    The stereo- types still linger in these tales of fiction. Fifty years later and I can name them all by heart.

    We all wanted to be (well most of us) to be prettier, cuter, thinner, funnier, taller, shorter, darker, lighter, a better singer, a better dancer, the beauty queen, the sports star, the math genius, or the valedictorian.

    I guess it is like the “Breakfast Club” and the “Big Chill” movie all rolled up together. (we did have the best music though). I always felt like the adults in my days of high school tried to minimize the harshness of the unspoken boundaries. There are many people that I admired from afar and would have like to have known better but there was also a nagging burden of exposure.

    Ends up that about ninety-nine percent of High School Fiction left some of us hurt and even wounded and that is where reality steps in. No, we had not yet let our tender souls relax in the discovery zone of finding there is no such thing as perfect. How could we know that what lay ahead would require a lot more truth and a little less comparison?

    Just saying…