It’s the first Thursday in June, which means that our small band of Spiritual Journey writers is blogging, reading one another’s work, reflecting, and commenting. It is a calling to encourage one another as writers and humans in the unfolding story of life.

Today’s leader, Carol Varsalona, always buoys our spirits. Carol finds endless beauty all around, every day, even in the wake of losing her husband. She invites Spiritual Journey Participants to revisit the “One Little Word” we chose in January (if we chose one). Carol’s word is restore. You can read about her journey here.

In case you aren’t familiar: One Little Word (or OLW) is a way to see, process, and reflect on life for growth. It can be a tool for framing daily life and extracting deeper meaning, in lieu of New Year’s resolutions. I have found it helpful in bolstering my faith and my writing in the past, with words like simplify and reclamation. Then came 2021, the year I chose “awe.” I’ve written of this before: I didn’t feel like choosing a word that January. The world was still masked by COVID-19. Uncertainty, fear, isolation, and loss lingered. Everyone was grappling along, day by day. But I chose awe, or, to be more accurate, awe chose me. In short: It revealed itself and I reveled. I chose it again the following year, and, to this day, I keep myself open to it. Awe does not disappoint; in my experience every thread of it leads straight back to God.

I haven’t chosen an official “One Little Word” since.

Other words have come to find me, however, settling themselves into my mind like birds nesting in a tree. These words seem intent on staying; I welcome them, much as I welcome birdsong. Two of them arose last year during my rereading of the Bible with extensive study notes. The first is provision. From Genesis to Revelation, I am struck, or shall I say I am awed anew, by God’s infinite and intricate provision for everything in his creation. I could branch out in myriad directions, especially on the brokenness of creation due to human failure, or rebellion, but in the interest of time, I will only say that every branch is connected to my second word: Sovereignty.

I love the sound of it. Sovereignty. I love the faith it requires, the peace it imparts. No matter what happens, God is in control. Nothing supersedes him, his will, or his word. It’s a disconcerting thing to contemplate holy God’s sovereignty even over evil… again, nothing thwarts him, his will, or his word. His purposes will be accomplished. Sovereignty implies provision; the King takes care of his people. His power is absolute. He is the rightful and just authority; as Creator, all that exists belongs to him. He has the first word and the final say in all things. He keeps his promises. He loves. He provides our own capacity to love. He calls us to love him and to call upon him in times of trouble… which I did last January, driving to work in despair, near tears. I’d just begun my intense rereading of the Bible. The workplace and other life events were weighing heavy on me. Driving along the scenic country roads, I said aloud: Lord, I could use some encouragement now. I rounded a bend and there, high on an old naked tree, sat a bald eagle.

I wept.

Awe. Provision. Sovereignty. Signified by an eagle… and a puppy, for on that very day in January 2025, one was born. My husband, who knew I wanted a dog and who didn’t really want one himself, would search and find it as a gift for me. I was beyond stunned. Awed. I knew exactly from whence cometh my help. My husband brought the beautiful red-gold puppy home in March. I named him Jesse. Yes, after King David’s father, and also because the name means “The Lord exists.” Our Jess has a pedigree and while it wasn’t necessary to register him, I did so, to preserve the record of his birth date and to give him a commemorative name: he’s officially Jesse, of the Lord’s Sovereignty.

So when the Kentucky Derby rolled around two months later, as I marked my sixtieth birthday in the year of my fortieth wedding anniversary, a horse named Sovereignty was running.

As soon as I heard the name, I knew. I told my husband: “He’ll win.”

Of course he did. Sovereignty won the Belmont, too. I’ve no doubt that if he’d run in the Preakness, he’d have taken the Triple Crown.

Not that horse racing is generally considered spiritual, mind (except for fervent prayers to win, perhaps). It’s just that this name appeared at a time when I’d immersed myself in rereading the Bible all the way through, highlighter in hand, marking every study note mentioning the sovereignty of God, in a year that my fellow Americans began holding No Kings protests…

The King of Kings has infinite ways of reminding humanity of who he is.

To recap: While I didn’t choose OLW for 2025, sovereignty came to stay, like awe.

At Christmas came the word Amen. I wrote of this in a previous post, The Prayer. If I were stringing spiritual journey words like priceless pearls on a necklace, Amen would be right there alongside awe, sovereignty, and provision. How did Amen come to me? It’s on a necklace my son gave me for Christmas. One side of the pendant is in English, the other in Hebrew. The designer lives in Israel; she created the necklace as a means of clinging to peace and God’s promises while hearing bombs exploding. The word is more than a pronouncement at the end of a prayer. It signifies acceptance and….the sovereignty of God. I mentioned in my post that it can be translated as “truly” or “verily,” the latter of which is the origin of my mother’s name. It was time for me to accept her death after twenty-two years with no contact. It was also time to remember all that was good in our relationship before it became so broken.

And so I come to my final word on today’s walk. I write of it often. I play with it a lot in my mind, for, somehow, it seems a defining word for my entire life, like a frame for a memoir: Shards. I don’t know why I love this word. I just do. It has an ethereal sound, yet it implies pain. Shattering. Something once whole, now in sharp-edged fragments. The mightiest part of the metaphor for me is that shards of broken glass can still reflect light, color, and beauty. It’s perfect…isn’t my blog called Lit Bits and Pieces? Doesn’t life break us all? My mother used to say “I love you to pieces.” She did, until she went to pieces. I hold the shards to the light—ever so carefully—and see how God has worked from the beginning of my life to this very moment, despite me and my innumerable flaws. He IS the beauty in the brokenness.

What a journey it’s been. I walk onward, over the paving-stones where I find these words etched again and again: Awe. Provision. Sovereignty. The shards strewn amongst them glitter like diamonds.

Thank you, Lord, for all of it.

Amen.