I am lucky to have a small piece of land imbued with beauty at my home — but also the ability to find beauty any where gives me a sense of wonder and assures me of a world still filled with Goodness. And sometimes– well, often, to be honest — I need to be very silly to try to remain sane. Here is a little video about Nature’s gifts with my silly but heart-felt song / ode of love, that I call “Beauty and the Bees”.
Hope’s Plucked Feathers and Bits of Light
*
Hope’s Plucked Feathers and Bits of Light
By Jane Tawel
Thoughts and riffing on Emily Dickinson’s poem, “hope is the thing with feathers” and meditation on the quality of our Light.
*
The feathers of hope seem plucked to the skin.
The chill seas have plasticized Beauty.
The soul is not perched but in free-fall it seems.
And the sweet tunes are perniciously wordy.
*
We are abashed with fire and ash
Hearts sore from flight from Power’s storms
Frigidity of soul-less gales
Compassion’s hands, hard to keep warm.
*
I am this one small speck of dust
Blown by the Wind of time and place.
But even bits of dust can shine
Reflecting Light’s Eternal Flame.
*
The shore seems further now than then
And like a bird in flight, I long for rest.
My heart is fluttering, fearful, tense,
and all the raging makes no sense
When all we little creatures want
The same –
safe-keeping, seeds, clean air, warm nests.
*
Hope flies again in fleeting moments
when the clouds clear from my mind.
And through the dark and thundering storms
I sometimes glimpse the Rainbow’s Light beyond.
I think She meant when once she said,
“Hope is the thing with feathers” —
It’s not a thing that I can know.
For who can understand a bird?
A bird still awes me — Creation’s Wonder —
And maybe just as wonderous, so is Hope.
*
We can not understand or cage
this marvelous grace of hopefulness.
Just as I can not make The Light,
but only clear my soul for His Reflection.
There’s nothing I can give to Hope,
“It asks no crumb from me”.
But even in extremities,
crumbs from Life’s Bounteous Tables can be sweeped
into our waiting, emptied bowls.
And as Our Mother felt Her womb-child leap,
Hope perches — fluttering, moving —
Waiting to be born to Life,
once more today within our souls.
*
© Jane Tawel, 2026
On Behalf of my Nation, I am So Sorry Ukraine
Reading Heather Cox Richardson on America’s ignoble new philosophy on international “diplomacy” — not! Read her every day, but please read this today to understand my comments below.
*
Growing up during the Cold War, watching Congress and the Courts do their jobs, even when it meant accepting we could not tolerate the crimes of President Nixon, weeping when I saw the Berlin Wall fall, weeping again when I saw the first Black President, Barack Obama, take his sacred oath of office, knowing America to be at least in her best moments, a defender of others against tyranny and international criminals, a believer in justice for ALL and truth and freedom for ALL — I never in a million years would have believed what has happened and is happening in my country today, nor that any American, let alone so-called “Christian-Nationalist” American, would tolerate this for a minute after realizing what it is. We are literally letting an international law-breaking half-wit lead us. Seriously? Why? Because the elite oligarchy of business and political uber-greedy are happy with the complete lack of truth and justice and law and order and the chaos based on stupidity and false “doctrine”, and they are gaining more money — more money than any one would ever use in a million years. America has been inching toward this, yes, but this is an avalanche. Have we been perfect — even always good? No, of course not. But this? No. We have never been this. To live in a nation that sends its mockery of an army against its own civilians but will not send its well-funded and exceptional military resources to aid another democracy — we are no longer being run by Americans in our federal government; we are being run by the shysters, the Mob, and the Anti-Christs of this world. We are sending our greedy incompetents or our literally pardoned felons of international crimes to represent us in the world. Shame and sorrow. We can no longer claim to be that “shining city on a hill” when our government has decided to throw it all on the garbage heap to enhance their own warped greed and power-hungry narcissism. May Ukraine and Europe find the strength and will to fight evil. May small Americans use their voices and actions to stand up for what the dream of America is meant to be at its best. May we who believe Jesus had something to say about this be the compassionate political activist that He was. And shame on America. Perhaps through shame, we may still find our way forward to be that “one Nation under God” and that “shining city on a hill”. Meanwhile — My heart weeps for us all.
Nature Has No Kingdoms
*
Nature Has No Kingdoms
By Jane Tawel
February 22, 2026
*
Nature has no kingdoms.
No names, but what we give them.
No fame, but when we use them.
No needs but those we rape from them.
The fish and trees and God-created birds and bees,
are at the mercy of man’s own ego-needs.
Creation can’t fight back at us
because a Mother’s love can not destroy her child.
She must look on with helpless care,
as her human children hack her limbs
and nuke her beating heart
into a burning cess pool —
once burning deep with Love —
now shallow, broiling,
heart still aflame
in Nature’s dying throes.
*
Nature loves its anonymity,
its secrets and Its secret stores
of pleasure, beauty, and divine intentions.
Nature loves a vacuum — of human willfulness.
But otherwise, It thrives and strives
and circling, circling, circling
treasuring moments,
Creation throbs
with Holy Love and Life.
*
Why do the people again and again —
throughout our shallow, fleeting things
that we call history and our place and time —
Cry and demand the rule and greed of kings?
What does a small man need to need a king?
We circle and circle and circle the years;
we circle and circle and circle the drain;
and ever and always again and again
we forget our faith and place our fears
in the hands of the tyrants and idolatrous gods
in this man-made valley of unnatural tears.
*
Oh, small and longing human,
rest your eyes on the greens of the hills,
arouse your awakening in the blues of deep waters,
feel the soft earth beneath your bare feet,
listen to birdsong and small things in the night
let all Creation restore you to your true nature.
Creation is God’s first and only trusty scripture.
*
You have no need of earthly kings,
for there is One Whose Kingdom comes —
tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
and today —
in Father, Heir, and Spirit –
and in this Earth, our Mother and our Home.
*
Here and Now. Be still and know.
We live and move and have our being,
here, where meaning pulses, and souls long,
heart to heart, twinkling-stars to songful-dawn.
In small-ish things, great Mystery lives.
The Tree of Life takes root and grows
above and through and in us all.
*
We need no one with clay-shod feet
to give us faith in what we can not speak.
Nature needs no idols.
Like Her, we worship best
in love of Known-Unknown.
Like Her, we worship best
when all are free, and all are One.
Creation — moving, growing, groaning —
Creates and recreates a Holy Throne.
Like leaves that fall and mulch the earth,
We only rise to glory who die to find rebirth.
*
© Jane Tawel, 2026
Mires and Wires
*
Mires and Wires
By Jane Tawel
February 17, 2026
*
Some of us dig in.
We dig, dig, dig down
into the sands
of our times,
into the tidepools
of our minds,
into the sucking mire.
*
We are seldom able to fly,
but like birds on a wire,
we are called to balance —
precariously, it is true —
but trusting
that not one of us can fall
without the Weeping of the World.
*
Here, where some of us have landed,
poised with wings tucked tight,
there is no room to gather
that which cannot be eaten today.
But those who choose to dig holes
like moles and augers in the land,
store up their treasures
leaving their names on the inverted pyramids
sinking into famed obscurity
and drowning in the solidity
of their false hopes.
Poor creatures —
so richly mistaken
and shaken to the core
by the fears of their impermanence.
*
I have dug myself plenty of holes.
But now I place my own small hope
on small movements of mine
fluttering, hopping at times from foot to foot,
attempting to share in the tight-rope act
of small beings barely balanced
in this singular time and place.
And like a small brown wren
I wonder how or when
in what future unknown space
will we, little birds —
(being now so often trapped and caught,
and bought — a dozen for a penny) —
will we at last be gathered
like chicks to Our Mother’s breast?
Here on this unsteady string of life,
we long for The Nest
and for the rest we once knew,
and yearn to know again
covered by The Father’s Mighty Wings of Refuge.
*
It will not be by digging in
like a burrowing beast,
mistaking flowers for tares,
that I will find peace.
Nor will we know the love we seek
by running like lemmings or hares,
after any crown or prize
that we may chase.
We fledglings live encased
and see only through the cracks
of our embracing shells.
But incubating here
we wait to rise in glory.
*
It is still the same old story:
Only by falling and falling
and failing and flailing
into grace after Grace
will we learn to fly.
And someday, we will see The Face
of the One Who has kept us
hanging here in the balance
between life and death
where the faith of small birds
finds hope.
*
By dust we were created
and to dust we shall return.
But The Wind blows where it will,
and some will spread their wings to catch it
and will rise in flocked flight.
*
© Jane Tawel, 2026
Seemingly Endless Night
*
Seemingly Endless Night
By Jane Tawel
February 11, 2026
*
This morning the darkness clung to the earth
like a shroud.
Shrouded myself
in a bathrobe, tattered and greyed,
I had welcomed the rain
and embraced the night’s sweet repose
listening to welcome-water in a dry land.
*
But the dawn didn’t come on schedule
and as I sat in habits
of coffee drunk and ideas thunk,
I began to despair
at this seemingly endless night.
Perhaps we had finally, inevitably
used-up all the light?
*
The horizon is still,
and stilly pitchy
like an upturned bowl
filled with dead ravens;
a sky darkened,
deep as the deepest
cavern of coal
starless, and moonless
and sunless.
And the neighbors’ windows
are shuttered and closed against me,
soot-covered
from fires in hearths
and fires in bellies
lonesome and long-extinguished.
*
What if the sun never rises again?
I imagine the deaths
of plants
and trees
and children
and you and me.
How frail we are
spending decades
never imagining our death.
Unless a seed is planted
in the dark earth and it dies,
the plant cannot flower and live.
Dark and Light —
The paradox
of Death and Life —
we balance quite precariously here.
*
Ah, World,
Ah, Beautiful World,
Forgive me for
my constitutional complacency.
And I offer up
a soundless keening
for all who have lived
in Nights that must seem endless.
And I pray as One,
for One and All:
“Let there be Light”.
Today is Eden
or not at all.
© Jane Tawel, 2026
Dichotomy vs. The Divine: There is Plenty of Amniotic Fluid for Us All
*
Dichotomy vs. The Divine: There is Plenty of Amniotic Fluid for Us All
By Jane Tawel
January 8, 2026
*
We have created a false dichotomy-ridden world — my team vs. your team, your politics vs. my politics, my god vs. your God, us vs. them. Our dichotomization of the world we live in extends to our philosophy, theology, worldview, plan for living — whatever you would like to name that which claims you and how you think and how you behave. We give these various worldviews names so we can contrast them, own them, follow them, when facts or life seem to intrude on the mysterious truth of our Meaning. We feel we must have something to fight that gives our achievements the savoring quality that metaphorically, a plain diet of bread and water does not fulfill. Competition becomes the spice of our lives whether we know it or not and creates sound-proofed walls around our religions, our national loyalties, our genders and races and economic statuses, and around our football teams. But here is the thing I have been learning, small little nibble by small nibble, in the works of people like Walter Wink, Paul Tillich, Richard Rohr, and Marcus Borg among others: our dichotomies have almost severed our relationships to other humans and to The Divine. We are hanging by a thread to the Real, which some call God or Spirit or The Divine or the Universal. There are several causes of this, and I am sure I am not at all smart enough or aware enough to know them all, but the number one cause, I think, of our estrangement from God is that we see God as the distant over-seer of a dichotomized belief-system. And what God says over and over in the Hebrew Bible, in the Christian Testaments, in the Quaran, in the Hindu Vedas, and in the glorious, achingly beautiful scriptures of the Natural World is this: God/Spirit/ Divine/ Creator wants loving, compassionate, truthful Relationship with every human being — a relationship as close as our heartbeat, as close as our breath, as close as a lover, as close as Mother’s womb.
*
Imagine if we thought of every immigrant, every Palestinian, every person of color, every unhoused person on our streets, every differently gender-identified person, every person from the other team as swimming in God’s Womb with us? Picture it: Here we are floating along together in Mother’s care and there is plenty of amniotic fluid for all of us. Or imagine that we begin to see God as a Father who doesn’t love any of His kids any more than His other children? And this God-Father, that allows us to call Him, “Daddy”, “Da-da”, always sees us as His little innocent baby who really can’t talk all that well because our words are limited, and really can’t think all that well because we can’t see much past our own little toes and we can’t reach much further than Da-Da’s Face as He holds us, and as Daddy places us in Mother’s arms, which are the same as His arms, we can’t really get nourishment from anything other than God-Mom’s ever-flowing- with-Life-giving-nourishment Breast. Is this not what all the teachings of Truth, True-Truth, try to show us with metaphors and parables and myths — all those human creations that struggle toward those Realities beyond the material and beyond our egoic-minds and beyond the struggling wrestlings with the limits of language that give us just an inkling of our own created creativeness in the image of the Creator?
*
Let’s be honest: relationships can be tough. I don’t know about you, but I have never had any kind of relationship: friend, spouse, child, parent, relative, co-worker, boss — you name it — that has proceeded in a lovely little straight line forward, like a smooth road with no hills, no bumps, no muddy potholes. And some of these bumps and potholes are frankly of the other person’s making and lots and lots more of them are of my own making. But if you commit long-term to being in a relationship as I have been privileged to do with my hubby, my children, and a few close companions on The Way, then you can see the trials as part of being a human being who is meant, like all in and of this lovely Creation/ Nature, meant to let go in order to hold on to something new, to get lost and seek in order to find, and to, just as the trees who lose their leaves to grow new ones do, to die daily to our old sense of self in order to be reborn to new life. And to find a more intimate loving relationship with Another that without those bumps and trials and vulnerable achings would not have been possible yesterday.
*
When I read what now I have come to think the Bible was supposed to provide for us — stories about real people’s struggling relationships with The Divine Real (God) — I realize that much of my life and hence, my belief system, has been about making God into my image. God is so often only close if I think of God as an “It” that can fit in my heart, kinda like Jesus, and be used as needed. But God is also so often been at the same time, a distant figure Who has dichotomized the world into haves and have-nots, thems and us-es, good and bad, my religious team against their religious team, and heaven-bound folks against the hell-bound. God has been for most of my life a powerful patriarch of my own religious views that I need to beg for what I want, that judges my every action and thought, and that I hope will forgive me enough to allow me as I am to live forever as I am, while sending to hell the people whom I deem unworthy. And then I throw Jesus into this mix as someone who was God but died and “paid up” all my debts so I don’t have to worry about my connection with God any more because Jesus had a special relationship with God on my behalf. And when you put it that way in words — it sounds as crazy and insincere and messed-up as it is. Right? Because what The Divine/ Creator / God — whatever you can still with love call Spirit in and of, but also beyond and above this material existence — what Parent-Spirit wants is not our sacrifices, not our offerings, not our achievements — but our loving hearts connecting to THE IAM Loving Heart.
*
As a parent of four adult children, I can confirm: when I am filled with true love (compassion, desire, care, obsession, commitment, adoration) of my four children, now adults — when I am full to the brim of That Which Loves and Only Loves — then all I want is to Be with them, in relationship, in relationship, in relationship. Why can not I trust, have faith, that God in the Purity of His Grace, wants this with me, Her child?
*
There is this old rock and roll song and one of the lines about the romantic relationship between the two lovers has stuck in my mind all these years. It is partly because I grew up when you had to figure out the lyrics to songs by hearing them over and over on the radio or sometimes on the LP you had bought. Ah, life before computer screen immediacy of information — how sometimes I do miss it! So, for this song that we heard on the radio, the important line was a bit hard to understand, and we had a friend one time riding in the back seat of mom’s car with us, and she was adamant that the catchy line was: “For you are Amanda and I am Steve”. And you know that works for what I am trying to say about God. God wants to be our Amanda or Steve to our Steve or Amanda, depending on which gendered name we want to identify with. The Divine wants to be as close as a lover in the act of loving the beloved — God wants to name us and be named — and this understanding of God is all over the Bible texts and many other spiritual texts as well. But the true lyric of this song, which eventually we preteens in the back of that car finally figured out, reveals something also true about what The Divine wants us to understand about Her which is also metaphoric and anthropomorphic, because of course God is incomprehensible and beyond our human understanding, despite our centuries of boxing Him up and defining Her in controllable, bite-sized bits. We still laugh today about our confusion about what the lyrics actually were to that song, which were: “For you are a magnet, and I am steel”.
*
Today I am on a journey by way of, not fighting, not running or even walking, but of Being — being in the kind of relationship with what I call God, that people throughout history have sought with The Divine Mystery/Reality. I am letting go of my striving in small moments as well as I can to find: “resting”, “cradling” and “hiding in”. I am asking The Divine Creator to “create in me a new heart”, to “hide me in the Rock”, to be the “Mother Bear to my cub-ness” to let me be the “chick to Her Mother Hen”, “the son returned to the Loving Father”, and the “little lamb to the Shepherd who lives among us sheep”. These are all metaphoric relationships found in my primary Scripture, the Judeo-Christian Bible, but they are true to all True-Truths throughout our known history of humankind. We just have either forgotten or neglected that Truth and chosen to set up the golden calves of our preferred individualistic idols that have led us, like the lost sheep, astray.
*
The next time I feel the old dichotomies of us vs. them rise-up in me, I will try to remember that in Christ there is no us and them. The next time I want to cling to the black and whites that seem to build a foundation for me I will remind myself they are foundations built on sand, and like the sands of Time, they melt away in the Flow of Eternal Truths — beyond space and time and where black and white are forever, only Light. The next time I feel what I call God is distant, needy, controlling — a monarch to be feared and to whom I must beg — I will lightly touch my breath and pray, “Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh on me and breathe into me Your Life”. The next time I feel angry or alone, I will let God know how I feel, just as I would my most intimate lover and I will trust that my relationship will grow through honest vulnerability to He Who Loves me. The next time I despair at all I think or fear all that I feel, I will thank my Mother-God, that She holds me safe in Her Womb, safe in Her arms, and safe in Her Love. In fact, she “holds the whole world — tree, rock, lizard, bee and my enemy — in her loving hands.
*
And I will ask Love to let me begin to see the Universal Christ not as a small, locked security-deposit-safe, but as a free-flowing Ocean of compassion for all — not just enough, but so much that it breaks our nets of prejudice, and spills out of our baskets of miserly grasping, and runs to our prodigals with forgiveness and joy and connection — just as our Father runs to embrace and welcome us.
*
Relationship. Scary, isn’t it? Yes, one hesitates in any relationship to be vulnerable. But I have found that a life of putting on the armor of constant battle is exhausting, confusing, and leads to a life of negativity. I am trying bit by bit, to unshackle myself from old ideas, and to free myself from the battlements I have let my thoughts create. I ask The Divine, to create in me Her Spirit, and to be unarmored except with the “the breastplate of faith and love, and a helmet of the hope of salvation”. I appeal with no small amount of trepidation but also quite a bit of excitement at what I might discover about the Lover of My Soul and That which longs to live not just with me but within me. And I can call this “Other that is All and is My Truest Self” God — or I can call it Mother, Father, Divine Spirit, Creator — or I can call it Amanda or Steve. True Lovers have lots of names for each other. But no matter what names we use, I want to learn, day by day, hour by hour, breath by breath, to be the longing heart of Steel to the Magnet of Universal Compassionate Truth that draws all the world, all of us, to The Pulsing Heart of the Eternal Lover.
May it be so. Amen.
© Jane Tawel, 2026
All metaphors, allusions, imagery and symbols can be found in the Hebrew or Christian Scriptures.
Deep Shadows and Pulsing Waves of Light
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Deep Shadows and Pulsing Waves of Light
By Jane Tawel
February 1, 2026
*
There doesn’t seem much more to say…
But is it because words fail,
or because there is so much to say
that thoughts cascade like raging waters,
tumbling over the rocks of disbelief?
*
My stony heart creates the stubborn patterns
of fears that justice will never roll down
like waters again.
The riverbeds look so dry,
and how can the tears of the trampled
restore them?
*
On the long, long journey
back to Home,
We have ambushed ourselves
with the trappings of our ingratitude
and our floods of unchecked greed
are no longer dammed
but damning.
*
The rivers dry up
with the mud and muck of multitudes
of unheard cries and barren hopes.
The plains are icy —
keeping the healing in check.
Our baptized souls have been
swept clean of the colors of the rainbow
and the Earth is hardening
over the frozen souls.
*
There is still the Still Small Voice
in the vibrant luminosity
of all who have suffered
at the hands of those so certain
that their worship
of the black and white cartoon characters
have nothing to do
with everyone’s instilled radiance.
We strive to shine
like shimmery dewdrops,
called to reflect
Great Majesty
in all small things.
Only after the storms come
can the Sun create a rainbow.
*
And so, we continue to dance —
multihued and dappled
deep shadows in the shallows,
and waterfalling, pulsing waves of light.
*
The Universe conspires
to flood our barren land with Hope,
and flood our waiting hearts
with Love.
© Jane Tawel, 2026
Still Small Points of Light
by Jane Tawel
*
Still Small Points of Light
By Jane Tawel
January 30, 2026
*
We — the still small points of light.
Seething. Searing. Standing strong.
Oh, the kaleidoscope of multi-hued effervescence.
Spinning. Circling.
Spiraling in supervenient streams of consciousness.
*
I stand in a silence of admiration
of the phenomenon of dew-drops shining
on leaves on trees.
And a small ant crawls across
my cloudy, reflective windowpane,
And I hold it in universal fragility on one fingertip,
to release it — to crawl or not;
dropped on the grey pavement
of life hopeful once again.
*
Where are the prophets
of the sand that fills the seas?
Where are the angels that
creep among the weeds and shallow graves?
And if I live or die —
what sense has there been in all that has been
of me and you and those and them?
*
But here is ever more
and this and that.
And we may not rise
but we may indeed
flow.
*
The fire-flies’ candescence flickers
and skitters through our nights,
dazzling the darkness.
And in their smallness,
minutely a-glow,
they remind us
that all are gifted
with iotas of the Sun.
© Jane Tawel, 2026
Minnesotans: You’ve Been Chosen
Minnesotans: You’ve Been Chosen
By Jane Tawel
January 27, 2026
*
Minnesotans: You are amazing. “You have been called for such a time as this!”
*
I used to hear this prophetic word used, usually quite erroneously because it was used as self-congratulatory hogwash and egotistical justification for someone in power in the temples of a staid and self-complacent Christianity. But it was first said to a Hebrew woman named Esther, who while a queen, had all the power that women of her day had, which is to say, Zilch! Zero! None — that is compared to the great powers of the Persian Empire in which she and other Hebrew exiles lived in.
*
Are you all feeling as I am, that we have been exiled from our homeland?
*
So Esther did what Minnesotans are doing today, and other people across America and the World are doing — she fought for social justice and a moral worldview through peaceful resistance. That is also, by the way, one of the number one teachings of Jesus: “Turn the other cheek. Treat your enemy with love — the only thing that can change the tide of hatred. Of course, we never imagined that our enemy would be our own government and not some other nation’s; and we never imagined our own primary religion of Christianity would be used by so many to support a worldview that is so antithetical to the teachings and life of its founder or its God, but of course, that too, is what happened to Jesus.
*
Minnesota: I am awed, I am proud (especially as a born and raised Midwesterner). I am astounded at the collective and communal peaceful, ethical force of the Minnesotans understanding that Truth, Justice, and People matter and being willing to risk everything for it. This is what the prophet in the ancient book of Esther tells her: “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for your people will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14). That is YOU, Minnesotans.
*
My words fail me but I thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul for standing together for all of us in this dire and tragic time. I am so sorry you have had to go through this (And I don’t know any one else who is so hardy and strong they could do it in sub-zero temperatures!) But I thank you for answering the call and leading the way. I mourn with you, and for your many martyrs, including the horrendous and very public murders and martyrdom of Renee Good and Alex Pretti.
In my little patch of the greater Los Angeles area, I am not only praying and lifting you up daily, but trying to do my small part, though I fear I have not one particle of the heroism so many of you show daily. We kindred souls weep for each and all of you and we cheer for you. We thank you for rising to the challenge of the position you have, through no actions of your own, been placed. Like Esther, you are risking your very lives for the lives of others. Like Jesus, you are risking your very lives for the lives of the least and lost.
*
I hope the rest of the world sees that YOU, Minnesotans, are what Americans are, want to be, and can be. I applaud the actions and words of your Governor and Mayors, even the Republican senator who said he could. no longer take part in the evils of his chosen party — but most of all, I am awed by the small actions of the anonymous daily warriors of truth, justice, peace, Midwestern common sense, for Pete’s sake, and love for each other and for your neighbors — and what may seem like small actions have created a Red Sea Flood that will overcome the soldiers of Empire and evils of this hour. Justice will roll down like waters!
*
I rejoice that little did this foolish federal administration know, they had chosen the wrong people for this evil fascist empire experiment. Minnesotans: “YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS”. We love you for your strength to save us all.
© Jane Tawel, 2026
Jane Tawel 