This year, I came close to getting rid of all my Christmas decorations. I held each piece in my hands and felt how much I’ve changed. Minimalism has become a quiet refuge for me — a way to breathe, to think, to rest. I wasn’t sure I wanted anything extra in my home, anything that might disturb the sense of calm I’ve worked so gently to create.

But then, something shifted in my heart.

Instead of decorating the inside, why not decorate the garden?  Just a few ornaments along the bird feeding stations, a few simple touches — nothing overwhelming, nothing loud. And somehow, it feels exactly right. A peaceful home within my walls, and a soft glow just beyond them.

It reminded me that less isn’t about emptiness… it’s about intention. It’s choosing what truly matters, and letting go of what doesn’t. It’s making room for peace, not clutter. It’s discovering that simplicity can still shine — quietly, gently, beautifully.

So this year, my home is calm on the inside and glowing softly on the outside… like a small reminder that even in simplicity, beauty still has a place to stand, and light still knows how to find its way.

“Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.” — Matthew 5:16

I love birds…

Their flight is free and light, as if they carried the secrets of heaven upon their wings. When I watch them glide between the branches and sing without fear, my heart rises with them. They remind me that life is simple, beautiful, and that there is always a reason to lift our eyes and give thanks for a new day.

Today, however, was something special. A small group of quails wandered into my garden. They moved with that shy, curious grace that only quails possess—like tiny keepers of silence, tiptoeing through the morning light. Their unexpected visit filled the air with a gentle peace, a soft blessing that touched my soul with tenderness.

As I stood there watching them, time seemed to slow down. The rustle of their little feet, the quiet rhythm of their steps, and the way they paused to look around made my garden feel sacred for a moment. It was as if God Himself had sent them to whisper, “Be still. Breathe. You are surrounded by beauty.” And in that simple, fleeting encounter, my heart found a deeper rest.

Beautiful! How very beautiful the garden looks during the last leg of autumn—its final glories lingering a little longer in the stretch of the seasons, like jewels under November's golden sun.  As in the spring of their prime, some of the roses are again in full bloom. What a lovely vision they offer to the tired eye in the warmth of the day, adorned in their beautiful reds and creamy pink crowns. They seem to be applauding the Creator, as if saying: “Thank you! Thank you for another chance to shine!” 

Can this joy I found in nature be impersonated in our human life! Can we imitate roses in our joy for the house of the Lord--our place of refuge from the turmoil of this world and the place we turn to when life overwhelms and to where we can turn to in times of crisis. 

David’s love for the Lord was deepened by worshiping Him.  His psalms are filled with a longing to abide in God’s presence, within his house.  In Psalm 26:8, he declares, “Lord, I love the house where you live, the place where your glory dwells”.

Our hearts, too, acknowledge this yearning.  We seek you, Lord, our hearts look after you with quenching thirst.  May we dwell in you, all the days of our lives.

Days go by as if on wings of birds—swift, light, and impossible to hold. Yet within their fleeting rhythm, I find a gentle beauty that carries me through each season. Autumn has arrived softly, laying golden crowns on every leaf, tinting my garden with warm tones of amber, copper, and fading green.

In this tender season, I return to the comfort of my kitchen. A pot simmers on the stove, filled with vegetables that melt into a soothing warmth—rosy cabbage, tender kale, potatoes soft as clouds, and the comforting flavor of turkey sausage. The steam rises slowly, curling through the air like a blessing, as if reminding me that nourishment is not only for the body but also for the soul.

When the pot rests, I step outside. The path is covered in crisp leaves that sing beneath my feet. Birds dart from branch to branch, their wings a quiet prayer of their own. Some fly close, as if curious about my presence; others watch from above, guardians of this enchanted little world. The trees whisper ancient stories, tales carried by the wind, reminding me that even in change there is peace.

In this autumn garden, every walk becomes a meditation, every meal becomes an embrace, and every swift day leaves behind a spark of wonder. I move slowly through it all, grateful, wrapped in the soft melody of nature preparing for rest.

 After many years of steady work and loyal service, retirement has opened before me a door I never knew existed. It feels as if I’ve gently laid down a heavy cloak at the edge of a shimmering forest and stepped into a secret garden—one filled with light, promise, and mystery.

An old chapter has quietly closed behind me, and in front of me unfolds a winding trail lined with blossoms I’ve never seen before—each one holding whispered possibilities. I find myself standing at the heart of this new beginning, both hopeful and hesitant, almost afraid to unfold the secrets these uncharted petals might reveal.  And I face the question: Do I really want to follow this new path? Or will I turn back before discovering what waits for me?

Yet something inside me knows… this path was meant for me. And every step forward carries the promise of a life I’ve only dreamed of.

The rhythm in this new forest is different—softer, like a lullaby sung by the wind through the trees. Mornings arrive like golden threads woven into the sky, inviting me to linger with a warm cup in hand, to watch the light dance across the leaves, to hear the laughter of birds as though they’re welcoming me home.

In this new season, even the smallest things feel magical: the quiet of a freshly watered garden, the glow of sunlight spilling across a peaceful room, the hush of unhurried time spent in God’s Word. It feels like He has sprinkled hidden treasures all along the path, just waiting to be discovered.

Scripture whispers: “The righteous will still bear fruit in old age; they will stay fresh and green” (Psalm 92:14). How comforting to know that even as life slows to this gentle pace, God continues to let my soul blossom—like an evergreen tree by living waters, always bearing fruit for His glory.

So here I am, stepping into this enchanted chapter with joy—ready for the gardens yet to bloom, the golden sunsets yet to be seen, and the sweet nearness of God who walks beside me on this new path. 🌿✨🌷