Writings and Ramblings

I am seeing now
in the yesteryear
That unseen hand
always holding, always holding
Could I seen then
through sting of broken eyes
and heart
pouring out the blood of pain
and tears
How could I see the greater good
of apparent evil
knowing He allows
yes, He allows
. . . always holding
Looking back and in and through
me
and all this fallen world
I see Him, there
in the yesteryear
always holding




Matthew 10:26-31 New Living Translation (NLT) 26 “But don’t be afraid of those who threaten you. For the time is coming when everything that is covered will be revealed, and all that is secret will be made known to all.27 What I tell you now in the darkness, shout abroad when daybreak comes. What I whisper in your ear, shout from the housetops for all to hear! 28 “Don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell.[a]29 What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin[b]? But not a single sparrow can fall…

Coming to the finish I see the 26th marker.  How many times had I imagined this very moment along the way, always wondering if it would belong to me?  It was relief I felt more than anything else.  Doubt was my companion as it presented itself in the weak times of this journey.  The sacrificed time, the mental hurdle of impossible length, the victory of one more step and just one more step moving me to the end.  The amazing end.
It was in the planning and preparing.  Training the long miles, feeling out the hurt. Pushing myself a little farther bit by lengthy bit to find what I was capable of.  Searching in the ache for the moments I would need to dig deep and ignore the pain for the sake of the finish.

Beauty is the finish line.
I hear their voices in varying octaves calling out for me.  The chatter of the never ending arguments buzz in my ear as I listen to the familiar "That's not fair!"  A small body drops to the ground in exasperation of things not going its way, and…

In the April of our year I cried out and you caught my tears in expectant arms as you held onto me
That day the spring came and my seed  was planted in your garden where you watered it with joy

Strong it grew in the warm summer sun of your nurture coaxing it from behind the hem of your skirt
With my blue eyes  holding onto you and one small hand  grasping tight
to your own regal bloom
Then in the bluster trees gave up their hold while you loosed your own to let me soar among the harvest
In moments you caught me from the Fall as the wind blew too great  for an immature plant
Somehow I settled in my own cold ground complete in the soil of your making finding myself inside the snow


Feeling well the harsh of winter
steadfast inside
my settled roots
in their assured strength
of being cared for



And in the patience of a certain spring  my own expectant arms did bend  to plant a seed in the garden of my joy 

After an exhausting day, I walk into Isaiah's room to say evening prayers.  His boney back is before me and I think that his still form is curled in sleep.  I lean over and sweep the long hair from his face.  I see then his lightly freckled cheeks have become a trail for tears.

I climb in next to him and circle my arm around his skinny form.  I begin to run my fingers through his hair, a familiar intimacy he never admits to enjoying.  We lay there for awhile longer, a huddle of comfort as he continues to cry.
His courage grows as the tears slow and he begins in a broken voice to tell me about the dreams he has been seeing.  "Do you remember when you and Dad were mad at me, and I didn't say I love you before I went to bed?"  I don't remember.   Perhaps it was a moment of impatience or frustration.  Perhaps it was his own perception birthed from guilt.  I encourage him to continue.
He tells me two different dreams that conclude with my death.  Neither dream holds …

Another day closer   Not that I'm counting 'Xcept that I am In my dreams, too Obviously strange Understandably so Sunday is coming!