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Showing posts from January, 2013

Pruning

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I'm not really all that good at anything, am I?  That's what I told myself as I looked at her little face fallen.  It was true what I'd said.  I was busy just then and the playing would have to wait.


The guilt squeezed me.  Grabbed right at my heart and clenched down as I finished up the stacks of dishes.  She wasn't around when the last plate was rinsed and set to dry so I moved on to the next heap of mess awaiting my attention.

I try to justify the duty by the nobleness of servant hood.  How I labor over miniature socks that need washed and folded, then shake out those brightly colored blankets pressed free of wrinkles.  It is one heroic task after another that pulls me away from the real saving of life.

I wonder sometimes if it's just me.  If I might somehow be the only mother who can't quite balance the work and the play.  I see the photos on facebook of mothers pouring into their children at parks and museums.  Then there are the strangers at Target who sp…
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God,

I know you've been busy. . .

I just wanted to take a bit of time to say thank you.  I saw the beauty of what you did the other day.  I laughed to myself when I imagined how you planned it all out.  How you picked one crisp January evening to remind us all who you are.

You, the God of Holy fire, set yourself up in the sky.  We, all lowly in our making, couldn't stop ourselves from seeing the greatness of you stretched right across the heavens.  The earth was burning the fiercest red, and we all shook our heads not believing that it was real.  We were witnesses to You coming down to set fire to the earth.



It wasn't so long ago that we asked for it, your coming near to set us all ablaze.  We wrote those names on the wall of a building in the middle of a mall, and we invited you to fill that space.  We know it's not traditional church, but we figured one who chooses the lowliness of stables wouldn't mind too much showing up in retail.


And we believe that you would…

Dream giver

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The mind wakens slightly and the body moves slow beneath the warmth of the down.  I adjust from the state of sleep, and even before I open the temporary bleariness of eyes, I know the time.  It is somewhere near the five o'clock hour, and the hush of morning like all of the others over the past month has stirred me gentle.  I push away from the bed as I know I must.  There are more important things waiting for me than the invitation of a pillow, and I creep careful down the steps so as not to wake the whole house.

The coffee brews slow and rich and when it has sputtered its last drop into my mug I take its comfort into the living room and set it beside my chair where it waits to be useful.  I open the notebook and flip through the many pages honored by familiar scrawl.  The empty lines draw my hand down to them, and I write.


The pen marks are messy and imperfect.  They are not artistically beautiful in their display of characters, and I try not to mourn over misspelled words and g…

For the artist, a prayer

Spirit God, who hovers near
Come rest within my being
And burn in me that Holy Fire
That moves a mind to seeing
Let your silent way speak truth
In presence of your spirit
Quiet other thoughts in me
That waiting soul may hear it
May I follow in your lead
Great gentle Spirit flowing
Now guide the art within me hidden
To reveal what you are knowing

let it snow

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I don't really miss the colors.  That glorious white stretches vast across the fields as it meets the sky to finds its ending.  Seems odd that it should stop at the place where it began.  All that is in between shines glitter and one must squint to see the intricacy of art settled down in blankets.



I sit by the fire as the magic floats outside my window.  I am content with a steaming mug cradled in my hands.  I know it is hurrying down to cover the dead grass.  It has had enough of the ugly ground and must rescue what needs to be rescued.

I can ache for a bit of saving too.

This feeling is familiar.  I am safe and warm and cared for while the white takes over the world.  The child I once was smiles at the flakes blowing wild then slow on the wind.  That symphony outside plays beauty to a soul, and the wonder of it all can steal your breath.  The silence is filling, and the scene serene.  I am peacefully renewed.




I remember how I regretted the footfalls of others tracking prints throu…