little things

It is the first days of our return

to rural Canada

a mix of jet lag, laughter

hugs, tears, confusion

and lack of words

yesterday our prodigal suitcases

six large bags, all we could carry

made their way home

exhausted as we unpacked

we rejoiced that nothing was lost

today we opened

the few boxes we had left here

what joy to be reunited

with familiar treasures

a quilt, jewellery box

baking pans

it is little things that lift us

and little things that trip us

and there is One standing strong

calm, all knowing

in the middle of it all

I am returning

to His feet

tears soften the view

through the blur of tears

there is the rainbow promise

time to move on

farewell Africa

Canada - here we come.

all in the waiting

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; 

wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing; 

there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought. 

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness, the dancing.

T.S. Eliot

One year ago, it was not the Saturday of waiting

for the glory of Easter Sunday, no

that day of rejoicing had come

and gone, weeks before

last year today was a Friday

a different day of waiting

for what we knew would come

but could never prepare for

and by Saturday, she was

simply no longer here

grief is sticky, having 

it's way with me

there is no calendar

for mourning

no limit to tears

I wait for Sunday

in the stillness with Sandy

 

room for tears

This week Diana asks:

Is there room for my tears here? 

my younger self

was never known to cry

perhaps it was scolded out of me

having too often heard

"I'll give you something to cry about"

but my God gave me tears

when I surrendered to Him

my harsh and stoney heart

now I am known

as a woman who weeps

long and deep tears 

born of joy, pain, awe 

and intercession

the tears returned as a gift

to the Giver

the One Who fills

what I empty

I will not return

to the woman I was

no I would not

even if I could

so I answer 

a slightly angled version 

of Diana's question

there is no room here 

for the absence of tears

living into answers with Diana

 

missing her

Mom and I never shared Christmas

not in the way I rejoice with other believers

those who at least try to remember the reason

but we shared joy in the lights

and the beauty of the season

cookies and candies

ribbons and bows

gifts given and received

it was a time for keeping warm

and extravagant love

that is what I remember

that is what I miss

that is what filled and spilled tears today

walking with Emily and the broken, imperfect redeemed
 

Muffled

The new fall of snow

began on April's last day

and dragged into the start of May

an outward expression

of my own muffling.

I have been quiet here

in my home

in my heart

holding it still

at the edge of the waterfall

fearing the rapids

could wash me far 

lost downstream

from the me I have known

daughter, child 

to those who raised

and loved me

and are no more.

Yet never an orphan

for I am His.

"Now you can reinvent yourself"

whispered my sister-in-law

on the day I left what will never again

be my parent's home.

The tears will start, stop

start again

as memories rush in

I will share when I can

as I find my footing

in a world forever altered.

“I will not leave you orphaned. I'm coming back. 

In just a little while the world will no longer see me, 

but you’re going to see me because I am alive 

and you’re about to come alive. 

At that moment you will know absolutely that I'm in my Father, 

and you’re in me, and I’m in you.

John 14:18-20 The Message

Walking with Emily and the broken redeemed

 

Holy week rambling

This is called Holy Week

the time between Palm and Easter Sundays

a time of passion

wonder

awe

This is a week of sudden outbursts

gratitude, praise

tears

This is a week of choosing

to believe 

what is impossible

to believe

breath stopping sacrifice

reckless obedience

for you

for me

for all

I am uncertain

have I learned to receive

what I did not deserve

unmerited grace

mad rush of love

have I learned to give

in the same measure

poor in spirit

we are all 

the least of these

 

Digging in

I have grown fat

on a diet rich

with disappointments

learned to crave bitter

the salt of too many tears

cracked lips, tongue

till sweet almost slipped away

lost to memory

so I'm letting go

of those one notes

seeing the need for parfaits

layers of flavour

stripes of hope

cool to a fevered brow

spices to entice, delight

awaken a heart turned ice jagged

give me a long thin silver spoon

I'm digging in deep 

Talking about letting go at Peter's where the word is disappointments

and joining the poetry jam about stripes

 

Waterfalls

My beloved wed a woman of tears
one who thought she had no heart
until it was well and truly broken
touched by the hand
of the One Who bled
I surrendered
it was then the leaking began
unpredictable
sometimes a trickle thin
more often cataracts

Each night in prayer
my husband covers me
with protection and blessing
and asks that the Lord
would continue to break my heart
for those things that break His

At times the deep ache comes
cascades of pain rushing wild
I want to scream
"when is it enough?"
already knowing His answer

when the hungry are satisfied
when the naked are clothed
when the cold find shelter
when  no man is enslaved to anyone but Me
when the lost come home

and then
only then
will I dry every tear

He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever Revelation 21:4 NLT

Abiding with Cheryl today


 

Seeking real

I like to think of myself as a disciple of Jesus
listening, watching, following
His call to abide the song that heats my blood
stirs every fibre, urging me on
to be ever more like Him
in thought, in word, in action
this is my desire.

This too, is where I fall ever short
so unlke Him, so much like me
this tangled maze of raw emotion

This is where it gets messy
when the inside leaks through cracks
to hide behind the mask of perfect Christ likeness
like so many others accomplish with ease
is a lie I cannot tell
my skin too thin to cover
so seeking real I spill out here
recognizing He already knows my ugly

Where I want to find love for those who have wounded me
I have found the storehouse empty
old cuts still sting, bleed fresh tears

yet in that salty confession
waits thousands of second chances....

Walking with Emily and the wounded, imperfect but wholly loved

 

Even in pain...

Words from the Lord as dawn was breaking:

Even pain is temporary, little one. 

For one day I have promised to dry every tear.

For now, simply know that when things seem the darkest,

I Am not far from you.

You can run to Me by simply speaking My name.

And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying,

“Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men,

and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people.

God Himself will be with them and be their God.

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes;

there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.

There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” 

 Revelation 21:3-4 NKJV

 

Joining Sandy in the quiet of this moment...

 

Open hearts open homes

For so many years my heart was sharp, flinty rock.  I didn't let anyone or anything in.
If I did not receive love, I did not need to love in return.
This stone, this cave, this dangerous place that felt like safety.
Haughty, thinking I was brave, I lived, terrified to live.
I was always the observer, never the participant.
Don't touch, don't hurt, reaching out to no one, I never offered warmth or shelter.

Too many days lived dark.  Too many nights lived cold.
Then the heart that beat and bled for mine reached through.
Sprinkled His love, supernatural ice melt, left me puddled in tears.

With the hard shell cracked, light and love and joy poured in.
The more He gives to me the more I give away,
He opened my heart, I open my home.
People remark that they find this place enveloped in peace.
May love flow with the tears.

God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes. Psalm 18:24 The Message


Jamming with Bonnie about hospitality

Joining the others, imperfect, but loved, at Emily's

First run off

Temperatures rise

clouds have scattered

sun streaming warm

on snow blanketed fields

begins the thaw.

What was held fast

releases

to the rhythm of Spring.

Will cold hearts melt
touched tenderly
by His love?

Tears flow
fast, free
preparing the spirit soil
to receive fresh seed
as something new
cries out
to be born.

Come visit at One Stop Poetry to read more Wednesday One Shot Poems

Dry eyes

Image via Wikipedia

For the last little while I've been having trouble with my right eye.  I am continually wiping away clear strings of matter that annoy me and sometimes blur my vision.  Wondering what was going on, I googled the problem.

It seems that the cause could be infection or some sort of allergy, resulting in an eye that is too dry.  Eye drops were the solution of choice.  Artificial tears.  We had drops in the medicine cabinet and I have been using them.

Yesterday, with my emotions touched by one thing or another, I began to weep.  As the water flowed from my eyes, I blinked.  The tears were soothing, refreshing.

Like a slap in the face, it hit me.  I don't need artificial tears.  I need real tears.

I am one who is known for crying, and we keep a box of tissues in every room of our house.  But in that moment I realized that for some reason, lately the release of tears has been blocked for me.

So I pray for true weeping, Lord, moved by joy or sorrow or both.  Let my eyes and my spirit be washed in what is real and what is true.

Where my spirit rests

Bonnie concludes our exploration of rest by asking how we experience spiritual rest and talking about finding whitespace in our lives. 

My whitespace is rarely white, but splashed with vibrant colour.  It is a place I visit most every morning, to seek His face, His heart, His counsel.

Music, smooth, no lyrics to distract.
I breathe, settle and fix my mind on finding Him, my friend, the lover of my soul, my Lord, my Jesus.
I allow my mind to wander and create of image of His presence.
We may be walking hand in hand on the shores of the sea. 

The blues so bright, so deep, yet always eclipsed by His beauty.
Perhaps we sit on a grassy hillside, my head resting against His strength.
I long to hear what He has to share with me, and opening my journal, I write.

His words may challenge me, rebuke me, exhort me.
They flow from His great love.
Even brief moments of connection bring deep spirit peace, joy and refreshing.
The blood in my veins resets to match the beating of His heart.
I am ready to begin the day knowing I am His.
And He. Is. Everything.

God, my shepherd! I don't need a thing. You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from. True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction. Psalm 23:2-3 The Message


Stop by to join in the jam at Bonnie's

Giving in

This week Bonnie asks us how we experience emotional rest.

I grew up knowing I was loved by my parents, two older brothers, and extended family members.  Our family was about as normal as anyone could ask for, no divorce, alcohol/drug abuse or domestic violence. Ours was a "happy home".  The ultimate goal my parents had for each of us is that we would be "happy". 

Therein began my dilemma.

If happiness was the target, then anything that fell short of that mark was wrong, somehow unacceptable. Expression of emotions outside of the “happy realm” seemed to cause distress to my parents.

“What exactly is happy and how do I get there and stay there” I’d wonder and condemn myself for feelings of fear, hurt, loneliness, pain or any other less than “happy” emotion. Not only did I learn to keep these black sheep emotions in the closet, I also concluded that there was something defective about me for experiencing them at all.

“What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just be happy?” I was asked whenever a stray emotion wandered out into the light.

“Why can’t you just be happy” echoed the voice of mother for years, and years, and years.

During times of emotional overload the voice grew louder.

One day the Lord revealed what had been hidden to me.  He had emotions.  All different kinds of emotions.  As well as feeling great joy, He felt pain.  He felt anger.  He trembled with compassion. And... He created me in His image.  All at once I was validated as an emotional being, and by His design.

For me, the best way to experience emotional rest is to find a quiet place to be alone with God to express and release all that I've been feeling.  In His presence and His unconditional love, I am accepted, with each and every flaw. 

In that, there is rest and peace beyond measure.



Come on over to the Faith Barista and jam with us as we continue sharing on rest.

Sticky release

This week, for Friday Poetically, Brian Miller posted this photo of a sculpture from the Taubman Art Museum in Roanoke, Virginia.  Brian said:

I came upon this work of art, which screams a poem just waiting to be written.

Then he challenged us to do just that.  Here is my response.

Hidden
you see not my tears
nor the eyes
that give them life.
Do you assume
this armor
that covers my heart
protects, conceals
or restricts?

Even in my letting go
I hold tight
unable
to find release
from castle dreams
that grow larger
as I decrease.

Yes, my kingdom
must fall
so that His
will arise.


Stop by and add your own words at One Stop Poetry

Tears for one - tears for millions

Picture from PentictonToday.com

Since the earthquake and resulting tsunami I’ve been spending time in prayer, seeking the Lord for answers to the emotions stirring within.

Surely I grieve for the lives shattered and lost in Japan; the ears of my heart are not deaf to their cries.

And yet I wonder why the outpouring of shock, tears and support is so evident around me in the middle of this crisis in a way different than when Haiti was struck, or when the tsunami devastated Indonesia. These already seem forgotten.

Japan is much like us, a first world nation. Is that why we are moved? If this could happen to them, it could happen to us.

In the middle of my pondering I recalled the following from Richard Stearns The Hole In Our Gospel:

I want you to imagine for a moment that you woke up this morning to the following headline: “One Hundred Jetliners Crash, Killing 26,500.” Think of the pandemonium this would create across the world as heads of state, parliaments, and congresses convened to grapple with the nature and causes of this tragedy.

Now imagine that the very next day, one hundred more planes crashed – and one hundred more the next, and the next, and the next. It is unimaginable that something this terrible could ever happen.

But it did – and it does.

It happened today, and it happened yesterday. It will happen again tomorrow. But there was no media coverage. No heads of state, parliaments, or congresses stopped what they were doing to address the crisis, and no investigations were launched. Yet more than 26,500 children died yesterday of preventable causes related to their poverty, and it will happen again today and tomorrow and the day after that. Almost 10 million children will be dead in the course of a year.  So why does the crash of a single plane dominate the front pages of newspapers across the world while the equivalent of one hundred planes filled with children crashing daily never reaches our ears?

Do we, can we allow the storm that rocked Japan to loom larger and take on more importance than any other losses?

I hear the voice of one
in the cries of millions.
My heart trembles
teeters, cracks
as it falls
all at once able
to leak fresh tears.
Sometimes
there are no answers.
My spirit weeps
with those who weep.
I hear the voice of millions
in the cries of one.

Check more Wednesday One Shots at One Stop Poetry