Change Me

 

Change me but don’t make me whole – at least not yet.

Fix what is broken but leave the cracks.  Through fissures You are seen.  Fractures show Your glory and tell of my weakness.  I need my weaknesses to be told because I don’t tell them often enough. 

I try to hide them with distance and a smile. 

When did I believe weak wasn’t worthy?  When did the Truth of …(Your) power is made perfect in weakness…lose to the lie that perfect is worth pretending to be?

Change me Lord, but don’t make me whole – at least not yet.

Mend what is broken but leave the cracks.  Their presence will be Your grace.  Broken will be my testimony. 

 

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Five Minute Friday

This is the place we write for 5 minutes – no more – no less – no editing. It might not be perfect but it is real!

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Beholding Glory

Soul Sisters

 

Sitting here with the table decorated and the food in a cooler, I wondered why it took so long to come to this place.  Where I can linger in the summer sun allowing it warm both body and spirit.  Not that long ago, I was trapped in a mix of ugly and it isn’t a welcoming place.  When you are stuck in your own mire and the world seems dingy gray, it is hard to see the sunshine and feel the coming breeze.

Yet here at this moment, I was doing just that.  At this noon hour, I sat in the breaking shade and felt the soft breeze dance past my shoulders.  I waited to share my gratitude with three friends of the heart and caretakers of the soul.

We need people like this in our lives – friends who see into the dingy, sticky places of the heart and reach in to grab hold of you. Such people don’t mind getting dirty when getting dirty means getting you out. 

Not everyone will do that.  Not everyone wants to get dirty. 

Yet, as long as our feet touch this earthen clay we will all do a little mud wrestling of the soul.  We will find ourselves stuck the mire of our own making.  Mire making is what we do and when the quagmire gets to clingy – do you know who will rescue you? 

I am grateful for these soul sisters.  Each of them carry a gift far different than the other and yet we are all bound by one thread – God who gives us breath to love and live and get dirty.  When I was stuck and trying to figure my own way out one by one they came.  They spoke into my life Truth and love.  They reached in and rescued.  Through them God made a way for me. 

They got dirty and I got clean. 

 

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The Morning Sun

It rises slowly above the trees.  As if it gently seeks to kiss the sky.

If only I rose so kindly from my nightly slumber.  Quiet yes, but kindly takes time.

(And coffee)

It is a process, isn’t it – this waking of body and soul.  Gentle or not, it calls us to rise and meet the moment.   Open eyes and heart to the wonder of that which is new.

With yawn and stretch, I gather my bearings and drink in the breath of mercies made new.  The sandman’s sleep falls slowly away. 

Soul uncovered bathed in Light.

Great is His faithfulness.

 

Learning to write freely – Joining in with:

Dandelion Dreams

With eyes closed and hands gently clutching this wisp of summer’s joy, I wished a dream, a simple dream, and then slowly exhaled.  With that kiss of breath, I opened my eyes to watch the seeds scatter in a thousand different directions.  Each fluff carried with it the promise of more to come. 

I realize too many will see this little flower turned fuzz as nothing but a weed – an unwelcomed guest.  For me, right now, it is a simple reminder that dreams can and will be carried along in the breath of life.

I started this blogging journey a few years back and on a no good, very bad, unfortunate day my first blog was lost in the world of cyberspace.  Undaunted, I began again. 

Here in this spot I started over.  My words found a place to hide and my heart found a place to ponder.   In quiet wonder, life as it most often does shadowed the beauty of creation.  Seasons changed outside my window and inside my soul.

For awhile, a long while, my words stuttered as my heart struggled in a wintered season – the veritable dark night of the soul.  Life, loss, pain and fear heaped snowdrift high on my spirit. 

With each storm, I battled.   

With each struggle, I wrestled. 

After each fight, my hope limped and my words seemed lost forever.  A writer without words is a very empty place to be.  Weary and wounded, I struggled to find reason and purpose.  I found myself instead blanketed in Grace unexpected. 

It comes that way – unexpected – because too often I contend with distractions and war with things that are not mine to fight. 

Yet, now wrapped in the warmth of its promise, my faith pulsates back to life.  In its gentle healing, I realize that these battles were never mine to fight. 

The beauty I lost in the conflicts of life was the sweet joy of surrender.

Scarred I may be but in their ugly beauty is the testimony that battles may rage but the victory is already won.

The Giver of Grace gently holds my heart in hands that so freely give.  With a quiet breath He carries forth my dreams.

And this my friends, is where the dream continues.

 

 

I am ever thankful for new beginnings – for ugly beauty – words found and sweet surrender….

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