How are you all doing out there with this battling of the plague we are enduring? A city near me had the first young fatality for the county–so sad.
We are staying in as much as possible, except for photographing hummers in my back yard.
Hope you are all well. Stay safe.
Time and non-time,
the common and the uncommon, spinning together,
sometimes glimpsed, but often not–
always together, spiritual and material,
intertwined.
God is calling, wanting communion;
it’s a call to communion,
to participate
in all these grace-gifts.
Heaven and earth are tangled, and here I am in the middle,
thinking I am caught only in my own will and experience, when
there is this tugging for the eternal, the mystery–for me and my affections,
and I am off trying to find myself, when
I need only find myself in You.
Reblogging in the midst of a pandemic, self-quarantined. Lord, help us in these crazy times.
I used to be cocksure,
willing to trample fragile souls for the sake of being right. And
it hurts to think I was so unlike Your sacrificial kindness, so unlike Your bleeding, selfless truth.
May I be willing to be defeated to win one. May I grow accustomed to embarrassment to at least appear humble as the pride prickles are chiseled away—one by one, by weary one.
My kingdom looks ever dim in the bright hues of Your shining presence—and may all see You
in spite of me.
If I would feed on Your words more than I feed on my need, I would be so much more nourished
with life to give.
There is a line in the sand, and I dare not cross—
but funny thing about sand and funny thing about lines,
they wash away with beating waves, leaving a skimming reflection where surety used to be. So maybe instead of lines in the sand, I should head into the surf and just ride out these waves.
But some days I feel more infidel than faithful.
When the press is great and rescue far off, help me not to fail
but to fall
into you.
Without You, I will sink in the undertow and be lost.
Are Your arms bigger than my sorrows, Your view wider than my narrow vision, Your heart tougher than my doctrine, Your compassion deeper than my loss, Your love hotter than my tears?
If there is a way that I must walk, can it be a yes-way, a water-walking way—a path of fullness and yeses.
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Sensing the need to feel
Important, –> that thoughts, actions, and
Gifts really matter, not just in the big scheme of things,
Not just ticks on nature’s timepiece,
Intertwined with myriad others, who
Fashion a purposeful life, a fanciful life, going somewhere–>
It is inbuilt, this need to belong, this feeling that
Creation matters, that we matter,
And that I as one lone voice matter,
Not just as a cog in a
Cosmic wheel–> but as imagio deo–
Everlasting because He has given me significance.
Apronhead 