Wednesday

to win a (fake) prize

Sweatshirt pink with kitties on it
sitting staring at me amongst the other belongings
in the lost and found
and I,
just a kindergartener,
could not look away, wanting it so badly and
it,
lost,
wanted me, I knew.
Sneaking home with it that day,
hiding in my little pink backpack,
no plan in mind just
happiness at my new sweatshirt.
And when my parents found it that night
I conjured up a story
that made perfect sense in my five year old mind,
"I won it in a race."

Yes I thought it was a superb story,
my kindergarten class having a race,
the prize being an old, dingy, dirty
pink kitty sweatshirt.  And as I basked in my supposed triumph,
new sweatshirt, parents who believed me,
my mama looked me in the eyes and said,
"Well, I will just call your teacher in the morning
and thank her."
Then burst forth my tears, my pleadings, my excuses
as to why they just. couldn't. call.
Until all else failed,
and excuses turned into truth,
through tears came admittance and
my humbling walk to the lost and found
in the morning to return my most
perfect
ever
sweatshirt.

To consider how desperate I was for my prize,
and what a crummy little prize it was,
the lengths I went to
in order to attain such garbage,
how blind my little self was.
And yet now I run the true race,
the only which matters,
with a prize more glorious, more beautiful,
more precious than I ever could have
imagined.
And to tell someone where it came from...
no fabrications needed,
I merely have to mention that
Name above all names
for which we do not steal from the lost and found
but give all that we have,
all that we are,
because we were the aching, lonely lost,
we were the ugly old sweatshirts and He,
the Only One we could fit,
He sought us, He found us,
He mended us into beauty,
and all because He loves us.


linking with em again (it's about time)...





Sunday

to see

Sunshine reflects off ocean in streams of glory,
shining through window of building where we meet
to worship and be together,
the body,
a mosaic of broken people
pieced together into beauty,
by Him.
Cool breeze chills bare arms
and all I see,
feel,
a reflection of Him and His grace...
wind blows, swaying fronds of palm trees
and He is breathing on me,
children voices pour into room from beach,
laughter, joy,
and He is loving,
the Good Shepherd,
rejoicing in His flock.
And we fellowship,
we pray,
and He is blessing us,
showering gifts upon us,
if only we would open our eyes,
and see...




499 church by the sea
500 sunshine reflecting off ocean
501His beautiful mosaic of broken people
502 the dance of the palm trees
503 sound of children playing
504 Layla teaching herself guitar, playing, singing
505 encouraging words from friends Brandee and Nancy
506 flickering candlelight in early morning darkness
507 morning prayer with three littles climbing on me
508 visits with family from afar
509 writing again

Saturday

to pray

She weeps tears like rain falls and
shakes with anxiety she can't calm,
wondering aloud why she can't have the faith that I do,
wishing for it,
denying it,
tearing herself apart for being without it.

And I sit in silence,
knowing this could be me,
I too a constant worrier,
allowing emotions to overwhelm and
consume,
only able to push past where she is by God's grace.
Praises fall from lips for His Sovereignty,
lifting me up out of the cycle of
worry, fear, emotion,
to a place of peace...

And as I watch her tears,
hear her cries,
I pray His peace to fall on her too,
for there is no reason to live without fear,
no reason to not feel constant anxiety,
but Him...
only Him.
yet she denies,
refuses,
continues to live in sorrow,
accepts her sorrow,
and I continue to pray...

Friday

to hide from words

I drink words and breathe words,
they give life and sustain me in dark caverns
and yet lately they have been my enemy,
sneaking up behind me and whispering pain,
biting me deeply,
until I look for an escape from these words I have held
so dear.

And I search for those words that wash over me,
showering me with scent of love,
of peace,
but all I find are words repeating themselves,
words that tear,
that cut.
And so I sit in silence,  pondering words that bring pain
instead of those which bring all that is good,
those words which flow from mouths that once spoke
supposed love and support,
and now,
nothing but
scorn.

Ah, but don't worry.  I hold fast to His true words of life,
I know who I am,
just feeling sadness at the words threatening to
knock me down.

Thursday

to pop in

If anyone is interested, I posted on my family blog
The Hughes Mob...

and hi friends, miss ya!

Friday

to whisper

i am but dust.

and such a small speck at that.

and yet He loves me anyway.

i am humbled and without words.

i am but dust.