Sunday, January 30, 2011


"Please! Can we stop for a drink of water? Please!" The car motored on. Drifted smoke, pungent and choking fills each inhale. I am nine, and and never have I been so thirsty. I lay back against the hot vinyl seat... too parched for tears. I fan dirty haze, foul swirls and circles of smoke. The child hand is too small, and the cough hurts. Promises of "be home soon," fall flat and dull on nine-year-old ears. And the car motored on.

"Please, oh please, Father. I thirst." Never have I been so parched. Polluted by sin. Clouded by regret-filled choices, shame. World inhaled, choking away life Spirit-full. I am grown, but young, oh so young. I disengage from stench of world-full life, yet remain, one toe in the arid place. The mortal hand, too small to wave away. Choking hurts. And I thirst. And the world invites.

Jesus answered her, All who drink of this water will be thirsty again.

But whoever takes a drink of the water that I will give him shall never, no never, be thirsty any more. But the water that I will give him shall become a spring of water welling up (flowing, bubbling) [continually] within him unto (into, for) eternal life.

The woman said to Him, Sir, give me this water, so that I may never get thirsty nor have to come [continually all the way] here to draw.

John 4:13-15 (Amplified)

I am the woman at the well. I ask. And Jesus draws without vessel, without effort. He simply touches gently. I drink deep and slow. Hot, burning, cleansing tears spring forth and spill over refreshing the arid place.

... and I thirst no more.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Soil of Life

My hands tilled the soil today. My fingertips buried in the foundation of life. Knees, jean soaked and nails caked with life-giving Earth dust. Rarely have I considered the toiled element. Dirt.

And I consider His Word:

At the time God made Earth and Heaven, before any grasses or shrubs had sprouted from the ground—God hadn't yet sent rain on Earth, nor was there anyone around to work the ground (the whole Earth was watered by underground springs)—God formed Man out of dirt from the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life. The Man came alive—a living soul!
Genesis 2:5-7

Friday, January 28, 2011

Love You Forever

Worship music dims with the ring of the phone. My youngest grown son on the other end.

"How are you today?" I genuinely desire to know. This season's conversations come in snippets of time between his work and classes.

Not, "Doing fine, Mom." Not the voice with high energy of the ADHD, but the croak of, "Can you call the doctor? Not doing great."

I ask about fever, coughs, sore throat, and body aches. "I'm headed to your house now..." And I hear, "No. You don't want to catch this, Mom. Seriously."

... and pictures of bygone days slip into my mind and heart. Rocking fevered hot babies, chicken soup steaming and tea kettles whistling. Washing sweat-saturated sheets. And again, rocking fevered hot child. Never mind he is grown, my arms still long to care. Hands long to wipe the brow.

Still longing, I remember, Love You Forever. A book on the memory shelf. I hold it close, the cover smooth with wear, and I smile. I remember you. Silly book really, but it captures my remembering, yearning, mothering heart.

and I read...

If that great big man was really asleep she picked him up and and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she rocked him she sang: I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be. ~Love You Forever by Robert Munsch

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Breath of God

Breath. The very source of life in the here, the now, the present. The key to existence in this world. Sighs of contentment, breathless joy of surprise and wonder, and gasps that take our breath away, each fulfill purpose of expression. Breath sustains, this breath gift.

And there is God-breath:

But it is the spirit in a person, the breath of the Almighty, that gives them understanding. Job 32:8 (NIV)

Eyes closed, I inhale deep. Desirous of understanding all that God wills. Like new birth, He breathes life anew.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011


Morning breaks, sun bursts through and over, filling all the dark places. I race for my camera, a gift from the one I love. I race to capture the moment of breakthrough. Moment of awakening. No time for shoes, so feet bare and tender, cry for covering, But no time. I race into the awakening as I am.

Humble gratitude for awakening, the work of the Son, lifting heavy dew from my soul. It rises, and He tenderly exhales the captivity away. Season anew, fully awake, and grateful on my knees.

But when anything is exposed and reproved by the light, it is made visible and clear; and where everything is visible and clear there is light. Therefore He says, Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall shine (make day dawn) upon you and give you light. Ephesians 5:13-14 (Amplified)

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Occasion in Time

When I woke this morning, urgency moved through my mind.


Will I have enough time for the to-do list?
Time to provide for my family's needs?
Time to pray...

Occasions of time skewed, flawed in my very human existence.

I drop to my knees to do the one thing I know must be done. I move the torn veil aside and enter the Holy of Holies. He waits for me there. He waits patient there and He smiles. And I kneel there. Imprint of this moment reverent fills to excess, overflows with Agape. True Love. It surpasses time. Lives out of time. Is His time. And is His Way.

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, says the Lord.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.

Isaiah 55:8-9 (Amplified)

"I hear your prayers, My child.
I know the time.
I know the dreams and heart.
I know and
I AM."

Lightly, I brush away an escaping tear.
I raise my hands with outstretched fingertips
covered with captured emotion.
Not a word flows from my open mouth.
I just listen...
And wait.

"I am the Author and Creator of time.
The movement of the clock
holds no boundaries in you,
My precious One.
The countdown of hours is of no value
in a surrendered soul.

My time matters. My time . . .

Monday, January 24, 2011

It's Crying Outside

It's crying outside. Gentle tears cleansing dusty, yellowed blades. Long withered leaves clinging fast surrender their grasp, finally. To fall and join the dry and crumpled chorus below. And waiting. Unaware. Teardrops puddle. Life still, tender in the moment. Colorless grey hugs and hangs over hope.

And I remember... Crying inside. Gentle tears flowing. My forever friend. And God gathers the cleansing, healing, salty hot tears. But you, Abba...

You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.

Ps. 56:8 (NLT)

... My first encourager surrendered her grasp, joining the chorus of loved ones gone before. Yet she remains with me. Notes, letters, photographs. Symbolic earth sisters, Eternal sisters. And hope colors again. Grey lifts. Restoration and renewal!

And here I am. Honoring her encouragement once again. Surrendering my grasp, releasing words. Flowing words... Her long ago words echo - "... praying for you through pivotal changes" - in beloved memory. And I pick up my pen, cry one last tear, and listen to His Calling. Writing obedient.

And God whispers...

As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.

Isaiah 55:10-11 (NIV)

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Startled by Words

My heart dances, and I sing through the tips of my fingers, praying it's God's fingerprints that show radiant. ~SW

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Morning of Distinction

Slumber barely opens my eyes. Golden streams of light rush through the blinds. I squint against the abrupt contrast of twilight and sunrise, making it all the harder to fully waken. But sun, glorious sun! I roll to face my husband, whose shoulders stack high and I hide. Just a moment more of shaded rest. But Son! Glorious Son! The pup at my feet begins to stir. She sees it too. Her puppy dreams come to a close. And it beckons us both... Her with her Lhasa hair, dressed and ready to meet the outside. Me, quietly raising flannel over my slumber clothes. Opening blinds as I slip past each seeping window. Adjusting to flooding light, I turn toward the illumination. And I remember the Light. And I lift my eyes, recognize the Son. Give Him thanks for day.

I open the door for and breath is momentarily startled. Once again I adjust. And the pup waits to, unsure of the distinction between the warmth of light and the abrupt chill of air. Glistening like snow, yellow grass barely peeking through a coating of white. Rose bushes, longing, without color, willfully - bravely- stand, waiting for warmth to bring life. All is still. Light offers a glimpse of what will come. Season to season, leaning toward change not yet fully known.

I adjust slowly to the contrast... Light, radiant, glistening, waiting, still anticipating. And I bow to the Son, my Father for this morning of distinction. The beauty of grace-filled life not yet fully awakened. Longing. Whispering grateful. Hallelujah...