Occasion in Time

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

Time...

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 . . .
I AM"

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)

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

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...

Construction Zone

A season of change is filtering into a brand new concept... Can't wait to see how this blog unfolds...