The song of the weary? There are no songs here. I can feel that your desperate cries are loud. I can see a heart that constricts in pain and turns far from the thought of hope. I can hear all that you do not say, for I have refrained from speaking too. The song of the weary? It just can’t be done…there’s nothing to be sung.
I have thought the same.
But the beauty in this raging war is that nothing is made into something and song-less shadows make way for the hope-shadow of His wings. Not all shadows are bad, and nothings don’t have to be hopeless.
The song of the weary is beautiful.
It sounds like morning prayers in the shower, and mid-morning cries for help. It is the pouring out of a heart before God. It is the honesty that comes when sharing the struggle with a friend. It is the humility of falling into grace over and over again. It is the darkness that reminds you that there is the beautiful opposite named Hope. Read more
It spread ever so quickly in my heart…as it always does. It ripped me in half and I had no idea. It said you’re not good enough and you can rest in that. It said scream so I did.
And I screamed.
And I screamed.
And I screamed.
So here I am. I lay in the waste of my expectations, and I refuse to move for the disease has every part of me. I have succumbed to the flesh and let my heart loose in its selfish ambition. I am sick, so sick. But I like my waste and I want to waste away within in it. Read more
I saw the dirt. It disgusted me. How could she stand there in her house and let her window look so awful? I couldn’t imagine letting mine collect all that grime.
I couldn’t help but stare as the woman struggled to care for her house. She vacuumed and dusted. She wiped down the counters and made meals. She took out the trash and she smiled at all those who came into her small home. What hypocrisy! Her window stood neglected while all else was tended.
I stared as she fell on her knees in grief. I watched her scream and rail against the walls, but then grow quietly peaceful as she looked toward heaven. I saw her dance when the good news came and I watched her cry when hard news brought its loss again.
I vigilantly watched her life, but I could not ignore that dirty window. I saw everything through the smudges, the dirt, the trash, and the very things I would never neglect to care for. Even so, her genuine heart welcomed person after person and she served them with such love, but that window tainted everything for me. Read more
I share with you my thoughts. But I don’t share all of them. I share with you my struggles, but not every one. And there are many.
But a few nights ago, I was reading and the author posed the question, “Are you being a good steward of your Grace Story?” It made me think. Do I use this blog as a way to show you how God has poured grace upon grace into me? Have I really shown you? Have I written to you my story of Grace? Can you tell by my life, by my words that God is great and He is so very real?
I don’t share with you everything about my life, and I know I never will. But I also know I’ve been hesitant in showing you how God has poured grace into me over the last few months. It’s been an 8 months full of learning, and perhaps not in all the ways that you would expect.
But rather in my very own heart. Parts of me have been uprooted, replanted, watered…and it’s been a painful process. Read more