I can’t stay strong with my own burden.
Imagining Your pain
Brings me to my knees, yearning.
God I’m hurting
My heart is a knot
But not in You
No it’s not
No it’s not
So lost in myself
Tied up in me
I forget how great You are.
I remember only how miserable I am
But I’m not done
He’s still the One.
There’s a fountain that flows
And for all.
By all I mean you.
It’s my Kingdom, it’s Your Kingdom
It’s His Kingdom.
If we get on board,
If we say “Jesus” instead of
We stop caring about our kingdom
And start living for His.
What I mean by
“There’s a fountain that flows
And for all”
Is that you’ll be seeing
He cares for ya.
Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the Kingdom, which he has promised to those who seek him?~James 2:13
He has chosen the poor
I am yours
The word melts on my mouth like a heart-shaped chocolate.
I am being made whole.
“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.
Fall has come. In less than 32 hours my entire world has changed, has flipped.
Dad once told me that fall reminded him of Papaw’s death and the slow, steady cycle of time. The fall I experience is much more young and merciful.
I breath the steely, unclouded air. The light is yellow but in a less harsh way than it has been. This sky is feeling, growing, expanding. It’s a yellow that gently turns corners and peeks through dirty fiberglass doggy doors.
A thought, a déjà vu, lurks in the corners of my mind: love. But I’ve never fallen in love in the fall. In another life I must have loved someone for an autumn. It seems right. More right, at least, than dismissing the thought entirely.
The mystery in the cold air seems to whisper the word adventure. It bids no thought be spent on yesterday. It says, “This moment! This moment is now!”
Even my fatigued body perks up, willing exploits to take place, and daring me to knock on Danger’s ingress.
Don your flannel and let us be off. Up trees, near rivers, Tolkien-fashion, let us create a world in which to feast and bivouac.
You see, it’s not just a drop in temperature. More than that has happened to be sure. The whole world has changed. It readies itself for the gray death of winter.
I look forward to spring and its sunny charm, but the joy I enter into now is perfectly scheduled. A shadowy, breathy thoughtfulness reshapes my reflections. Liturgy seems more appropriate now, as the bold sun retreats for greater rest. Christmas lights are to come, leading to the turn of a 12-month era. I soak in Halloween and Harvest festivities but dare not peek around the bend to thoughts of holly and carols. We war with the urge to bury ourselves in blankets and contemplation, wishing all the best to those outside our threshold.
All of this is self-confessed by a whisp of air that blissfully tugs my bangs from their place against my skin. Magically the earth communicates with us more clearly than it has since last fall.