A Letter of Faith

My last blog post was dark. ¬†It came from a very dark place. ¬†My heart has been covered in a black mourning cloth‚Ķmourning things that happen‚Ķlife‚Ķthings that can’t be changed.

I am blessed beyond measure to be married to a wonderful man.  He loves me even with all my flaws.  He remembers me as I was and occasionally, gets to see a glimpse of that girl.

That girl loved God.  He was the guiding force for her whole life.  She was known for her faith.

What I said about my heart being dried up, not able to give‚Ķwell, that was true. ¬†I’ve pushed everyone away, just a bit. ¬†When I felt vulnerable, I did something to get distance. ¬†I had become one of those bitter women no one wants to be around. ¬†I tried to hide her. ¬†I put on my smile, one of my gifts from that girl I was. ¬†I said, “I’m fine.” ¬†I was the queen of FINE.

My prayer time was short and to the point; full of pleas for help and daily forgiveness. ¬†I knew I wasn’t in a graced state of mind. ¬†I didn’t fully engage in my worship. ¬†It was too hard. ¬†True worship requires openness. ¬†Concentrating on God’s Holy Word was difficult. ¬†The Holy Spirit had a constant battle on His hands.

Susan Ashton sang a song called, *”Grand Canyon”. ¬†In it she sings, “I know that I’m a long way from where I need to be when there’s a grand canyon between You and me‚Ķ” ¬†That’s what it feels like when you shut yourself off.

*written by Wayne Kirkpatrick

I’m confessing this, to whoever reads it. ¬†I want forgiveness. ¬†I woke up this morning physically sick from the bitter gall I’ve been swallowing. ¬†I want that girl back!

Thanks and praise and eternal gratitude to my Heavenly Father for the gifts of forgiveness and redemption.

I realize this is not a story, poem, or word of wisdom. ¬†This is me. ¬†This is my life. ¬†This is my letter of faith to you. ¬†If any wisdom can be gained from it, I hope it will be that you keep your heart open. ¬†The heart, the soul, is a thing to be used. ¬†Like silver, it becomes more beautiful the more it is worn or handled. ¬†Don’t let yourself tarnish from the inside out. ¬†It will eventually show.

Outside it is raining…a dark, dreary day.  Inside my heart, there is sunshine.  I am so blessed.  Every day, every moment, every loved one is a gift.  I pray that I will never slip into that dark place, again.

 

To the Man Driving By

dscn0135

I pushed through.  Through flesh, blood, and water.  Came into this world full of blinding lights, opened my quivering lips, and emptied my lungs.  Tried to make my tiny voice heard.

Hush, hush little baby‚ĶDon’t say a word‚Ķ”

Let me cry!

My heart was a fertile, fresh-plowed field.  Had never seen the man sowing seed. Had never had the raven, black and shiny, drop his seed of thorns and thistles.  My earth was rich and easily worked.  Full of nutrients and goodness put there by my Lord.  The sun shown bright, its heat soaking into my layers.  The rain quenched, just enough.  I was ready.

Man / Woman sow  but occasionally let a stray seed mix in with the good crop.  They work hard.  Care for tender plants.  A foot strays, accidentally.  Foliage crumples under the weight.

This heart wants to provide. ¬†It wants to nourish. ¬†The black bird comes with his friends. ¬†They laugh and “Caw” as they drop one seed after another. ¬†One, especially beautiful, winks with his onyx stone eye. ¬†Man / Woman get their hoes. The sharp blade wacks at tender legs. ¬†The shoots fall, but roots go deep.

Hear me cry.

The season of harvest is near. ¬†The sun is merciless in its heat and pressure. ¬†I crack and pull back from all roots, good and evil, that try to fill my heart. ¬†I no longer give what I’ve got. ¬†There’s not much left. ¬†The environment was not kind to this field. ¬†The tares and thorns are taking over. ¬†Man / Woman can’t keep up.

You’ll drive by. ¬†You’ll see my overgrown mess of a garden. ¬†You’ll think of how I used to be and wonder what happened. ¬†See the black birds in the trees on the borders of my patch of soil? ¬†Hear their cry? ¬†They are really laughing. ¬†They think they’ve won.

Please, stop your truck. ¬†Get a tractor. ¬†Plow me under. ¬†Light a fire. ¬†Burn it all and give me a fresh start. ¬†Just a little love. ¬†A little care. ¬†A little protection. ¬†Do you have what it takes to be a farmer? ¬†If you do, I know I’ve got one good crop left in me.

dscn0134

 

Moonlit Memories

yfue9124

The moon came a little closer.  I think the man who lives there was mildly curious about what had been keeping me.  My visits to spy on him have been more rare these days.

It is awing, is it not? ¬†This relationship we form with the light God formed in the nighttime sky? ¬†We gaze at him in ways we are not allowed to with his older brother, the sun. ¬†He seems to enjoy the attention and changes his look to spur us on in our beholding. Sometimes he glows with the color he borrowed from the sun. ¬†Sometimes he is blue, silver, or eerily white. ¬†When he is full of himself, he shows his smiling face and we smile back. ¬†He’s infectious that way.

For me, his appeal comes with the memories we have shared. ¬†You may feel the same. ¬†It’s like watching a movie that seems to have stolen bits of your life and played them out for all of the world to see. ¬†You cry, not because of the character’s woes, but because their misery has pricked you with memory’s sharp thorn.

*I see my love, lit with lunar glow, bowing his head towards mine.  The fields are almost clear as day and my gown glows as if heavenly.  What romance can not succumb to such a setting?  What heart can help but beat a little faster?

*The ocean beats upon the shore.  Waves try to reflect the moon.  Water, ever-changing, distorts its image but the abstract is just as lovely.  Stars twinkle and wink, hoping to distract my attention.

*Lying spread out flat on St. Augustine mattress. ¬†The blackness above letting bits and pieces of heaven’s glory spark above me. ¬†Lightening bugs float starlike above the earth, on the same plane as me. ¬†My friend, The Man on the Moon, grins as my mother calls me to come inside.

He has been companion to midnight walks, camping trips, solitary swims, and cries in the abyss. His surface reflects his surroundings and his shape nightly transforms.  He is a lot like me, only he is silent, rock-hard, and strong.  He remains true to us all whether we pay him any attention, or not.

I am happy he came a little closer the other night. ¬†I’ll try to be more faithful in my nocturnal visits and more grateful for the moonlit memories.