Books with empty pages

I read a whole book on

the Art of Happiness

by the Dalai Lama

and I learn nothing new.

I read Psalms that have watered my soul

and the words turn to dust in my mouth

...for such a time as this...

He lit up the cathedral on the farm

with white snow-light,

a million crystals suspended

in the wind

reflecting Grace on a chipped paint tack room

And that one thing,

the morning light,

the horse napping

Sara Groves told me in a song

you do your work the best that you can

you put one foot in front of the other 

life comes in waves and makes it's demands

you hold on as well as you’re able

you've been here for a long long time

but hope has a way of turning its face to you

just when you least expect it

you walk in a room 

you look out a window 

and something there leaves you breathless

you say to yourself

it's been a while since i felt this

but it feels like it might be hope 

Where is your face, Father?

Where is your hope?

How do I open hands to receive redemption -

the kind that rescues us from the everyday

not just that moment in heaven

when I see my name in the Book of Life.

I need you now

I need truth to be drink and food

replace these tears

and place before me a fresh cup

One brick short of a sidewalk

One rope less, and this post at the marina would lean or give.

I am the leaning post. I stand only because of Jesus.

The strands in my rope, my husband, my family,

my small tassel of friends.

The longest bridge of it's type depends on each and every cable.

One cable snapped and it would have to be immediately replaced.

One less pound of concrete and the supports would collapse.

One less pound of flesh leaning as the sailboats keel,

and they flounder in the wind or capsize into the current.

A woman alone is a sad thing.

I make my list, the list of friends remaining.

Many far away. But there is always the phone.

Several left here, and my family, too.

But tears flow for each and every piece of my life

that crumbled into the raging storm of the past year.

Sadness as if those beloved to me had died.

Lord, comfort me.

A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need. Proverbs 17:17

Finding quiet amidst the chaos

As a busy homeschooling mother of four, quiet is something of a rare commodity in my life. In the struggles of winter, I have been forced find more of it, as my soul quivers anxious and the wounds bleed out into my mothering and the flow of my housework (not to mention my work as a student and freelance author).

Quiet is my morning walk to the mailbox. Rest is my prayer time up in the woods near my baby's grave while my children take their afternoon nap. Peace is the 10 minutes I spend every evening after they are in bed, while my husband tends the pets, and I sit silent under the stars, alone with God.

At first, I focused hard on prayer. I have a list of people and needs I pray for daily, and they're filed in my head, permanent stamps of impression written indelibly on a compassionate nurse's heart. But slowly, God has stilled my soul. The needs of others prayed for, yes, but moments He steals back to soothe my soul, to quiet the thrashing spirit.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. Selah (pause and think about it). Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah (pause and think about it). (from Psalm 46)

He is teaching me slowly - this stubborn mind of mine, this heart that doesn't soak in His water easily - that He is here for me, pursuing me, desiring time with me. I've learned to tip my head back and close my eyes, feel the sun on my face, and simply be. With Him. Without words. Without an agenda. Just be still, and know He is my God.