I’m at the End of Myself

I’m at the end of myself screamed the woman who desired a husband. I’m at the end of myself screamed the wife struggling deep within her heart. I’m at the end of myself screamed the mom exhausted in ways she could hardly explain. I’m at the end of myself screamed each one with burdens big and painful.And all the women screaming were shaking strong, tired fists and learning what sacrifice really meant. While differing heartache brought them here, they each sat in the wilderness just the same. When every women lost her voice there was nothing left to do, but seek Rest and pray for all this heaviness to depart. Continue reading

Advertisements

Grief Said to Joy

then grief said to joy

I have made a graveyard of her expectations. It will be the perfect place for flowers. I have made her laughter homeless, so you can make it richer. I am going down every heart-road, so she stops getting lost. I am stealing all the noise of life so she doesn’t get distracted. I am piercing her heart, and though the pain is deep and canyon wide, she is safe. Because I am a road that leads to healing.

I am the wilderness, so you can come through to fill it. I am the arsonist, so you can grow hope from the ashes. I destroy, but do not leave destruction. I am the bathroom tile, so you can be the working knees that stand up tall and fight forward once again.

I am the hollow feeling, so she knows how overflowing feels. I am the earthquake that cracks the complacent house wide open. I am the framework for the home of gratitude. But framework has holes and air between and it’s painful and ugly with splinters.

I am the tidal wave that breaks rhythm with the seashore. And then beautiful things come to the surface. I am the rebel that rejects the Dayspring words, so she’ll find comfort Somewhere else. And she’ll begin to remember you soon enough. I am the cracks in the sidewalk, so you can be the green impossibly shooting through.

I am the chaos, so she learns how good it is to cry aloud. I am the tangled thoughts, so she opens up to the Psalms. I am the worker with a thankless job, so she learns what it means to give thanks.

And I am here before you, because I am only the beginning. I cannot wait to see what you’ll do with all that’s left behind. I can just imagine the wildflowers springing up…some even touching the big blue sky.

then grief went to sleep. 

and joy came in the morning. 

 

Words from the Wasteland

I was gone for awhile.

Beneath the darkest ground.

Cold to the touch– I was hard as death.

Wasteland, Wasteland,

I’ll bury myself here.

Nothing can grow from this ash-made piece of me.

I place two hands above the mound.

Bitter cold in the spring. And fast dead leaves in summer.

Wasteland, Wasteland.

I put my ashes there.

Vigorously watching—half-hoping for the rain.

Whole-needing Light again.

Cold ashes in the ground. Anything, Anything?

Two hands above the mound.

Nothing, nothing. And I am hard as death. Continue reading