Listening ~

if

I didn't

embrace

the

rhythm

if

my soul

could

hear no music

the world would be

a

lonely place

~ ~ ~
edited: some of you have asked what this is
they are called
Chinese Lanterns
if
you pay a visit
to
Ann's
you can see more photos

Aim High ~

{click to enlarge}

so

much

possibility

Thankful ~

thankful

for

torpid water touched

spittled mud

"great" and "little"

honored

second chances

the

"immediately"

and

the

"as they went"

for

humility that breathed

an

agonizing yes

thankful

for

so very much

1 Peter 2:21-25

~ ~ ~ 

 Bridget Chumbley

is hosting the bi-weekly blog carnival

on the word

healing

A New Direction ~

there are times

when

my

mental GPS

needs

reprogramming

I suspect that

that is

what

pondering

whatever

is

pure, lovely, authentic,

excellent & gracious

is

all about

Philippians 4:8 MSG & AMP

View from a skywalk ~

to share your view

of

"street life"
or
to see others

please

visit

three from here & there

Dew-sy ~

when

the

ordinary

is

adorned by grace

strength and intricacy

are

revealed

Stored ~

is

treasure

meant to be stored

or

is it

meant to be used?

~ ~ ~

how do we guard

what

we value

without becoming

hoarders

of

time, wealth, possessions,

relationships?

Her Quiet Side ~

autumn slips

her

gown of scarlet

 spreads her cloak

prepares

for flight

then quietly

she

wisps away

 

unadorned

yet

whisper soft

 

she

captures

light

Imaginings ~

to think

that

what lies

ahead

is even better

~ ~ ~

it's hard to imagine

A Dream Broken ~

We sat, parked, listening to the rush of the river in the black of the night. Not park-ing as some would suppose, just sitting, listening, wondering. Finally he spoke. His words were direct, focused. “I’ve been thinking. We could be married in another year ... I’ll only have two years left of school. You would have to work.” A little thrill rose from the tips of my toes spreading upward to the top of my head. We’d been dating for 3 years ... since I was 16 and he 17. A romantic he wasn’t, but honest and true.

Wedding vows were spoken in the autumn of the year with one gone by. The leaves were changing, our hopes and dreams were colorful and bright. We walked, hand in hand, through those last two years of college. There was little money for gas. Long hours were spent at the lab, him studying, me working, money so tight that we sold a used textbook to buy a loaf of bread only to realize it was just enough to cover the price of two tickets to the movie, so we fed our souls instead.

With college graduation came new dreams, new goals. The summer was spent apart from one another with him working one place, me another. And a new portion of the dream grew in my womb, tethered with love before his departure.

More vows spoken ... another leaving. He would serve Uncle Sam in the USAF for the next four years. These were the years of ‘Nam ... of loss of friends .... of uncertainty. As it turned out, I became the injured through the war on the highway. The war of youth wanting to rush through life and hurting others in the process. He was only 18, the young man that struck us almost head on. His life just beginning ... mine now changed forever. Ending in ways I didn’t realize.

A beautiful piece of the dream was birthed six months later. Birthed in the form of a healthy baby boy. A father beaming with pride, a mother filled with gratitude ... two hearts overflowing with love. And fear. Now 22, and 23. Old beyond our years in such a short time.

The dream took on the appearance of “normal,” whatever normal is. The daily walking out, only in circumstances far beyond our control. There was no accounting for the grace that covered those days. But the presence of the Lord grew. The hunger to know Him bringing us closer together ... to Him.

Days turned into years. The dream began a slow fade. Major chips began to take their toll. Too many losses. Too many griefs. We struggled ... hard.

One moment what was a dream morphs into a nightmare and catches you unaware. Leaves you broken, wondering, listening, the rush of the river carrying you where you didn’t want to go.

The rush of the river, the black stillness ... and you’re alone, sitting.

Broken.

~ ~ ~

He heals the broken in heart and binds up their wounds.

Psalm 147:3

photo by Joanne Norton

 This is a late link to the blog carnival on brokenness

hosted by

Bridget Chumbley