Photo by Frans Van Heerden
The fabric we cling to so tightly that isn’t God, must break down
Our own coveted resources, our lifeboats all drowned
Though it may be beautiful fabric we have weaved
the failure of our remedies to control must be relieved
For that is when the Lord speaks…
Photo by Pixabay
I cannot keep trying to impress you
or manipulate what you think of me
it matters very little in the Truth of my identity.
To anticipate if you to like my verse
or if you’ll sing my tune or see my worth
all is Vanity and Vanity is a curse.
To know a person one must be true it is said
So do what you will and think what you think
It is only just words on paper with ink.
Photo by Andreas Wohlfahrt
Like a cloud scattered by a strong wind
All illusions of security have blown away
So now I must stand on the Faith I have professed
In The One that keeps me in his sight!
All illusions of control are laid bare
Idols crumble like sand castles in the air
Gratitude has pierced my soul
It leads me to The Cross of His might!
Palms up, letting go, cleaning the house of my soul
Rhetoric and cliches must be purged in the clutter
Returning to the purity of being His Child
I still Trust in Him, the Lover of my soul, who has already won this fight!
Photo by Miri
Standing on the highest sand dune people moved back and forth on the ground below. She no longer has their youthfulness of an unlined face but she knew she finally possessed the joy of ageless Grace. The pilgrimage called her to this beautiful place. The wind and the sun an old friend on her face.
Now she is the shell seeker in the wide brimmed hat, as a child playing in the sun she’d laughed at people like that. She remembers younger days when she grew weary but now the days of peace are what linger here. Emotions don’t obey the rules they are the heartbeat in being human. Like waves reaching the shore emotions can be kept for a moment but are better when given away.
The shell seeker’ s eye remains clear and adept while watching the children play. She knows that life is not going back but more of giving it away. The Truth is, life consists in learning and loving well with Grace underneath God’s sun. To remain whole in the midst of life’s ups and downs, to surrender all secrets and lies is anointing oil to the soul. To shed insincerity and live in the present, the waves echo behind her now compelling her to go on.
Photo by Nadi Lindsay
Wisteria vines will grow on walls, over other plants and along the weathered splintered gray fence that is long forgotten. The vine of Wisteria is thick and knarled and strong…
The fragrance of the low hanging purple clumps of flowers permeated the bright spring day and it made her feel lightness in her heart that she had not experienced in a long while. She thought about how precious her memories of first love are. There in lies the treasure. It is in the pleasure and the pain…if you allow it, first love leads to the Truth that we know nothing much of love.
She is older now and reflects back often on what she thought love was as a young woman or rather perhaps she was simply in love with what she thought love was. She loved but then she lived. In that living she learned that love is tough as nails. Love is knarled like the Wisteria vine. Love will grow over barriers and around obstacles still blooming and still fragrant. Love is having the strength to stay. Love is a wild and furious risk, a pouring out of all that one can from that cup and drink it. Love is rich and poor. Love is sickness and health. Love is a verb, an action word. Nothing about love is passive. Love cannot be manipulated. Love. Risks. Everything. The Holy God is Love’s name…ponder this, ponder Him…you will find Him because Love never quits and perfect Love cast out all fear and Love never ever fails.
Photo by Magda Ehlers
I saw fields of cotton white as snow
as blood red drops flowed down and soaked
those cotton fields and the earth below.
Yes the Blood dripped down on the cotton bolls.
As the Louisiana sun beat down that day
in June of 64 three boys came to say
we want to help you learn to vote
but they were shot down and the cotton was soaked.
Blood of black men drip down so slow
from the cottonwood tree the bodies swinging low
No one would help them, they were all alone
and the sun went down on the bloody cotton bolls.
Photo by cottonbro
I don’t know why they call it Good Friday
Beaten, naked and hung upon a tree.
No one to love you, not even God
A rejection never to be known by me.
Devastating penalty that Goodness might be.
It should be called ” the love note from God” day…
Photo by James Wheeler
Out of my head
No point in New lies
Not hindered by sorrow
Simply celebrate my life
Brilliance is this instant
Melting colors into day
Living every minute
With no time to give away
Sorrow bears a goodness
Merriment holds no shame
Colors intense and glorious
With no time to give away
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS
I stare out my window
Like a sea wife staring out the horizon
Time moving ever so slow
I have always felt set apart
Looking outside of dreams into the indigo haze
Time capturing the beats of my heart
This is what faith is
The hope of what can’t always be seen
Time cannot define where he is
Photo by Pixabay
Sunshine stay with me a while I haven’t had you for so long
You are gentle and make me laugh and sing a happy song
We will not speak of love unless it should happen to grow
We will just run and play, you are a shelter from the cold
You are just the thing I need to help me heal again
There is no way of knowing if we will ever end
Sunshine stay with me a while we will both be free
You are just the thing I need, you let me be me
Jill Autrey Dorman 