Variations on Masefield and Lamentations

We had to go down to the sea again

to inhale the tide and sky.

And all we asked was for a bit of rest

And to watch our dreams sail by.

Dawn breaks in as routines fade,

Gray thoughts sharpen and shine.

We had to go down to the sea again

Where God whispers audible:

You.

Are.

Mine.

I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,

the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.

I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—

the feeling of hitting the bottom.

But there’s one other thing I remember,

and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,

his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.

They’re created new every morning.

How great your faithfulness!

I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).

He’s all I’ve got left.

God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits,

to the woman who diligently seeks.

It’s a good thing to quietly hope,

quietly hope for help from God.

It’s a good thing when you’re young

to stick it out through the hard times.

Lamentations 3:19-26 (MSG)

on time

Summer’s ending.

School’s starting.

A conference is coming.

Another book is simmering.

And so, I’m taking some time away from social media.

A couple weeks to rest.

Be more fully present.

Step out of the traffic.

And listen to God.

Blessings to y’all!

“Step out of the traffic! Take a long,
      loving look at me, your High God,
      above politics, above everything.”

Psalm 46:10 (TMV)

Into the solstice I go

Winter has a way of isolating us.

From each other.

From life.

From our Savior.

The cold penetrates and causes us to suck into our selves, and our selves are not a good place to stay. Not for long, anyway.

We weren’t meant to live alone.

We weren’t meant to live in the dark.

And yet, at times, I think the sharp edges of isolation have a way of cutting into places of the heart which need healing.

So, despite my longing to stay indoors, enveloped by a warm, wooly afghan and curled up next to one of our curled up dogs, I go.

I pull on my walking clothes, wrap a scarf around my neck, tuck my mittens into the sleeves of my parka, and I go.

Into the angled glare of a sunken sun, kissing the horizon like a lover longing to touch more . . .

. . . I go.

And in sunlight I find solace.

Smiting the unbridgeable solstice between hurt and healing, solace shows up like a waltzing curl of winter air on stretching beams of light.

The.

Light.

So will it be when the Lord begins to heal His people.

So will it be.

In the sunlight. 

The moon will shine like the sun, and the sunlight will be seven times brighter, like the light of seven full days, when the LORD binds up the bruises of his people and heals the wounds he inflicted. ~Isaiah 30:26 NIV