The Mosaic Is Me.

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Who am I?

A jumbled mess and a masterpiece.

Mentally and spiritually strong, yet weak.

Shaping, bewildering, molding, and tearing me.

All these things, how can they be?

I fall to my knees.

I beg and plead.

Show me the truth, so I can see.

My soul quickly swells with a binding peace.

The answer’s clear. I now can see!

A man, a cross, and shed blood made it be.

The beautiful and the wretched, the mosaic is me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under the Tree

I meet you at the foot of the tree,

where you can lean your weary soul.

Feel the power of the shade it provides.

And, strength of the hope it gives.

The tree will never fail or fall.

No matter how the strong winds blow.

There are woodlands of other enticing trees.

There implies, in My tree lies a dreadful desert.

I tell you, they’re nothing but wrong.

Here in this humble tree,

lies all the pasture you’ll ever need.

Please, come sit back down with Me.

Hold dear––you are under My wing,

of the tree where I shed my blood for thee.

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Freedom

rain.jpgScattered heavy raindrops began to fall from the sky as I played in a nearby tennis court with my friends during our brothers baseball game. Slowly, the sporadic rain turned into a steady rainfall. My friends and I lifted our arms high and tilted our heads back as we allowed the rain to land in our open mouths. I remember the laughter that flowed from us and the glances that bonded us in that moment. Time slowed and we were nothing else but free.

Sitting here thinking of that moment, I can almost feel the same freedom I felt that day. I believe if it were to start raining right now I would want to run outside and try to relive it. I wouldn’t actually do it though. Well, unless my kids were with me. I would feel like an idiot standing in the rain by myself.

We all yearn for freedom. Look at the world around you. People are always seeking and fighting for it. Or, they’re in pain because they can’t find it or simply don’t have the strength to fight for it. What I see are people clinging to the the wrong kind of freedom or things that are not freedom at all. They just think or hope it is. Because those freedoms are always in exchange for something else. I wonder if deep down they feel a void knowing it isn’t what they really need to be seeking. Those freedoms are only temporary, they are shallow puddles that will soon dry.

Like me standing in the rain. That free feeling ceased. My friends and I became bored and cold. I remember having no towel in the car and I couldn’t wait to get home to change into dry clothes. Dry socks never felt so good. The rain was a fleeting childhood freedom. Some of my best memories surround such freedoms. Childhood freedoms, although innocent and pure, will never give us what we need.

There is only one real freedom in this life and that is freedom in Christ. Many of us “adult” christians know this already. Yet, we hesitate like I do when the thought of playing in the rain crosses my mind. Why can’t we fully embrace this freedom? We’re all sinners, duh. I wonder though…what would happen if we started running and clinging to Him like a child, regardless of what sin was standing in the way? Childlike faith, I believe it’s called (wink wink).

Would we better sway people away from the false freedoms they are rooted in if they saw us clinging more to the truth our hearts hold so dear? I think about my kids and the type of faith I want them to carry throughout their lives. I picture them standing in the rain with their arms up high and heads tilted back because they know freedom, real freedom, never will cease.

Season of Change

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The once green leaves darkened and dried.

I never thought to just let them go.

I prayed for strength to keep and bear them.

 

Still, the crisp air came and began to rip them away.

Some twirled, some plummeted, some fast, some slow.

But all landed on the ground around me.

 

I didn’t believe they would wander far.

Give me the strength Lord, please.

They may still come back to me.

 

Slowly the wind picked them up.

One by one they flew further and further.

I tried reaching down to grab them.

 

God simply told me no.  

 

I realized a season of change had come.

New leaves would surely emerge.

But only after the release of all the old.

 

Rooms of my Heart

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In the rooms of my heart the windows never close.

I watch the swelling of the curtains as memories old and new blow through.

My room of pain is deep within.

Layer upon layer of paint conceal the hurt that lies beneath.

There is a closet of white clothes.

Sometimes I see the crisp white fabric and sometimes all I see are stains.

Down the hall is a room with only darkness.

I try to light a candle, but there’s a force that blows it out.

The room is cold and I feel the chills of life run up and down my spine.

I never stay long there…

I rush into my room of things I love.

It is filled with my kids laughter and my husband’s embrace.

I also have my room of peace.

A worn comfy chair, a warm blanket, and a book await me there.

I stare out the window, I listen to the rain fall, and I pray.

There are many other rooms in my heart.

Some are locked and some are hidden.

Some have walls knocked down and others are under construction…

Oh, but I must not forget to mention my favorite room.

It is my room of forgiveness.

This room is covered by the blood of the Lamb.

It peels away the layers of paint and washes away my stains.

It gives me light in the darkness and warms my soul.

This, my dear, is the room of all rooms.