Cracked Pots

Beauty is not the only way that true light

Shines through.

It may be hidden in cracks of Mercy

Found in me, found in you.

In the haggard, the worn, and weary

You just might find something new.

It’s through cracks of Mercy that

True light shines through.

Though angels may glisten,

And diamonds may shine.

It’s through the poor that

You listen, and fill our

Cracked pots with new

Wine!

The Awakening (A Poem)

You awaken me to the wonder
of your world.

You whisper me the solace
of your word.

The mountains white-tipped
and tall.

Your majesty; a sacred humble
call.

You gather me from shore to
shining sea.

You shoulder me with Love
Astoundingly.

Advent Season

Today is the first weekend in Advent.  It is a season of waiting; waiting for the coming of the King, the Messiah who was born in Bethlehem many moons ago, but He still lives in the hearts of men and women who love and serve Him around this big, wide world.

I think the Advent Season is a season of slowing down.  What’s the rush?  At Christmastime everyone seems to be rushing around with a shopping deadline, but that is really not the heart of the Christmas Story.

Like Mary, who waited 9 months for her delivery, we await again for another kind of Delivery-One of the Triumphant Son who will once again shatter the yokes, and awaken humanity to the God-Head; the Blessed Trinity.

I wish we could link arms around this big, wide world, as a sign of the promise that is to come for all those who await for the Blessed Messiah.

I wish we could pause.  I wish we could break bread, and breathe and just stop what we are doing and give thanks.  

I wish we could celebrate and Be Still, and quiet with a special kind of humming that moves our souls to hark the herald angels sing and wait for the triumphant king to break into our quiet, humble, circle as well as the circle of our not so quiet humanity that sees the star, that hears the angelic proclamation and brings the treasures from afar to worship Emmanuel, God with us!

Battle Scars

I was talking to God tonight.  A lot to talk over these days, and as He so wonderfully can do, He brought up a memory .  It was my second home growing up with my sisters and single mother.  And in that home was a laundry room.  The laundry room was beautifully shaped with a nice picture window up front.  I use to go in there when my mother did laundry. I use to go in there to play hide and seek with my sisters. I use to go in there to find chewed-up shoes that my dog just ruined.  It was a happening place; always very warm from the heat of the washer and dryer. 

But why did God bring this up?  Perhaps because something in me has shifted.  I use to want to go back to my tumultuous adolescence and tell that girl what I now know so she won’t make the same mistakes…but truthfully that adolescent girl doesn’t need that from me now.  In life you don’t get to go back and make changes, and quite honestly I wouldn’t have my life any other way; battle scars and all. 

I would however still tell that girl something.  I would tell her to be happier, to be freer and to be more in love.

Perhaps that girl still lives in me.  I am her.  She is me.