The Valley Song.

Entering the valley, deepest depths, coldest darks, Sudden sounds, a breaking branch, adrenaline does rush, Midnight black blinds the eyes, His hand leadeth thee. Tempting lies speak the words, this, the valley of despair, Frightening journey, unknown dangers creep and rouse, Not meant to see the end, fearful hold does clutch His hem. Further in,

Facing fears. (Part two)

My friend, Julie, gave me a book for Christmas. Just in time for me to read before flying out to Oregon.  Just in time to confront a few fears.  Just in time to learn to walk in liberty. I had read Angie Smith’s book, Bring the Rain, about the loss of her daughter shortly following

Facing fears. (Part one)

A text shows up in my phone.  “When are you going?” It had been on my heart.  I silently whisper, “Lord, if You want me to go, make a way.” I ask our church to pray if I am supposed to go, now, at this time. The men, later that evening, say yes.  Complete agreement.

This present pain.

This morning, it is crisp and cold.  A wintry sort of day.  One of my morning’s readings laying open to Faber speaking of “serving Jesus out of love, in the wear and tear of common, unpoetic life.” Impaled by this truth, I take a drink from my glass of kefir.  Its sour, sweetness tangy on my

…the cattle on a thousand hills.

This morning’s readings.

This mornings reading culminate into a beautiful assurance: Calmly we look behind us, on joys and sorrows past, We know that all is mercy now, and shall be well at last; Calmly we look before us,- we fear no future ill, Enough for safety and for peace, if Thou art with us still. ~Jane Borthwick

Psalm 102

Like the desert owl of the wilderness, A quiet vigil I do keep. Awakening through the night, murmuring prayers in my sleep. Utter pain, pure petition, Our hearts cry out to You. In severe trials, Your promises stand true. We lean in, not away, We push towards, drawn to You. Your mercy we harvest, grace

restoration

Sometimes.  My life is like Bessie, our home.  Not as she is now, but before.  The first day I walked in. Dirty walls, mouse turds, spiders..the fetid odor of a couple of decades of nasty carpet with ground in dirt.  A layer of scum and dirt everywhere.  Windows unwashed.  Tubs, showers and toilets left with

16,102.

That is how many days old I am today. Why did I look this up? Psalm 90 verse 12 says, “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” If I live to be 80, I have 13,098 days left.  A little under half what I have already breathed.

Grace.

It’s 7:45 in the evening and I had just stopped for a drink for Grace and Rinnah at the QT in the “armpit” of Tulsa.  An unattractive, heavily laden industrial area we pass through on our drive home.  Trucks stops, fast food, cheap hotels line the road. I smile at a young man hosing down