These Are The Days, Sacred and Holy

rolled tile roof in oak parkSometimes we just want to cry out loud Mercy at the top of our lungs. Mercy come rain over me. Mercy take me away to some physical and figurative place of peace. Mercy when will it get easier to raise a child. And this boxed in place of not enough, of  at the end of my rope and really, really still and again. It can leave a girl choosing wrongly to place a quantative value on a day. This one is good. This one is very very good. And this one was horrid. There was something to the girl and the curl and the measurement of her behavior. Good was very and bad was horrid.

But these days.  We stumble and name. Give up and give in. Give a grade or an adjective, undeserving of labels,these days. Really, these up and breathing and seeing life beating and blood flowing days. They are sacred and holy. Each one.

Because these are the days of breathing deep and living wide open. And of seeking and creating. These are the moments of loving and building. Of learning and grasping. Of holding and treasuring. Of serving and glorifying. Of offering hope and creating beauty out of the ash.

So the days when we shake a fist at the sky and rail and cry and name the day broken or less than. Well, it just shortens the days of our living, robs self of self.Bleeds them dry with the worry and the tears. Robs them of potential slivers of joy by wrapping them up in the brown-paper wrapping of plain or uninspired. Too filled with pain or sadness to be labeled glorious. Snuffs out the creative and puts a dark mask of blindness on the eyes of the living.

But with the few I have, the ones I am gifted ,granted, don’t I want to maximize the breath and the life in each. How can I put an end to the labels of the days of pain, the desert days, the days of mourning and weeping and wailing. And instead see them each as a perfectly jig-sawed piece to the whole of the puzzle. Each worn and torn frament as a vital and necessary piece of the tapestry of a pulsating life.

How do I wrangle the worn out and worn down and weary and weave them into golden glory. Re-create the mud-pie meals and make them gourmet edible delicacies after all, because its what I have. Recreate the broken and see it as healable redeemable and lovable after all. Because of His life and death. Because of His power.

Because it is life and life is it. This place of in the middle of unknowing and uncertainty, of one day soon it will make more sense and we will see better and clearer and it will be redeemed.

I know about seasons of living. The seasons of pain and the ones of pure joy. But what of the days which can’t be painted with strokes of meaning. Which seem longer than a season and in need of a new naming. The long cycles of questions and not quite clear, the blurry and bleary and tear-stained days.

What of the long periods which feel like they may never end. The repetition of the same recycled hurt and struggle. Where complete healing and total transformation seem to elude this life.

What of making and re-making these days into the best they can be and give, in spite of, despite. What of dropping the measuring sticks of worth and naming all the days as all the days. Each one  the sun up and sun down, moon up and moon down and all the in between. And we do seek extra hard and we squint and we squint some more and strain,on some of these crying out days. The loud mercy days.

I need you to help me reframe the days. To see the beautiful where I can only see hurt. To hold me where my mercies cry out loud and deafening. I need you to be his hands and feet and to catch a tear . To  help me salvage and save what is right here for the living and loving through the pain, inspite of the pain.

Despite the struggle, I need to define the beauty. And the lovely. And the worthy of praise.

When the crying out mercies seem to overshadow the new mercies where does the heart sit and find her rest, the soul her peace. Catch me brother, catch me sister and hold me in the arms of your strong Christ-love.

Catch my tear when the seemingly endless repetition of the wearing down and worn out and numbing pain send me back into the shadows. Pull me out with reminders of light and life with the strength of your Christ-love.

And sister, brother may I do the same for you. Help you frame the pain with a new lens of redemption and healing. Sit with you in the no-matter what’s that come. Hold you in the painful places of grief and loss, of despair and sorrow. Hold you as Christ would, love as Christ does and encourage you to walk forward into the days of healing.

Walk it out when I am weary, be my rod when I am crippled in my place of wandering wondering. And be my strength when I am weak.  Be my peace when I am warring with myself and wrestling with my soul. Be my gentle in my hard places, glimmers of light when hope is dim.

Be Christ for me, brothers and sisters. And teach me how to be Christ for you.

Walk with me into the days, the days of  the holy living, each and every single glorious one.

 Live out the days of breathing, as they are sacred. And as they are holy.

And live out the days, sacred and holy – together – in shared awe and wonder at it all. All. Every. Single. One.

Because these are the days of our lives. These are the days of the holy given.


joining Laura at Laura Boggess dot com and Jen at finding heaven today and Heather at Just Write.

Shelly and Duane.

(note: a day or two after this original post, I have added a word or two more. writing evolves and changes, sometimes, as the heart of the writer hears and sees more, different, and new)

the cabin in the woods 2 exterior

16 thoughts on “These Are The Days, Sacred and Holy

  1. I believe I was praying very similar words as I was walking just a short while ago, “Be Christ for me, brothers and sisters. And teach me how to be Christ for you.” I so need others to be Christ for me, for others I care about so deeply. And sometimes, especially in the midst of the weariness, I wonder who needs me to be Christ? I wonder if I can be?

  2. I am feeling this tonight. In this tired and busy and spent. I can fall on this prayer like a soft feather bed. Every moment, holy. When we are Christ to each other this way.

  3. Dear Elizabeth
    Like always, beautiful. Yes, my friend, I know those days when just putting one foot in front of the other feels like climbing Everest, especially with a chronic illness. What to do, but only resting in His love, takes us through those
    valleys as well.

  4. ” the lovely. And the worthy of praise.” That is so true. I wrote down Psalm 34:1 as a scripture to focus on this week. “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.” Lovely writing.

    1. I love these words from Psalm 34. Its lovely to meet you. Thank you for being here with your kind words. Yes to have it always on my lips. But i fail and fail again. There is much to sing of with songs of praise.

  5. Oh my, friend, there is so much beauty here, that I am stumped as to what I might say I liked best. Truly, you are such a writer, thank you for this gift–for this treasure that you let us see–it is so sacred, all these desires, all these longings, all these hurts, scars, and places still seeking–thank you for letting us in. This was a real treat to read. Love you, and thank you for visiting me! I love seeing you over there!

    I’d like to invite you–if you think you’d like to join– #concretewords. The prompt this week is the Moon, and you can link up until Sunday! {Next Monday our prompt is Worship} The linky goes up every Sunday night.

  6. Elizabeth, I love this — not putting labels on these days. The kind that encourage us to dismiss some and embrace others. Instead, to see all as holy…and this: teach me how to be Christ to you. Yes, that, my friend, is it.

  7. God’s mercy has been peeling off the many layers that are me. I had just written some poetic prose about a woman needing to see Jesus, when I came across this. I think I can finish the piece now. It has personal story in-between the lines. This was such a heart grabber for me. Thank you.

  8. Beautiful. And in the sharing we halve our sorrows and double our blessings. Thanks for blessing me today with your words.

  9. “So the days when we shake a fist at the sky and rail and cry and name the day broken or less than. Well, it just shortens the days of our living, robs self of self.”

    Oh, girl. That, right there, is a beautiful quote. I’m going to share it.

  10. The beating of your heart pounded through the keys, straight into your words. Yes, Christ to one another. Let’s be.

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