And Mondays and Tuesdays and ……..
Grace Period
Author: Elizabeth W. Marshall
The Sanctity of Words – Part 2
Stark lettering black on white and white on black. Simple square message. One for each direction of Highway. Two words. Facing north, facing south. They stick out of the ground on a lonely stretch of road. An invitation.
Life altering potential. Beckoning hundreds of motorists to pray.
Two words stir the soul. Prayer Mile.
For one man the invitation to enter into prayer was perfectly timed.
A man in need of healing touch. In need of hope. Wheels rolling down a lonely stretch of highway. Alone. A dog, beloved pet, the passenger, appears to be at the end of life needing relief from pain. A broken heart.
And like childrens’ dominoes when tapped touch all in their serpentine path, the man, the dog, the sign touch.
And a teacher.
She tells her high school children the story. Of her beloved pet on the way to the vet to be euthanized. No hope. Just the need for the pain to stop and for mercy to be delivered. She tells of the class of the man, the prayer and the dog. Restored to life for now. New hope.
And she tells her class that all their life, all their marriage, all this time she’d never known him to go with her to church, to read scriptures, to pray. Never.
A man, a sign, two words, an invitation. Hope restored.
And the high school class hears the story of a man stirred to pray. A lesson not taught often, not heard often, held up rarely. In school, in life. She asks him what brings this restored health. What does the vet say. Our dog is going to be fine for now. He tells her of the sign and his prayers. She tells the class.
The man, the woman, the dog, the children, and I have been touched by the Prayer Mile sign. Because God can use anything he chooses to break through to us in the everyday. The lonely road stretches of life.
And words can deliver life or death. Words matter a lot.
The words I choose can bring encouragement, hope, joy, goodness, calm, hope, and peace. But how often do they bring criticism and hurt instead. A small aside, a withheld compliment, a sarcastic tone deliver sting like the nettles from the sea. Like salt in a wound that is already there, an added word or malice rubs raw and burns the soul.
I pick up my keys and head out the door, delivering a motherly request to take out the dog as soon as she eats. And beautiful rearview mirror picture, obedience. He’s running leash and dog fast and happy down the road. I grin and know that I will tell him, well done.
Later words go back and forth in debate, discussion, disagreement. And I remind,you were told how proud I was of you. Mom, you sent me a text message. My message of encouragement fell flat. Eyes should have met, and words carrying breathe and life should have breathed my love, encouragement and joy at such rapid compliance. A boy, a dog, and a chore. A missed opportunity for words to bless.
He walks in the door, first words bookend long day. Deflated, disappointed. Not what I hoped for not want I longed for. They hang in the air. Dog ate trash and more. I want different. I want life breathing restorative words that tell of hope and longing and love. That bring sparkle and glitter and splattering of happy.
But the lonely road life stretches can bring the mundane. The business of the trash and the duty. Of fatigue and work. The home can harbor the realness of living.
Hope. Healing. Joy. These are the words welcome in my home. Life giving. Restorative words. Prevailing, winning claiming victory over a lonely road.
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So Much Beauty In The World
So Much Beauty In The World
There is a song rumbling and tumbling around in my head.
It’s been there for awhile.
It has moved in, unpacked, and settled in. All the pictures are hung, moved in.
So until I am through wrestling with the truth of the lyrics I am going to enjoy the inspiration.
And simply sing along.
Because there is so much beauty in the world.
‘Cause there is beauty in the world,
So much beauty in the world,
Always beauty in the world,
So much beauty in the world ……
Heya, throw your hands up and holler.
Heya, throw your hands up and holler.
When you don’t know what to do.
Don’t know if you’ll make it through.
Remember that He’s given you beauty in the world.
—Macy Gray
Just as each day brims with your beauty, my mouth brims with praise.–Psalm 71:8
Oh yes! God gives goodness and Beauty; our land responds with Bounty and Blessing.–Psalm 85:12
There is SO MUCH BEAUTY IN THE WORLD and the song still goes pinging from side to side up and down and all around my mind. On replay and repeat and on and on it goes.
I latch on to the key words and rest there. For days now it repeats the refrain.
And in the moments of these days I look for it all and keep finding more. More and more Beauty.
The gravely soulful voice of the singer rolling around my mind while my soul does a dance of gratitude on the dance floor of my heart.
Sent from my iPad
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When Grief Teaches
When Grief Teaches
He stands in the aisle of the Bi-Lo with his cart carrying sparse objects.
His smile beams, but behind it I know his pain.
We haven’t crossed paths in over a year, but his grief is raw and my grief stands alongside. Pain creeps into my stomach and it aches for him and with him. But how could I dare to know of his broken heart. How small all I have to offer up seems. Where does my heart go in the aisle of the grocery with this Daddy who has lost a son.
It goes to a place of asking and listening. And to a place of offering consolation. And of learning a lesson on life and living.
He describes his grief to me. He doesn’t cry every day. How it will always hurt. How he sees his son in the shadows of his younger, still -living son. And how he looks to see and finds his son in his younger child when he stands in just the right way.
And a part of me wants to push on act hurried. But I am not. I have life and this moment.
And he finds joy in the telling of a full life with his son. Music in his home brings life notes. Sports and activities represent life pressing on.
I have much to learn about life. And I have something to learn behind my heavy metal cart.
He shares that he had to delete most of his sons friends from social media. It got to be too hard he explains. And my mind races to what that world tells of life. Teenage phraseology. Teenage rank order of life’s priorities. Teenage whining and complaining not unlike my own. Not unlike my own.
Its been three years.
But the pain of listening to those that have life complain….. Well it got too hard.
And I tell him, I understand.
What life we are given. What abundant life we have.
A lesson learned in the dairy aisle from a grieving man. To hold on and hold tight and to cherish all that we’re given all that we have.
Later I share the story with my daughter. And she goes to that lense of life. The one of hurting Daddy viewing Facebook. The comments that lay out there. And she pauses and imagines his pain.
What a teacher Grief can be.
And I dont want any of it lost on me.
But how often does my heavenly Father who offered his son so I could have abundant life, hear my complaints of minor disappointment. My words of minor inconvenience. How painful it must be for him to hear my utterances of wanting more or wanting different.
Lord, rest the eyes of my heart on your gifts today. And all God’s people say amen.
Amen!
Sent from my iPad
elizabeth w. marshall 