What I Am Working On

January 23, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 11 Comments

When that word showed up on my doorstep that day, I embraced it and said it was mine. At least for the year.

And there are many different mediums and forms and formats. Suddenly being flat and one dimensional as a writer and as a struggling poet has reached a restless place.

I cried out to a fellow blogger and shared with her my heart’s desire to produce my first video blog post (VLOG) and she spoke back.

A community is a living breathing being. And we are in community together. She reached out to me and said “I can help you.”

At the simplest level of our humanness is that desire to be heard and cared for. For a cry to have a response.

And as an artist and writer we may need to have someone come alongside as a fellow writer and say, I can help you with your craft. To develop it in a way you are dreaming about. Hoping for.

I am flat, with an avatar and only written words to the readers of my blog. I have a longing to put my voice and my clumsy hand gestures and my southern accent to my poetry. I want to be a “three D” me, if only once. Or maybe even more than once.

So this is what I am working on. A short little vlog post with my voice quivering and my poetry shaky wobbly on my lips. My accent revealing a bit of where I am from and my heart coming through in my word choices.

This is me now, in a flat screen back lit world. But this lover of words longs to give them a different vehicle. And send them off riding into the arms of her readers.

So I am off to work on my project and to pick a poem to read.

Have I told you lately how you bless me?

May you be encouraged today in all that you are lead to do, in work, in love, in relationships, and in service.

(Photo courtesy of Laura Hutto, Shades of Gray Photography

Finding Joy In Wash, Rinse, Repeat

January 22, 2013January 22, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 7 Comments

The repetition of the beautiful can feel more like repetition of the ordinary.

The let dog in let dog out days of in and out of the washer and dryer she adds a load, changes it out, and tries to mix it up.

She sees the ordinary but strains for the extraordinary of the cycles of life. The make the bed and wash a load and empty, re- load the machines that wash the things that are dirty hums its dull hum.

And the check the mail and fluff the pillows and call a friend and go to the store and wipe the counters again drills go on and on and on.

But what if she sees a nuance of change and a strain of the beautiful in the repetition of the everyday.

And what if she began to lace the duties of life and living with prayer and praise and songs.

Taking the sheets of music to the bed as she folds the sheets. And raises the window to hear the birds as they serenade the cycles of living. The daily fringed with songs of grace.

And what if the breathing of the home she holds dear begins to sound like the breathing of the family that will walk in soon in need of nurture, both of the soul and of the body.

So the wiping of the counters begins to look like a prelude to an act of love, of service.

And the mundane looks like a view through a kaleidoscope when she shifts the view, turns it slant to see, really see what’s hidden behind the veil of the daily.

And “viewing life through a lense of grace” breaks out anew from its cocoon of hiding and is reborn.

She sees the grace of life. She sees the joy in wash, rinse, repeat.

She reframes her ordinary with extravagant love and wipes the counter with a cloth of dripping wet grace, in the living, grace in the everyday.

And He does make all things new. In the moments of the everyday everyday.

So she turns it on its head until the blood rushes in and shakes and spins it round and round. And when the day gets turned right side up it’s flush with living, flush with the flow of blood all through the living breathing it.

The life has rushed back in and the life flows strong and bold through the day.

The turning, flipping bring shades of new, shades of the life-blood show, shining through. And it blushes with crimson, tinges of life-red.

The stale looks fresh, the old looks re-born and the mundane places are fired-up with the electric new.

She views life through a lense of grace.

And all the things on life’s pendulum, swing to the beat of a recalibrated heart.

And life fills her home again. And the beat goes on and on and on.

Dancing to the songs of grace.

Joining Jen and Heather today.

The Ink From Your Heart

January 12, 2013January 13, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 6 Comments

Release your words, let them loose, set then free, let them soothe a soul in need

Place your words on the wings of the dove and let them soar to a world which struggles to breathe

Give your words, room to fly, to land on the threshold of the ones who ache, afflicted, in pain

Let your words be free to go, fall soft and gentle onto a soul, washing gentle encouragement over hurting man, woman

Let your words, still wet with ink leave the well of your heart, touched first by the spirit of God

And let them truly soar.

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The Spirit of God is arousing us within

Romans 8 – The Message

Praying for opportunities to speak words of encouragement and tenderness to one to the left and one to the right, all weekend long. May your weekend be peaceful, inspired by the gentle spirit of God, and open to touch another in need of transforming words from a heart that knows Him.

Joining Sandra Heska King for Still Saturday and Deidra for The Sunday Community

For The Love Of Peace

January 11, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 9 Comments

Cloaked, by a robe, soft heavy on my soul
Worn, yet too often shed
Wrap me in tight, like a swaddled child
Bind my arms, all my limbs, my heart in the warmth
Of Peace.

Wrapped in the bubble, wrap of your care
Clothed in the cloak of your finest content
Lay me down in the black still of the night
And bathe me in wash me in cover me in
Your Peace.

Restless and wobbly as wet calf on new hay
Uncertain, her mother nudges, protects
Shore up and hem in a spirit which seeks
To step into lockstep with strides of
Your Peace.

And not to lay frozen, guarded from life
Not to stay boxed up like porcelain plates
Not to rest, fragile in a place of comfort, from all
But to bask in the glory and know without
Doubt, that peace which lifts and buoys a soul
Will carry us as deliverers to a world plagued by hurt
Passing on, in love, a deeply held

Peace.