Category: Photography Blogging

Beautiful Broken

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 10 Comments

wisteria cross

Maybe the best way to write of the broken, to tell of the broken, to bleed words of broken, is  in a broken way. And that is all I have any way. Outside of The One Who Makes Things Whole and New. The Great Restorer Of All Broken.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Why do I miss the beautiful in the broken, when the broken is the beautiful. At first glance I saw a dried flower. Crooked, bent and missing petals. At second glance I saw through a lens of grace and true beauty.

I played and basked in the warm early Spring sun, wrapped in layers of warmth. My body warmed by clothing. My soul warmed by her children. Their creativity and passion for living called out to me. Called out to my needy soul. Their invitations  to enter into a world of imagination were beautiful and trusting. We had never met. But we were lost in the world of playful discovery for two of the happiest hours of my week, this Holy Week. I was renewed, my dry bones in need, by two children who took me from my broken adult world, into their precious world.

My joy came from their contagious child-like joy. To see through the eyes of little ones with their unbridled thirst for twirling and running and dancing. For going as high in the sky as the swing will go. Brave and bold. Their hunger for a story of imaginary brides and their clover bouquets. And eyes that see dirt as a canvas.

I looked at the dried hydranga. And though it is my favorite flower and the one that I long to see bloom in the spring, I missed the beauty upon first glance. And then the artist eyes of Kelly revealed the beauty to me, anew. Fresh. Glorious beauty in the broken. Do you see the transformation from broken to beautiful. The tender way her fingers hold this fragile flower.

How many times must I be shown the beauty in the broken.

He reveals it to me fresh and new, in His patient way. And I am  a child learning  again.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

cross on a wall

I keep returning to this picture taken by a friend, my dearest. I have spent time staring at its broken beauty. The wall is gray, the day was
gray, the one when we stumbled on this wooden cross. But what shines through is the rugged beauty, tilted beauty and simple truth about the cross. Here there is no gold, nor diamonds or even turquoise or silver. Here there is wood, faded and barely hanging on.

There is beautiful broken redemptive love shining through the gray.

And I am learning to see the beauty in the broken. And to seek the broken and find true beauty there.

That is what I am and He loves me in my broken, shattered, imperfect, fragile state. And sees even me as beautiful.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The new life is seeking to push through the cold dark winter that does not want to end. And daily I am wrapping around the needs of the broken
lives of friend. We pray for each other. Cry out in pain to one another. Please, please pray.

And I write down the names and the list is long. And I read the news and shutter and walk away. At the brokeness. At the pain and despair.

But the beautiful part is that He knows, sees and feels every ounce of my pain and hurt. That my trembling is held in the hands of the Healer. And that He hears the weakest of prayers and the feeblest muttering of my heart as I intercede for my family, friends, and strangers.

We are broken but held, broken but heard, and broken but Loved.

And  I can take it all in my broken strides and my limping gate to an Easter cross where the Savoir arises from the dead and the broken body is made whole.

There is so much glory in the broken.

And I am learning to seek understanding as I  wait for the re-creation of broken to whole.

As I look upon that wondrous cross…

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I see beauty and my heart cries out for Him.

He is making everything Easter new. That news is worthy of loud praises, shouts of Alleluia and twirling and dancing like a child, a child of God. Write it down, in the dirt of the earth. Write it down and remember.

Finally,  I am learning again and again  to see through a lens of His amazing Grace, the beautiful in the broken.

With and through the eyes of a child.
wrecked house boat

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Joining Michelle and Jennifer

Off The Beaten Path – PhotoBlogging In The Woods

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

I can go into the woods.

I can walk the paths before me, wander under a canopy of beauty.

And lose myself in the mountains. Experience long moments of solitutude.

Intentional in my aloneness. Choose to separate self.

Restore my soul. Surround  myself with  a symphony of birdsong. By design.

A canvas of greens and earth-toned brown beauty warm my soul like a woolen blanket.

Beside a stream. Life-giving water gurggles. Soul-restoring haven by the rushing. I can stand.

And like Robert Frost, name them, the woods lovely, dark and deep.

A place to rest in the lovely and the dark.

Where light shines though the Rhododendon blossom like a call, the other side of this refuge holds hope.  A promise in light.

And the water heals, the sound, the smell, the cool, and all that it gives. All of my senses capture the gift of the stream.

But I was meant for relationship. And I was created for community.

He calls me back into the arms of relationship. Into the community that is my world. The intimate one and the larger one of which I am a member.

And there is love.

And there is hurt.

And joy.

And brokenness.

And woundedness.

And disappointment.

And hope.

And healing.

There is every emotion that we were designed and created to experience.

In relationships with each other.

So I draw on the woods. I take from the tree-barked harbor. I leave the sanctuary of the solitutde.

And I live my life in relationships. I seek to build, restore, re-fresh, re-new, and re-love, again.

Each one.

Each precious, tender, sacred one.

And not in my strength alone, but in that of Creator God, maker of Heaven and Earth.

But those woods that Robert Frost knew so well, will call and I will go, again.

Tomorrow.

I lift up my eyes to the mountains-

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

The Maker of heaven and earth.- Psalm 121


“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.” by Robert Frost “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening”

Pay Attention On The Road

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

( Mary Oliver)




The Road

Pay attention to the road.

And the traffic.

The directions too.

You may get lost.

Wander off on a path, into the unknown.

Where Discovery waits.

To greet your heart.

Bust it wide open, into the light. Into the world. Into the bright.

Pay attention to the mom with the pain. The one on black top blank stare, hurting insides.

Pay attention to one on the platform, as the rat runs by.

The one with the words looking for a place to light, to land, to rest.

Pay attention to the the one wearing ink for clothing with sadness oozing out and over and into your arms.

Pay attention to the all, the one, the single soul with a hole to fill to make them whole.

And your words may touch and your presence may help. Might even heal. A bit. A place.

He did it well. He paid attention. To the woman at the well.

To the prostitute. To the leper.

Pay attention to even one, to the least.

Discover the joy.

In discovering the moment.

Connect with the one, the child, the mom, the man on his commute.

Let Mercy pierce your heart.And Love spill from your lips.

And stumble down that path.

The one marked well for you.