Tag: Amazing Grace

Collide

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 1 Comment

ive got my eye on you dirty donkey

Punctured through the thin membrane
She glances back through glazed wet eyes
Pierces life suspended, breaks with fork prong
Pokes the times that crashed though cushioned
Twisted metal years collide held in gentle memory

She stares at hope, mercy new broken through
The soil of new black earth
Wet with promise
Holding pregnant pauses possibilities
Birth and death collide

Your days, our lives
Intersected crossed, our paths
Left marks that tell of living
Skid marks, post marks
Sealed the envelope of life with love
And cracked it open time and time again

Sheltered cushioned every time
Amazing grace how sweet the sound
Has saved each misstep along the way
And held we were by mercy’s arms
By Glory here and Glory there
A halleluia chorus gathered round and rocked us into safe sweet arms
Though

We collide.

Plum Tuckered Out

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

sunset over jeremy creek

Plum Tuckered Out

He is stuck there now.
The rut provides peace.
The same draws lines of safety in an unsafe world.
The control gives comfort where comfort looks for refuge.

The sliced plum and arugula salad, night after night.
All the senses are satisfied, satiated. 
Routine of majestic fruit on bitter greens and
We call it a night.

And the purple moutains majesty
In the west and the setting sun on the back
Of an indigo sky with the windswept hues of purple
Soothe the gut punch life gives, the bruising from a day in a life.

She is stuck there now.
The rut provides  peace.
The same draws lines of safety in an unsafe world.
The control gives comfort where comfort looks for refuge.

And the song hems in a world with a simple line of love.
They hear it, play it over and over, like stuck vinyl record
Amazing grace how sweet
Every funeral, every church, every man.
Cannot get enough, give enough amazing grace, grape juice, wine,
The crushed grapes become liquid, life-giving, the bread, the body, the transaction at the rail.
And grace. The hole is deep and wide and needs filling, like the dying need a blood transfusion, purple nectar sustains the living
With grace. 

Cannot get enough of amazing grace how sweet the sound
It saves us in its repetition of the truth.
Draws us in with the familiar strains.
No need for reaching for the hymnal we all know it by
Heart, even those with bruises, no especially those with the bruises.
We all have bruises. We all fall short, we all fall down.

That grace covers a multitude of sin
No, love does that
And if we count the number of times we’ve sung Amazing Grace.

We all fall short
So we sing it till we sing it blind and weak
And till we’re buried beneath the wisteria vines in the old cemetery down the road.
And we’re all plum tuckered out.
But grace never is.

They are stuck there now.
The rut provides peace.
The same draws lines of safety in an unsafe world.
The control gives  comfort where comfort gives refuge.

And they all, each one, seek sips of grace from the cup
Given by the royal Priest who gently heals the battered and bruised.
And wears humbly his royal garment of Healing and Comfort.
And we’re all just plum tuckered out,

in need of
grace.

bee in glove with purples

I am joining Tweetspeak Poetry for this month’s poetry prompt — purple, plum and indigo. So I am shading my words in these hues. And joining Laura for her Playdates at The Wellspring. One of my favorite places in the blogosphere.

Love, Lent, And Letters From The Village (Day One)

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 11 Comments

After an unplanned sabbatical from writing, I am beginning  anew today  with a series dovetailing the Lenten season. I hope you will walk with me through these days leading up to Easter as I write in the form of letters. Both poetry and prose. But each day a letter expressing prayers, deep searching, mediations of the heart, wonderings, wanderings and an exploration of grace. Grace in the everyday. 

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I have become increasingly drawn to the beauty of the art of letter writing. Its intimacy, its romantic vehicle for reaching the soul of another calls me to seek and know more.  The beauty found in writing tender thoughts from one to another intrigues me. And so I want to explore the art form here in a series entitled “Letters From The Village.”  Happily, I am spending some time in a small shrimping village. This is a place I have known and loved for a long season of my life. Hidden here are memories of marriage, raising three children and celebration upon celebration with friends. Tucked away. Folded in. Wrapped in the salty soil of this place. And so there is deep meaning and significance in beginning these letters to you from “the village.”  That you will open and read, break the wax seal on each is gift. The first is penned on Valentines Day and  is being written from the heart of this place. 

It is my hope and prayer that the art of grace will set the tone as we walk through the holy days of Lent, preparing for Easter and the sacred days waiting for celebration in Holy Week.

There is a thinness, sparseness woven in these days. A dignified seriousness to the pulse and cadence of these moments. The beat is sacred. The breathing measured. Breathe deep the grace of Lent.

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Dear Patient One,

I write to you on Valentines Day, a poem, the first in a series entitled “Letters From The Village.”

May others discover more of their story in reading some of ours.

Love,

elizabeth

Waves of Grace

We washed up here years ago
Its been years since we first
Drove up and saw that Hugo water marked wall
And fell in love
It was potential we saw
And knew a life could be built

We came back here after tears before them too
And fell for it and each other
We kept coming back
Wave on wave of worry
Left at the entrance
We rocked under the moon and stars

You drove a nail and held that hammer
And we drove kids down
We packed a bag
And fled the mundane
To discover the extraordinary in this ordinary
Life has a way of repeating

Like the scavenger gulls that cry
We have 
And laughed and lost our way
On that sea
A time or two
And now only
A year or so remains they grew

OneWord2013_Art

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joining Emily and my community at Imperfect Prose on Thursday’s for today’s word prompt LOVE

The Final One – Grace, God,and What’s Next

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 12 Comments

Today is Day 31. It’s the end. It’s the beginning. The collective is here for the unwrapping.

Chapter One

Thank you for walking out October with me. Or just joining me today. Its Grace that you do.

The words. They have been stirred up and scrambled a bit. These words our tools.

And they have been fragile, tender, chosen with some care. Delicate the words. And each a shade of different.

As prayers, worshipers, delighters, praisers, writers, poets, bloggers, mommies.

It is  our words. They are our tools.

To pray to our God, to worship our God, to raise our children, to sing our songs, and lift our voices.

They lift up, they give voice, and they give Hope.

When I began I started this series walking out a plan to write daily. You can reflect with me on my dailiness. here. (Or lack thereof, or good intent, or best laid plans).

What grace it is to write at all. If writing is your passion. What grace it is to write and meet a friend along the way.

What is this writing journey but a step and a step and another. To touch a soul with a phrase or a word. To write of life and have another lean in soft or lean in hard and say I understand or better, so much better that speaks to me and it is sweet. And it is tender.

Your eyes here with me are a gift. He brings them to the page.

Your heart beats, steps in stride with me, walking it out with me. Gift.

And all these words that have been and words to come, are reflecting, praising, processing, speaking, telling, of this life He gives. And to Him glory.

Of the Grace He gives, and its delightful amazing.

Of the Hope that’s in Him and its radiant.

May He be the audience of one for whom we write the words of our life.

To serve Him, praise Him, seek Him, and abide in Him.

Chapter Two

Once upon a time there was a blogger who found a hope-filled community of writing friends along her way.
And it is good.  And it was very very good. And it is great and safe and a wonderful delightful place.  And there were the  words woven, words shared, words prayed, and words passed like the peace in love, back and forth, from and to. And a life was richer because of the words. Shared.

And stories were written, life was written, and bumps and bruises were written out, and fears released, and hope captured, and God praised.

And she thanked her God for the words , for  breathing through them. For bridges built with them, to others and to her Gift Giver. For Joy found in them. Each one full and rich, like figs picked from the tree,  placed on the lips to delight and consume.

And there was Grace, abundant and amazing. Grace when time was multiplied, time was hard, times were filled with questions and seeking.

And there was Grace, abundant in the extending of words, out. Releasing them. Freeing them. Sending them out, to go and tell.

Out into the bloggy world.

This very imperfect prosety. These very flawed proems.

The voice that trembles, seeks to be and form and speak.

He gives another day to pick it up and form the words. To build community and simply sing a song. To tell of Him and His amazing Grace.

Another Day. A gift.

Its Grace.

And I am writing of those moments, when Grace has appeared, wrapped in Love, dipped in Love, signed in the wet ink of Mercy.

The eyes of the heart record and tell. And thank. And the words keep marching out, prancing out, dancing out, this narrative, this story, of this one wonderful life.

The one He so graciously gives.

Chapter Three

What’s next?

Surprises. Trust. Expectancy. The beautiful. The wonder. The very very ordinary.

And the leaning in and bending the ear to Him, for words and inspiration.

Thank you for reading, journeying and always encouraging.

As a thank you I am giving away a piece of wonderful jewelry from Tracey Anderson Cooper, a friend. Just leave a comment to be entered. It can be a word. (These are examples of her line,.I will choose a piece in stock. It will be lovely, truly.)

{And when you leave a comment or a word, would you consider your own little dream of what would be next, here. Your own little wish of what you would want to read here. If you do. If you shall. An idea, a thought. Its Gift that you would.}

Are you journeying daily, here. Humbled if you would. Be here daily, just me and you and the words. Click here to receive daily emails and join this community of words.

Joining Duane, Emily, Ann, Mary Beth, and Jennifer.