Love, Grace – Letters From The Village

February 23, 2013February 23, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 6 Comments

After the rain came, flooding the all around, nearly enough wet to soak a soul and start the preparations for the ark. And after the rain came and all seemed grey and clouds remained and the wet and dank just hung around. And after the rain which spilled like tears and did not give way to a rainbow this day. Nor offer a break in the raging storm.

Grace appeared. She cracked the shell of cloud soaked soul. And slid her gentle fingers through the slits and slats. And Grace broke through and Love did too.

The greatest of these still remains. On the front side back side middle of a mess. Comes glorious Grace on the wings of Love. The greatest of these, the always remaining, always was guarding and watching the heart as it was breaking. Determined to show Mercy despite all the storms.

I know as I know true Grace always stays. Tucked in the shadows or out in full view. Signing her love notes in front of our eyes. Gentle, bent low to offer her peace. Spreading her soothing balm on the weary. Glazing the gaping wounds with the mercy which heals.

And leaving her sacred and certain mark on a man.

She signs her signature, cursive calligraphy, dignified, true. And you know you’ve been touched by her peace that transcends. And you’re left with a chorus of bold amens.

And certain are you beyond a shadow of doubt that Grace was here, that Grace did appear.

You rest in the knowing that Love will prevail and win all the wars, each battle, each fight. That Love blankets the weary, the broken and crushed. And Peace like a river washes over your soul.

And somewhere, yes somewhere she leaves her sweet signature. As simple as that. Look for her markings all over the place. As simple, as lovely as two little words.

Don’t miss it she leaves her mark everywhere. Open your eyes and see it written so plain.

Love, Grace.

The greatest of these will always remain.

Joining Sandra Heska King for her Still Saturdays

Joy – Letters From The Village

February 21, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 21 Comments

(In this Lenten series, Letters From The Village, I am speaking out from the heart with my strugling voice, through a fading art form. Letter writing. Because? Why? There is a lovely intimacy between reader and writer which rests in the lines of a letter. Break the seal, open the thin glue lined envelope, pull the paper from its home in the nestled space and read.)

Dear Sad You,

Hold on tight to the Lover of Your Soul in these dark times. When much seems bleak and the world is cloaked in hurt and you wear a heavy coat of confusion, cling and grasp your God. His very hand.

And if these times were not ,would you hold on tight like the barnacles on boat bottom, hull hold fast? Do you embrace hard, white-nuckle in need and cling as the Confederate Jasmine to the lamppost when all is calm?

This place of self-sufficient stillness leaves you untethered in pride and independence, one step away or farther from your Christ.

If not for the whirling times, the turbulent stirrings in your world would you rest assured, rest alone, one step away from the Comforter.

Dear sad one, it is hard, so hard to see in this fog of war, a war in your very world. But throw your life-line to the One who calms the seas and guards your boat and loves you with unfailing love. And know that Joy comes in the morning.

Grab hold in love. Squeeze tight the line. And put on the lens of faith. That on the other side is recovery from the squalls and lessons learned in rocky times. And the same God, unchanging, always loving, remains before the storm, through the storm, and on the other side.

Look through the lens of faith and trust. Look through the lens of faith and know.

Look ahead assuredly with a knowing. Joy comes in the morning. Read the unchartered places as chartered. Steer ahead in confidence and faith. Waver not. Worry not.

And begin to set the table of celebration during the pitch and toss of your vessel. Because when the waters calm and the swells die out, you will throw a party in your soul and celebrate what you now know anew. You will glean the glory from the storm. And what is evident in the light will bring you closer to the Protector.

Sad one, celebration longs to throw her confetti high and colorful in the air. Where the winds of change can carry it away in joyous currents of rightful praise.

It will sail away on the winds of sweet release.

And Joy will come and the Light will be radiant, blinding even. On the other side of the storm. The blinding blue sky hovers over the horizon of doubt and gloom.

Welcome Joy as she waits to reclaim her rightful place.

And rest in and on the safe place. Hover under the Protector’s coverage, safe and dry. Warm and loved.

Then tell. Speak of Him who brought you through.

Dear broken heart put on the lens of faith and wipe the fog from your shattered view. Restoration of the broken and recovery from the wreckage wait in love, right round the next turn.

Joy is sweeter, so much sweeter after the winds have whipped your ship and tangled your heart in the messy. After your time up on the rocky hard places, sip from the cup of Joy.

And the mystery of this is just that. The Joy tastes sweeter after the choppy trip through rough times.

Then rest. Know He is good, your God. And thank. Savor and see. That He is good. So good, sweet one.

Your Joy has come in the morning. Sing a song of praise.

joining Emily, Ann, and Jennifer

Bend, Bow, and Bare “Letters From The Village” – Day 3

February 17, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

Day Three in the series “Letters From The Village” in which I pen a poem of praise, writing as if in letter form to the bending bowing limbed beauties. The wood from which the cross was cut and hewn.

Bend, Bow and Bare

You teach us well the lessons
How to bend and bow
To stand and lift, turn toward the sacred
Stretched skyward in tall praise.

You show us well the lessons
Of how to bare a soul, strip down to simple naked frame
Stand stark, vulnerable,
No covering to hide the shame or blight

You live well this life of shedding, pruning back
Of cutting back dead wood, this vital piece, the
Part that leads to vibrant verdant growing, new life
I watch you walk through seasons dignified, majestic, stark to full

Simple beauty,

I stare, eyes fixed in silent solemn awe,

I gaze on your reverential stance displayed in vertical repose

Dear Ones who show us how to bend and sway rooted deep in soil of life
You lift up strong, your limbs in praise
And bear your radiant fruit in due time
You who holy held the son of God on wood hewn cross He bled

the sins of all were carried on His back while nailed, obedient, to you.

The pain, the nails

The perfect sacrifice.

And so we bow

and bend lower, lower still

lower day by day inside the shadow that you cast for us, recall His holy sacrifice

The bark, stump, root, limb, leaf, bud and branch

Metaphor for us,

We the people of the cross.

We bend, we bow

We break, we bare,

We look to wooden ways, the forest and the trees.

amen ,no alleluia’s at this time, stark worship on these days

Remembering

The stump, the root, the cross, a final sacrifice received

Bent humbly, praising God

You teach well these lessons

Of both the forest and the trees.

The Cowardly Lioness Finds Courage, The End

February 1, 2013February 1, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 11 Comments

Joining Lisa Jo Baker and a wonderful community of writers for her five minute friday writing prompt. Today’s word is afraid.

The Cowardly Lioness Finds Courage, The End

The beginning and middle are there
But it is the end that matters
The most
It is the end that is a beginning
Really
Starting at the place where the Courage
Was found and the fear fled
Starting over at the point where the spirit of brave
Replaced a spirit of timidity
Beginning anew life of freedom, being born free
Without the bonds of cowardice and fear weighing
Heavy on the backbone and oh the weight and
Oppression in shaking and trembling

But the end is good
And the end is worthy of celebration
And it is as if all the stars shine bright in a celestial celebration
Of new birth
They shimmer and shine
The speak with their twinkling, speaking good news
Of new and brave
Shouting courage for living, courage for flying, courage for soaring
She is born anew

And it is as if the heavens light a candle on the backdrop of ebony velveteen draping
And unveil the new creature

And her name will be

Unafraid

The Lioness who lights up the night sky.

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

(And thanks for grace for a bit over the five.)

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