How I Am Learning One Size Doesn’t Fit Most Or All

rope hammock chain rain mcvl

We find ourselves living in another new normal again. And it’s okay. It’s more than okay. Because we are being washed in a torrential outpouring of grace.

We are learning in the stretching. We tore down some of those self-imposed walls. Or were they man-made? I don’t know. I just know they are crumbling down a bit. The rigid, concrete walls which keep out change. The ones that conform us to some preconception, some loose ideal whose origins we do not know.

We seek to lean into God ‘s will and plan. And to bend without breaking. Yet welcoming the pruning shears. To stretch and grow. And break free of shackles that bind. To let Him mold us, shape us, lead us, change us. The heat from the fire refines us. The molding reshapes us. We hope that we are beautiful when we come through the tumbler’s wheel. More beautiful and stronger than before. But more than any superlative or standard or ideal, we hope to more like Christ.

And I am learning in the deep recesses, the places that like to tuck away and hide the false, the myth, the half-truths. That one size doesn’t fit all. And that even the one size fits most isn’t always the right fit.

Because the God of the universe created with an eye on originality and uniqueness. An unfathomable ocean of possibility and endless beauty in the physical world. Mountains and months of snow blanket the earth, no two flakes alike. Endless variety. Infinite variation.

I word searched “normal” in The Message Translation because it matters to me how scripture sees and views “normal”. It’s not a precise study in theology nor a tool in stating a case. It simply gives me pause. There were nine “hits”. Some how that seems infrequent for the whole of scripture. And I long to know why.

And I am seeing that God’s highest and best, it may lay outside the cookie cutter ways we write paradigms for our lives. We are looking at new paths and ways to live out this life for our children and ourselves.

My lens on this life sees beauty in different ways of doing and making art. Of writing. Oh the myriad of writing styles there are to ingest. The cup is full to overflowing with poetry and prose of every imaginable style. Each sip satisfies with it’s original beauty.

And doing church is going through some transformation. We are hungry and thirsty for community, fellowship and teaching. A shift in our life is shifting possibilities here too. The world, our world, our very lives are changing. And there may be another new normal on the horizon for us. I am learning to break the lens of tunnel vision. And to replace it with a lens of grace. Grace for us, our children, and throwing out stale ways of seeing possibility.

One size fits all is too small for a God this big. And His love is too grand to squeeze us into shoes that don’t fit as we run this race of life.

Our new normal feels more beautiful everyday and we are starting to settle into our new skin. Just in time for the new new normal that waits with open arms around the next turn in the road. We travel with a spirit of expectancy. And we walk by faith covered in grace.

A

Advertisements

Plum Tuckered Out

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, Grace – Letters From The Village

mcvl

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.

mcvl close up lily fence

Joining Sandra Heska King for her Still Saturdays

mcvl third lilly and vine

still saturday button

The Fear Of Forgetting, The Art of Remembering

heart bright in woodShe recalls the smallest detail from years ago.

She recalls the long ago.

And she forgets the half a moment away.

Mystery in the mind, mystery in the aging

of memory.

A life gets blurred like watercolors on a canvas.

Color present, color faded, lines and detail run away and off the page

Until a version of  blurry new is present in the present.

And what will I recall.

What will I remember.

Will the written anchor memories of each, of the three, the best, the challenges

I dream a dream of  capturing it all in bell jar, lid light,

In marked detail , the love and laughter

Growing up at my feet, at my bosom for years

If you add them, all the days between the three

It would make one old child, but they are three

And will the words help bury memories, encase them in a time capsule

Just in case the mind and memory fade as it does and as it did for her

She says remember when you and how could I, barely I do, I barely recall

I the child she the mother of this obscure event, no event is unworthy of recording

All are worthy, all are worthy.

If I write and when I write may it be a doubled effort to recall

The smallest moments in their, our, this life.

Branding, blazing all the breathes in ink, in stone, the sacred ones

The what He gives, the what we take

No it is what we receive, and remember and  offer back

By recording, all the moments in an effort

To remember.

She remembers the smallest detail from long long ago.

May I remember the smallest details from long long ago.

And begin to see through her eyes, a glimpse, a slant of how

She saw and how she sees

That is grace.

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

Joining Emily at Imperfect Prose for her one word prompt this week…Mother.

one word button

imperfectprose