Waiting On The Super Moon

 

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Waiting On A Super Moon

She came at the dark like
A mad woman
Chasing it with a frenzied pent up
Mother bear
Mother hen
Don’t mess with me
Mad at the thief
Who steals the light

Righteous indignation

Weary from her spinning round
She stopped to catch her breath
And caught a glimpse of
Heaven
For
In the end

It was there
She rested in the Truth

In reminders
Of Creation’s dazzling
Strength
Super Moons and super Hope
And raging alone in darkness
Would be
No more

The brightest Light could douse the flames
Lapping at her feet
Would drown the darkness
And the thief

The dark could never win
And she could finally sleep
Rest

Until the next time
She would come at the dark
Like a mad woman
Chasing it with a frenzied pent up …

By the Light of the Moon

 

 

Taking Note Of The Ordinary

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Some days the tail really does seem to wag the dog. That is to say a small thing has power over, even drives the greater, larger whole. When I notice this tail wagging condition, I want to reboot and set things right. Get on top of my circumstances. Take control. Take charge. Right a wrong. Because in my world, when I am pushed through by the tyrannical urgent, I miss the ordinary.

Welcome to day four. To read the days of noticing leading up to today, click here. I am joining the nester for her 31 Day Challenge. This is 31 days of noticing.

Taking Note of the Ordinary

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Many days I start with the words of Oswald Chambers. For years I have read “My Utmost For His Highest”. Rarely do I recognize a daily reading that I have already read. Sometimes the familiar rings. But the context in my day is always fresh. And I find myself sitting still, steadying  my gaze on the page,  letting his words drift into the folds of my soul.

Enjoy your weekend friends. Thanks for being here on this journey. Your presence is a fragrant offering. I, a writer, have a bit of difficulty expressing what your comments add to this journey. Let’s say they sing to me during my day. The notes swirl around the busy or the mundane and offer me blessing and encouragement. And when you read here, that alone is an offering. Your presence, it is noticed.

Listen to the words of Oswald Chambers as you prepare your hearts for your journey into noticing this weekend.

We always know when Jesus is at work because He produces in the commonplace something that is inspiring.

The New Testament notices things which from our standards do not seem to count. ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit,’ literally – Blessed are the paupers – an exceedingly commonplace thing! The preaching of to-day is apt to emphasize strength of will, beauty of charachter – the things that are easily noticed.

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I walked into Publix this week and spotted these delightful little pumpkins in a beautiful pile of autumnal glory. I starred. As if I were in a gallery. I studied, as if I were in a library. And I glazed over, into the moment of  intentional choosing.  Which ones would I  joyfully bring home. Small moments light me up. I can hold them for forever. The remembering intensifies the pleasure. These three little pumpkins have taken me into small moments, ordinary, transformed though into artful extraordinary. Where is the God-beauty waiting in your day? What small poetic discovery is waiting for you? Ready, set, go notice.

“We always know when Jesus is at work because He produces in the commonplace something that is inspiring. — Oswald Chambers

The Vigil

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She swears the color yellow soothes a soul
So you will  find her staring at the garden
Fixed gaze on the yellowest flower there
In the yard
She guards
Her heart
Holding vigil over one who gives her labor pains
Though eighteen years have passed since birth
Holding hope for one
Who birthed her too
Traumatized by screams of pain
She is ripped in two
She finds the field of yellow calms her nerves
Between her shifting gaze she lays it down
And takes it up again, her sinful self desires to stir the pot
She rakes the coals, red hot
Searing
Bloody
Mad when stirred
Hotter when  she pokes the fire
Fear finds fuel in oxygen of snuffed out hope
So she’ll return to yellow on her color wheel
Where quiet and calm soothe her aching soul
Now she knows how He must feel
Father of a million times a million times a million, no more
And lover of as many souls
She will pick a single yellow stem
And give it all to Him
The Perfecter of Her Faith
The One Who Never Sleeps Nor Rests
She lays the flower down
She’ll rest
Reciting: Goldfinch, Monarch, Black-eyed Susans
Over in her dreams
Calmed by yellow memories and hum
It is well with my soul
For He has got her back, cradled in His arms
She wears the title
Mother, Daughter, but
No longer
Tender of a  flame that burns
Her heart consumed by fear.

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Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory

If You Will Walk Beside Me

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Will you walk beside me

On the level ground

Of the holy cross

Not out front, ahead, so slight

My view is of an eyeless back

Forging fast ahead

And I can see your imprint

Leaving me behind

When I see your back

I see no face at all

Just someone rushing fast ahead

Fixed on a mission of their own

There are no portals of your soul

Gazing back at me

The words are lost

And I am deafened

By the silence

On the path of one who walks

WIth single-mindedness

And do not walk behind me

I cannot see your face

Or heart, your voice, your soul, your cries

Or wipe your salty tears

There is no sister to my left nor

Even to my right

When I am weary and  alone

Grab my hand and hold it tight

And walk beside me to the cross

To grounds of level fields of grace

Where dark rich soil of mercy waits

To hold or bear a million strong

Or even maybe more

Sojourners on the journey

Who walk not proud

Nor out in front

There’s power in a strong wide berth

That presses forward facing storms

That choose to stand on ground en masse

Encouraging and holding hands

So grab your life, your gift, your pen

You writers of the words

And walk with and beside me

As we cross the ground

Headed toward the sacred place, the cross of common ground

And with our words

We’ll all be heard

We ‘ll walk and stumble, not alone

March or crawl

Together, shoulders side by side

If you’ll but walk with me

My aging hands are reaching out to link

With sisters on the road

Would you  humbly go with me

Sojourners on a common road.

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Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee