One Quiet Life

It's Tuesday. I step out into the deep pitch of the morning and mentally prepare for the drive. I don't like driving this early.  Out of nowhere, white orbs hurtle toward me. They pierce the darkness and cause me to squint. I fight the urge to just close my eyes. Instead I focus on the tail lights in front of me. I know the one driving will always lead me to safety; he's been doing that for almost three decades now. Still my hands instinctively grasp tighter. My jaw clenches. A podcast keeps me company, diverts my attention from my fear. I glance at the clock and calculate how much time is left in the journey. A few minutes later, I repeat the same exercise. Rural darkness is like none other; it completely engulfs its surroundings. I know where I am, not because I see landmarks, but because I know how long I've been driving. Mercifully, it is over. My husband keeps driving to work, but I park and breathe a sigh of relief. I have arrived. Women start to trickle in. Swee...

No chilling winds nor poisonous breath  Can reach that healthful shore;  Sickness, sorrow, pain and death,  Are felt and feared no more. ( Source ) A gentle man, not much older than I, lay on a bed in his living room because his body won't allow him to sit. Our small group worshiped together. The depth of his heartfelt but quiet "Amen" to this verse hummed loud in my ears even after the last chord was strummed and the voices died. ( Source ) What must it be like to walk in his shoes? I wondered. How could I think my problems count for anything in light of his? His body has been wracked by pain for a decade and still he worships, while looking forward to the day when he will be completely healed. He knows that day is coming. He trusts in it. It is his hope. The Lord humbles me at the most unexpected times. I often speak of faith as something to be measured and quantified, while this man must literally count the number of his steps each day.  I am reminded...

There is a weight to this life; the responsibilities of being a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend. I give them over to God, placing them on the scales and hoping against hope that they will equalize the balance. Source       Consider what I’ve sacrificed!       Notice how much I’ve loved!       See how hard I’ve worked!  And still I come up wanting. No matter how much I seek to find my worth in the works I place in the tray, I can never measure up. My attempts to balance the scales are vain foolishness. The words of Augustus Toplady reverberate in my mind. Nothing in my hand I bring,    Simply to the cross I cling;  Naked, come to Thee for dress;  Helpless look to Thee for grace. -Rock of Ages There is a weight to this life; the fallen world and my sinful nature nearly crush me some days. I wonder if I will be able to bear them much longer. Yet even as I ...

Image Source It's a terrible thing to realize you're not who you've always thought you were. to live under the threat of a flood of tears that will melt away the mask and expose you. to see the spindly cracks in the facade ready to split wide and leave you open. to feel the heat of the impending derision and scorn and wonder if there is enough grace    to heal your hurt    to cover your weaknesses    to forgive your sins. ~~~~~~~~ Joe Fox asked the question, Do you ever feel you’ve become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora’s box of all the secret, hateful parts – your arrogance, your spite, your condescension – has sprung open?  Yes I feel it, down to the depths of my dark heart. Today the Pharisee in me - the one who grumbles that Jesus "receives sinners" (Luke 15:2) -  has gone quiet. For I can no longer escape the plight of my soul; I am a sinner. Yet, in nothing short of a miracle, Jesu...

For nearly the whole congregation, or for all of them, and especially the men and the children, there was a disconnection between the little white clapboard church with its steeple and bell, it observances and forms of worship, and the world's daily life and work. It was as though the building itself, its emptiness between services, contained along with its smells of old paper and stale perfume a solemnity that the people entered into and departed from, quickening it for a few hours a week with the stirrings and smells of living flesh, but could neither inflect with the tone of their daily preoccupations nor transpose into their actual lives. This was a disconnection perhaps exactly coextensive with the disconnection they felt between Heaven and Sycamore, eternity and time. Laura recognized these disconnections in the people because she felt them, and labored over them, in herself. - Wendell Berry, " A Desirable Woman " The church of my youth wasn't built of wh...

How would you describe your blog? My friend's question caught me a little off-guard. Other than dormant , I had no idea. Instead, I described what I wanted this little spot to be. Behind my words, the question of my success began to haunt me. A sanctuary of sorts. A place where visitors can stop in, worship the Lord and come away feeling at least a little refreshed. In fact, I want this place to feel exactly like my visit in my friend's home. I was met with a fluffy bathrobe and fancy towels. There was a bottle of water in the car when she picked me up, and a gift bag waiting on the bed for my arrival. Her family made me feel welcome, loved. Our conversations took many twists and turns, but the goodness of the Lord was the common thread that wove them all together. ~~~~~~~~~~ I want to read less opinion, more beauty . That tweet pierced my heart. Yes! my soul whispered. Opinions are loud, brash, invasive. Opinions demand attention. Beauty is calming, assu...