Tuesday, August 23, 2011

A Time to Build...

"To everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under heaven..."
-Ecclesiastes 3:1


The sun rises on this plot of land,
primed for repurposing
prepped for pouring out...

...cleared for construction...

My heart heaved with each load,
leveled and hauled away
each heavy letting go
each precious, painful parting with the past...

Now here am I
laid bare, bereft
 this all too familiar baseline
of barrenness
of bereavement,
of loss
of letting go...

I long for this land a new normal
exposed now,
like an open wound...

...Just then The Carpenter comes on the scene
His footsteps fall gently
like dew on tender ground

He turns,
Takes my hands in His
And there I feel the open wounds...
the pain that precipitates healing
hurt hand in hand
with Wholeness

This precious paradox
These heaven-sent scars
The very Hands that are bruised
Begin the work of Rebuilding...


"There is a time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to Build."
-Ecclesiastes 3:3

(photography courtesy of Dan Denardo Photography )

Monday, August 15, 2011



"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you..."...

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful...

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

-The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams


Sunday, August 7, 2011


"Thou, Oh Lord, are the lifter of my head."
Psalm 3:3


Today I let the volcano erupt....
The one I'd been keeping so carefully cooped up
The one active with ancient angst,
engorged with grief,
rumbling with endless rumination,
old sorrows stirring in its bowels,
percolating with the pain of the past,
wounds and regrets
my folly and failures
finally becoming too much for me to hold...

So finally I folded
and out it came
In torrents of hot tears
In a ball on my kitchen floor
Beneath the coffee pot,
also percolating away...

I let fly the lava flood
and felt the ache of endings
Days and months and years of yearning
painfully purged
Let Go...

I lay there enfolded
in Invisible Arms
utterly spent

Then came the still small voice
as the lava cooled
and turned to ash at His feet.....

"Leave that here now, my love,
At the foot of the cross,"

(who knew that the foot of the cross could look so like a linoleum floor)

"Leave the tears, the tumult, the dreams long dead
Leave the loss, Leave the longing
Leave it all in My Hands
where Ashes, by and by, breed Life
where dead bones are Breathed upon
and Live

Time to Turn, my Dear One
and Trust
that by and by
all will be Beauty."


“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me...
     ...to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And the opening of the prison to those who are bound...
       ...To comfort all who mourn,
       To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."
-Isaiah 61:1-3