Sigh.

There’s a self-destructive tendency that lurks beneath my pain.
It whispers that it’s futile to seek shelter from the rain,
To plug the holes my hope leaks out as I spiral toward the drain.
To strive to leave the lowest places where life has left me lain.

Why, oh Lord, this wall that I must push through just to pray?
Why, oh Lord, this rain when I so need a sunny day?
Why, my Lord, if I follow you and try to do just as you say,
Why does this path You lead me on seem to be the hardest way?

What’s that? A voice? Within my heart, reaching through my vale of tears?
“My child, my own, I am here. Let my hold you through your fears.”
A tiny bit of fog lifts, drifts away and clears.
Yet the questions still remain even as the Answer nears.

I know if I let go, I’ll land
Safe within the Father’s hands
But I withhold myself with ransom demands,
I beg compliance with my manmade plans.

Those who love me, pray for me, for I find myself so weak.
I’ll not capsize, but go down slow--a hole, a wound, a leak.
If you know the words to aid surrender, please, I beg you speak.
Sometimes it’s tough to be brave enough to go forward being meek.

Jellybeans for breakfast

Hey, this is somewhat long but rather good--a going away speech by a Methodist preacher.
http://www.duncanumc.com/documents/05-11-08.pdf
A good reminder not to be a lone ranger, which I've fallen into again over the long, dark winter.

You find all sorts of good things while researching (letter of commendation+medieval) for a book. I hope to hit the 40,000 word mark today, so I better get back to work.

Quick cute-kid tidbit: I was trying to throw away some of the over-abundance of Easter candy, but Jett found it before the trash went out. He pulled a jelly bean out of the shoebox beside the trashcan.
"What this, Momma?"
"A jellybean, sweetie."
"Why?" (of course)
"It's candy. Sugar."
"Why?"
"For Easter."
"Why?"
"Uhh, to make people happy."
Points at mouth. "It make me happy, Momma?"
Note to self: take out trash quicker in the future...

Yes or No

I understand it's a fallen world,
A broken thing not yet healed,
But we either contribute further fracture
Or anticipate fulfilment revealed.

"God wishes happiness for us."
Yes, but of a different sort.
Eternal joy in His presence.
Our time here is but short.

Here we might be called upon
To plow a rocky field.
Hand kept firmly to the task,
Purpose kept concealed.

We might be called to walk around
By others thought a fool.
But someday, the gates will fall
And all will know His rule.

We might be called to pick up a cross
And with heavy steps follow Him.
Christian life is a committment
Not a passing whim.

ooops

"Mr. Lizard" laid an egg. Pictures and more to come when I don't feel quite so overwhelmed and exhausted. Two weeks till spring break. I think I can; I think I can...

Forty Days for Life!

Tomorrow marks the beginning of 2009's spring Forty Days for Life campaign.

Forty Days for Life started in Bryan/ College Station four years ago. Since then, it has expanded into an international, ecumenical movement that has saved the lives of at least 1128 babies. The purposes are to be a peaceful, prayerful presence at abortion clinics--to let women know that there are people who want to help them and their unborn babies--and to pray and fast for the intention of ending abortion.

Today's verse is:

"If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and forgive their sin and heal their land." -- 2 Chronicles 7:14

To participate, go to http://40daysforlife.com/getinvolved.cfm, and sign up to receive the daily emails. Each will have a specific intention for the day, a wonderful devotional, and updates about what God is doing through our efforts. Please pray to end abortion.

Artist's Danger

"It is the artist's danger
being master of the form,
to forget that he is poor,
to think he is the master of the invisible reality,
which this reflection represents."
--Sophia House, Michael D. O'brien

By no means do I consider myself a "master of the form," but forgetting I am poor is a major difficulty of mine. It is probably also why my novel is only about 28/50th of the way finished. I am trying to make it say too much. Reminding myself that whatever Truth my writing can convey is but a shadow of a fraction of the Truth is actually a relief. It is a relief to accept that my efforts will be inadequate; Truth cannot be contained. But, perhaps, for someone, the sliver of Truth my work reflects will be the one needed.

In other news: I have finally emerged victorious from my week-long battle with Influenza B. Thomas is still on antibiotics from strep, Josh for an ear infection, Kayleigh's going to miss school again tomorrow due to fever, Emberlyn's over her fever, and remarkably, Jett made it through the last two weeks in a sick ward unscathed. I can't wait for SPRING!

Bonus cute baby picture:
(What color are those eyes?)

Poems happen...

The stone digs deeper,
Harsh, abrasive
Scooping out a hollow,
Making a shell of what once seemed full.
Why a bowl?
I was happy as a lump of wood,
Waiting, formless.
Testifying to nothing but that I was,
And He who made me IS.
But, scoop, rub, scour, sand,
I am empty,
Waiting to be filled.
I will hold something greater than myself,
And pour it forth to those in need.