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| I read this today in my devotional and it struck a cord: "The apostle says we are "waiting," by which we learn that we are not to be petulant, like Jonah or Elijah, when they said, "Let me die"; nor are we to whimper and sigh for the end of life because we are tired of work, nor wish to escape from our present sufferings till the will of the Lord is done. We are to groan for glorification, but we are to wait patiently for it, knowing that what the Lord appoints is best." I've been groaning, but my groans have all been examples of the wrong kind of groaning. I have actually had a couple of Jonah and Elijah moments where I have called out "Let me die!" There are many days where I groan because I'm so tired and want to get off the merry-go-round of life. Lastly, and most recently with the passing of my grandma, I have been groaning that I may be taken away from present suffering. Groaning for glorification is the hard one, that is the one that requires effort and a willingness to be changed. I think being changed used to be so much easier when I was younger. I even used to sing a song "he's still working on me to make me what I ought to be." I need to groan for that childlike faith that wasn't so tainted with the realities of life. So my goal, I guess for now and the coming year (look at me, I'm starting resolutions early) is to try to continue to learn to wait and to stop my wrong groaning knowing that what the Lord appoints is best. It always goes back to letting go and letting God. | | |
| You can tell what is on my brain when you look at my past logs. I guess the season of Winter spotlights the fact that I am by myself since it is a season where one needs someone to keep them warm. Here are some thoughts that I had tonight since it is a strange, crazy dream of mine to get engaged in the mist. One misty evening someone is going to take me by the hand and go for a walk.
One misty evening I'm either going to be totally speechless or scream the loudest you have ever heard me scream.
One misty evening my eyes will sparkle more than the rock on my finger.
One misty evening time will stop.
One misty evening the waiting will be over.
One misty evening I will say "yes."
One misty evening I'll feel lighter than air.
One misty evening all my dreams will come true.
This misty evening I sit alone thinking of all the other misty evenings I have spent alone and hoping that one misty evening I will never have to be alone again.
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| As I leave the age of twenty-four,
I'm still waiting for prince charming to knock on my door.
I simply want happily-ever-after,
with days, weeks, months filled with laughter.
But I'm always part of three or five,
which makes me want to take a dive
into a great big ocean or lake.
I need to know, is my fairy tale a fake?
Nights I sit and wait,
hoping for an available date,
to come along my way.
Someone, someday, I pray.
I want a man to have and to hold,
I need to learn how to be bold.
Where or where can he be?
Tell me, is there someone out there for me?
I need my knight in shining whatever,
someone who is sweet, witty, and clever.
I guess I'd rather not have a stud,
if he's going to turn out to be just a dud.
Somedays with my friends I wish I could trade,
Oh dear, will I end up an old maid?
So as I dream about that spine tingle,
I'll still be checking the box marked single. | | |
| Come wind, come
Dazzle me, delight me
Dance my worries out the door.
Blow wind, blow
Spin me, sway me
Scatter my cares to the ends of the earth.
Laugh wind, laugh
Tickle me, twirl me
Toss my fears into the sea.
Whisper wind, whisper
Cuddle me, caress me
Calm my nerves with an ocean breeze.
Howl wind, howl
Rattle me, rock me
Remind my heart of its happy place.
Sing wind, sing
Bounce me, bother me
Bring a smile to my face. | | |
| Yesterday, I went with a friend to Silver Dollar City (its an amusement park in Branson, MO). We went into a pottery place and stood there watching a potter at work. We watched him make three different items. I could not help being transfixed and he kept looking up at Laura and I watching us watch him probably wondering what we were thinking. I was thinking of my Potter and how I was a terribly stiff lump of clay. We watched him center the clay before he began making the pot. The wheel was spinning round and round and the clay would go up and down, up and down in his hands. It all depended on where his hands were and how much pressure he would put on the clay as to what it would do. He said he was getting out any impurities and I thought to myself, I am not even a pot yet.
I am one of the people that Paul talks about in Romans 9:20 "Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?" I am questioning my existence and wondering to what purpose I have been called. I'm spinning round and round in circles looking at my Maker and saying "What are you going to do with me? When will I be able to see and understand the purpose that I have been called to?" The potter in the shop made two pots that were new designs for him and he liked the second pot better than the first pot. I disagreed with him and said that I liked the first pot better. He asked if I had heard the rule about agreeing with the potter. I know our Potter does not like one pot better than the other but it made me think that the first pot was better for common purposes because it was fatter and the second pot was better for noble purposes because of its skinny grace and beauty. I think I am the first pot, but I also think that I am still in the centering process as God is trying to get all the grit and grime out of me before he can make me and use me.
The potter reminded me of Jeremiah 18:6 "O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter does?' declares the Lord. 'Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel." I think I just need to be still and know that He is God. He is my Maker, my Potter, my Father and no matter what I think or feel, He holds me in the palm of His hand. And there I can rest and not worry about today, tomorrow or even yesterday. | | |
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