Fresh and new this soaking rain makes
A baptism, yes, for my spirits sake
I am surrounded by saints old and new
Angels even, they’re here it’s true
God gave me this moment
It’s calm and serene
I praise him, I praise him
My god is true.
I’ve ignored you dear friend
Know this is true
As you can see
It really is me
Certainly not you
The soul who came
Is high maintenance
And instead of 2
I chase 3
Perhaps with this note
A new flame will kindle
Winding new thread
On this old, worn spindle
I’m paving this
a good intention;
I find a door
where I began this journey
at the very first brick I paved.
it says “only by me”
and I notice in the corner, a small
hand written add on
I rest upon God’s mighty hand,
as an infant, as a man.
I wonder, God, What is to be?
Why? I wonder, why choose me?
Dearest Father, Loving King,
I don’t know how to cope with these things.
Guidance, you ask?
That would be nice,
Until then Lord, prayer is my vice.
I dream in your mighty hand, my God,
Of a day that will come to be…
I see in a distant future; a day in eternity.
I dream to know you, as you have known me.
I dream away worries
I dream away tears;
I rest in an Unsettled Grace
you really are here.
They were finally there! This was the destination they flew half-way across the world and had long been preparing for. Travelling through Addis Ababa, conditions much more desolate than their American experience had them accustomed to, they entered the orphanage they had so longed to see. Their hearts filled with hope for what good they could do here….
Inside, there was a boy. He had been in his bed for three days. His leg… broken, and there was no way to fix it. Already, this missions group was aware of how they would come up short on this trip. Our American mentality makes us believe we can do all things, anything, anytime. Unfortunately, out of our element this doesn’t include anywhere…. here… you can check out the orphanage:
They came back with stories for the church that sent them. Yes! They had done so much, but their hearts were filled with even more hope now than before they’d gone. I’ve spoken with missionaries before, and it always amazes me how they come back with a deeper sense of needing to help, and a higher credit limit of hope for the people who need it… They simply knew, they must do more. They MUST send medical supplies and personnel. Rumblings of Tables for Hope began:
That was where I became involved. They are making a gourmet dinner and asked if I could help create the dessert. Something fancy, something special. Those of you who read this blog know I’m up for crazy feats.
The dinner is June 2. I just can’t get this image of this boy out of my head. I’m sure his leg has healed by now. I find it so surreal that making 300 plus chocolates with decadent fillings will actually help this or any other child that lives across the world.
American lifestyles of the midwest mediocrity… meet Tables For Hope.
I know that this fundraiser needs to sell out… So here I am… Doing more… I know you may not be reading from Fargo, or may not be able to attend, but please, consider contacting this church… Olivet Lutheran 701- 235- 6603 and ask how you too, can donate to the Tables For Hope event… it will change a child’s life.
I’m walking home. I don’t understand the mess I just witnessed.
A man I admired, loved and looked up to… a man I was convinced was sent by God himself was tortured and murdered in the street… and it seemed like everyone was OK with this?!?! How could I possibly stand up against the masses?
A man joined us… still reeling from our thoughts about the chaos… we shared with him, about the man who was just brutally killed. By the end of the day, my companion and I broke bread with the very man who had died.
I commonly hear people discuss about how shameful it was for Jesus’ disciples to deny him, to turn him over to authorities… but what about this journey back home? When I put myself into the position of watching the crucifixion, I can actually view with compassion that there really wasn’t much anyone could have done… besides the fact that it needed to happen to fulfill scripture.
I think what happens, now, after his death and resurrection, is more telling of the nature of the disciples…. and us. They had been witnesses to the greatest story to ever be told. Would they go on to tell it? Would they be safe to tell it? Do you feel safe to share it?
“There comes a time when a woman needs to stop thinking about her looks and focus her energies on raising her children. This time comes at the moment of conception. A child needs a role model, not a supermodel.” ~Astrid Alauda
I don’t know if my Facebook friend was expecting a debate to emerge from a seemingly beautiful, heartfelt quote. The give and take rivaled right out of the gate, right at the strike of her ’enter’ button. The question became not about a woman’s committment to raising her children, but at the sentiment of whether we can still adequately care for ourselves as independent people, aside from our role as parents.
I am a woman with the up and down self-esteem of a teenage girl. I see the value of tending to our looks to boost how WE ‘perceive’ others are looking AT us… what THEY see… how I feel when I look in the mirror…
That in mind, nothing in life has boosted my self-esteem more than having two great kids that lovingly call me ‘Mommy’. The day I became the adult in a relationship (the pregnancy of my first-born) was the day I became more beautiful from the inside, and I haven’t stopped blossoming since.
I am, however, approaching the ripe middle age of 40 and blushingly admit that my self-esteem has taken another tumble in the adolescent ‘dumps’. I always wanted more children, I wanted to be further in my career, I want more money, I wanted to look and feel better than I do at this age. I wanted to be a more exciting person than a super nice, working class, suburban Mom. Isn’t this something we are supposed to go through?
I am not going to waste time wondering whether I’m normal or not. I am enjoying the extra self-care that these ‘middle age crisis’ feelings are driving me to do… makeovers, bubble baths, ditching the minivan and seducing my husband. I was guilty of losing myself in the love of my family, of that I have no regrets… I am guilty, as well, to taking a cannonball plunge into the pool of ‘self’. I will not regret that either.
If you are driving around town and see a middle-aged woman playing in the midst of the kids at the playground… don’t mind me… I’m just working on an ‘inner makeover’. There is a time to give beyond ourselves as parents. There is also a time, that being a role model means giving in to one’s self the idea that we can, indeed, reinvest continually throughout life. Kids, teenagers. adults, seniors… life is always as we perceive it. I am thinking it is important to keep several different lenses around in which to look through.