Empty Frames

I have a penchant for vintage things. I am drawn to them - books, accessories, paintings, and so on. I read inscriptions in old books and wonder what that person was like, or who painted this picture (and why was it discarded)?

I have had this empty, old frame forever. It is painted gold and has beautiful carvings adorning it that have been chipped by age and carelessness. One of the corners is no longer flush.

But, I simply love it. It hangs over an old white cupboard that incidentally has chipped paint as well. My husband and boys don't understand why I have had an empty frame up for years; they think it is extremely weird.

In all actuality, it reminds me of hope. No doubt it once displayed a magnificent painting, but that was a different season. It now waits and hopes to be purposed again.

In some ways, I feel like I have been stripped of the magnificent, soul-bare and I am, too, waiting.

Another one of my favorite pieces is just a small painting with an interesting frame.

When I look at this painting, I see grace. You see, the picture is far too small for this frame. But, instead of leaving it empty, the craftsman built it up, creating an inner green mat and gold molding before the beige fabric. He took something unworkable and made it beautiful. This is what God does for us. I adore that there is one lone flower that is out of the vase with its dropped petals lying next to it. There is beauty in giving up and surrendering to something greater than you can imagine (sometimes I need to be reminded of this).

The last one is a sweet painting by 'Ellen' (and again I wonder who she is). This picture reminds me of joy. It is happy. Paint dances upon canvas (you can feel the daisy petals) and it is perfect in its imperfection (because nothing here is perfect).

So, tonight I took the picture that reminds me of joy and placed it inside the empty frame of hope.

It may seem silly, but while I am waiting, I need this visual representation of joy within hope, covered by grace. I need to be joyful in hope, patient in affliction and faithful in prayer (Romans 12:12).

Without Jesus, we are all just empty frames...

Linking up with Emily and imperfect prose on Thursdays... http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

Lost

This is a poem I penned about 7 years ago. It was inspired by the book of Hosea and my life. I always like revisiting what I have written. It is so interesting. For instance, I read this and think that it is incredibly rhyme-y (which isn't really my style anymore).

It just proves that we can and do change (by grace). And that is exactly what I needed to be reminded of tonight. That, and a deep desire to be found...

Lost

Lost, little girl
Born into brokenness
Harsh, cruel world
Carries no rest

Finding her way
Following the Son
Longing to stay
But decided to run

Darkness set in
Only emptiness found
Folly takes over
She is trapped and bound

It was inevitable,
Darkness couldn’t last
Truth broke through
And lines of grace were cast

“Where’s my vineyard?”
She wondered alarmed
“Waiting for you
It was not harmed”

How’d this happen?
She couldn’t believe
For what was once lost
Now she received

“I’m not worthy,
You must abhor.”
“No, my child
I will restore.”

Burdens being lifted
Surrender so sweet
Salvation graciously given
Face to feet

Fake it 'Till I Make It.

I feel unhappy even though I try extremely hard to not be. It's very unbecoming, wallowing in self-pity, but it's the truth (at least for tonight). Sure there are things to be happy about and things to be thankful for, but when I am tired it becomes far too easy. It is easy to allow bitterness, and dare I say anger, to take root in my heart.

Do people notice? Do they see that I show up to church when it's almost over, only because I have something to do afterwards? I attempt half-hearted smiles, but the sadness in my eyes is transparent. Or maybe I will respond with a funny quip, just to cover it up with a thin veil of humor. Why can't I be a better liar? Why do I have to wear my emotions on my sleeve? But it's alright, because people hardly ever pry. My bad acting is enough and as time goes on, I am perfecting the weak smile and one-liners.

There are even times that I don't even want to be around me. I get it. I really do.

A sweet friend called me this evening and shared a few paragraphs from a book she is reading (All I need is Jesus and a Good Pair of Jeans). It was about loneliness. To paraphrase, the author said that we all feel lonely. Some women desire solid girlfriends, others laughter and understanding. Some women want to take care of someone and be taken care of. Others desire a baby to love, while some just want a somewhat normal family. Sometimes we crave a mentor who will bring wisdom and empathy. Ultimately we want at least one person to completely 'get us'. We are made for relationships, and while the relationships we have are good, we are all broken.

They are not enough. Inevitably we will be let down, except by One. The One who made me and loves me, even when others give up on me or think I am unlovable.

And I know this too shall pass (eventually).
And I know that tomorrow is a new day (full of new mercies).
And I pray for grace and mercy (to change my heart).
And He goes before me into the unknown that is known to Him (Thankfully).
And His promises are true, even when I don't feel them (because I don't feel, but I will).

So, I continue to wait and go through the motions because that is all I know how to do at the moment. And that's okay, I suppose.

Remembering

She was spunky and strong - the kind of strength that resulted from depression era-childhood and World War II fiance, followed by years of barren womb, until adulterous women placed sweet baby girl in her longing arms.

Husband-doting and home-making, this was her heart. Child-rearing generations after sweet baby girl. Countless loads of laundry and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and busy work, woman's work.

Spin curlers, bobby pins and bright pinkish-red lipstick that never went out of style. Wrinkles and soft skin with warm smile and simple necklace. Her gray eyes that mirrored mine, even though we didn't share blood. A ring that I would twirl around her elegant finger as a little girl now sits on mine. And I smile a bittersweet smile and shed a tear (or many), remembering:

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Spring began to buckle under the heat of the approaching summer. She was frail; worn out from a life of hard work and service. It was my turn for chores and errands. It was my time to keep company and dust her figurines as she sat with her high school sweetheart and regaled me with lovely familiar stories of times gone by (I always felt like I belonged to her era).

The still-hot September brought a change and a call for the ambulance. Her heart was weak and her kidneys were failing her. What could be done?

Soldier-sweetheart couldn't fathom such a loss. We kept watch, spoke of memories-dear, held hands, stroked cheek, combed silver-gray hair and wept. I knew she was slowly slipping away. In a quiet moment, with just the two of us, I desperately asked through tears, "What am I going to do without you?" And to my amazement she responded to me. With her eyes still closed and body still, she said in a low voice, "You're going to be fine."

And I want to be. I want to love sacrificially like she did. 

Early October morning phone call. Come now. I was first to arrive. I grab my Bible that I had left in her room and began to read Psalm 23...

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want (the Shepherd is calling you home)...

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with

me (He is calling you out of the valley)...

You prepare a table...(it is waiting for you)

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (and ever, grandma).

And then she breathed her last and went home to dwell with our heavenly Father.