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Showing posts from October, 2010

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 …

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

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 a…

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 s…