When the road is dusty, narrow and endless, stop looking for the big answer. The finish line is too far away.
Start looking for the small, repetitive, encouragements. Name them, write them down, gather them close.
THIS is what ushers in the new season, the path to the new horizon. When there is no relief from daily grind, we must notice each time peace settles, even for a second.
These small moments must be celebrated. Acknowledged. They are not insignificant. That can not be taken for granted.
For they WILL usher in the new season. They will quicken your steps, and bring the horizon into focus.
Try it. See for yourself, how the road opens up.
Do you remember what you told me?
You said that every dark moment had something to offer. You told me not to fight so hard, but to spend that energy searching for fuel. Fuel for the future. The future I wanted, and the one I didn’t. You said these new memories would fortify my resolve, (and they did). You told me to embrace my dark moments, to stare them down until peace rushes in, and that when it did, (and it always does), the way forward would be clear.
You were right. About everything.
Your words made all the difference.
Diving deep into more of the same sameness
Life is nothing more than repetition
The never ending cycle of the same daily dayness
Endless doing over
Sleep, food, love, work,
What sameness will sweep us up until all the hours are gone?
The choices we have chosen
Everything and nothing
The endless doing over
What sameness will fill every moment?
The choices we first let choose us
The silence and distraction
Everything and nothing
Let’s just sit
alone and waiting
all by choice
for Gods voice
Can we pause
This long and humble
For the Truth worth waiting
And some Peace creating
Are you ready
Can you listen
To such truth be told
The kind of truth that breaks the mould
I see you with your dancing smile and wide eyes
I see you with your history stretching way back to where it shouldn’t be
I see you with your hand extended and your heart outstretched
I see your broken spirit held together how no one knows
I see you haven’t shattered yet (and if you keep holding tight you just might make it)
I see your empty glass and endless winding class
I see the force field you hang around your neck
I see how it all adds up to beauty and a whole lot of hope
I see that little bit of prayer
I see the way you look so far past and deep there are no names left to tell
It’s true, she said, your heart can’t lie. But have you noticed?
In order to hear your hearts desire, you need to get really quiet.
That makes sense.
It’s not the beat that you need to listen to. It’s the sound in between. That’s where the truth lies. Deep and in between. Not the thump and flare and noise. Not the pound. The lump swallowed deep and stuck. Or the flutter sweet and welcome. All of that is just distraction. Or reaction. It’s life not truth.
Her eyes hold mine until I nod.
It’s that brief space, that impossible moment where it can all just stop. And what if it does?What if that was the last beat of your heart?
I wait, breath held tight.
Well, she said, in that space. In that moment. You will know what matters. You will know the truth. You will know it exists. It’s just very hard to hear.
I will sing a new song
as the Psalmist commands
out of tune and short on rhythm
my song may not be sweet
but it is new
scratching in the dust
whispered in the heat of sleepless nights
echoed in the morning light
all you said was new
and I have done as you command
on my list (that is not written down)
words chosen carefully (that I did not say)
I thank you
for all you choose not to do
(gratitude) for words unsaid
and all that is left undone
even though no one will ever know (not ever)
and there can be no applause
for all that is not
surely the God of all that is undone
the only one interested
his list like precious jewels (if only we could see it)
the one who hears the words unsaid (the hate unvented)
he is worthy of praise and the first to refrain
Her blink was slow. So was the way she turned her head, waiting a beat for the rest of her body to catch up. A haze of numbness and all her edges sanded back. A combination of plastic surgery and medication. Impossible to guess her age, the slow motion aged her though, even more than the young woman clothes. She claimed 53, which had to be a lie. Could anyone else tell? Did anyone else notice?
My lemon tree is not beautiful. Nor is it bountiful. But this year, it grew a small crop of lemons.
Have you ever held a freshly picked lemon in two hands? Have you ever spent time just breathing it in? Five deep breaths to awaken more than just your nose.
The simple beauty and equality of scent. The wonder of growth. The awe that even though I didn’t nurture this tree, it still bore fruit.
Magic right there in my back yard. Magic right there in my two hands. And magic when I take five deep breathes and a moment to consider.