Encircled

Here's to the mothers
Soul lovers
Warm faces, sweet spaces
Filling with yearning
Burning for turning
     Crooked to right.

Cheers for those givers
Swift rivers
Strong holding, staunch molding
Sturdy for making
Gifted with breaking
     Clean paths of flight.

Toast beauty grateful
Those faithful
Heads lowered -- steps forward
Graven with tilling
Emptied for filling:
     Light unto light.

Muddy Days

It was a hard week.

I know when the waves of grief have covered my feet and the tide is rising I need to look up -- lift my eyes to the hills.  I know where my help comes from.  But six days in a row sadness was like a terrible wound from which I kept my eyes averted lest the immensity engulf me.

I spent time digging in the garden, parceling out tasks in the time slots designated rain-free according to my trusty weather app.  I was soaked regularly.  However, the plodding labor with visible results exhausted my body and rested my mind.  As I cultivated the soil and adjusted the alignment of the border for the umpteenth time I grimaced at the disheveled spectacle I presented to folks driving by.  Still, the muddy clothes and sopping hair were evidence of work being done, which is never a pretty sight when I'm involved.
I want a picture perfect garden and life, and frankly I would prefer that it occur without my hands becoming blistered or my shoes drowned.  I'd love to sip lemonade and wave at the crew that moves efficiently across the property creating harmony, order and beauty -- unimpeded by a cracked shovel handle or a flat wheelbarrow tire.

Two people came into my life during this week -- uncovering burdens that rival mine, should I be foolish enough to compare.  We cried together, and recounted truth that we know about God, even though nothing else makes sense.  The weight of their suffering did not ease mine, but their beautiful examples of joy and peace in the middle of devastation bewildered me ...and gave me confidence that trials are truly working an eternal weight of glory. 
And this morning a bedraggled group of pilgrims paused to rest and break bread together, emptying pockets to lay out the treasures found along the journey.  We shared those riches, as we shared the reality of the bleakness and brokenness that some days cripples our climb.  Together our voices were strengthened to affirm, "My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.  He will not allow your foot to be moved; He who keeps you will not slumber."

When I live out loud I tell a more complete story -- a real story.  And all the people who have seen me covered in muck, bawling at the overloaded cart just might pause to marvel at the glorious dahlias...and look up.

"Though You slay me
Yet I will praise You
Though You take from me
I will bless Your Name
Though You ruin me
Still I will worship
Sing a song to the One who is all I need...
You're enough for me."
Shane & Shane