in the waiting room of unanswered prayer
The hurt’s so heavy, but the waiting room’s so full. There’s not a chair in sight. So many needs. And so you slide down the wall to the floor, and hug your chin to your knees, and the nurse calls another, and someone else takes their seat. It happens over and over, and you watch as each leaves in laughter. And you’ve been here forever, and you’re sure you’ve been skipped over, forgotten. So you step to the window, but the staff shake their heads. Not yet. And the doctor, you see him over there by the scales, and your eyes meet, but he turns his head away and toward another. He knows you. But He ignores you. And you weep bitter tears. Your prayers clatter to the floor and lie there in pieces. Silence hisses from every corner, and it seems like...
still saturday: purge our eyes
Lord, purge our eyes to see Within the seed a tree Within the glowing egg a bird, Within the shroud a butterfly. Till taught by such, we see Beyond all creatures Thee; And hearken for Thy tender word, And hear it, “Fear not: it is I.” ~Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) Stilled to see, Sandy Welcome to Still Saturday where we pause after a busy week, move in quiet pilgrimage, maybe linger a while in some still place, and soak in the beauty of images and words. We’d love for you to join us. Get the details on the left, grab your favorite button, and link up below. We all love to hear if something especially speaks to your heart, but please don’t feel pressured to comment. Simply take some time to gaze long and drink...
five minute friday: listen
I’m coming upstairs this morning from the laundry room when I hear a wee voice. “These are my pets.” I didn’t hear them come in. But Abby’s in the kitchen with Lillee. She’s wearing a Hello Kitty shorts outfit with a purple shrug, sweet new shoes (“they’re flip-flops!”) and some orange sunglasses. “Nama!” Arms wide open. “Lillee!” Arms wide open. “Grace is sleeping Lil. You want to surprise her and wake her up?” “Yes! Grace, GRACE!” Lil shakes her, whacks her on the arm, then shrug-stomps away. “She won’t wake up.” “Look. Try again. I think she’s funnin’ you. I think I saw her open her eyes.” “I’m up,”...
scripture sunday: yes!
And now to him who can keep you on your feet, standing tall in his bright presence, fresh and celebrating—to our one God, our only Savior, through Jesus Christ, our Master, be glory, majesty, strength, and rule before all time, and now, and to the end of all time. Yes. ~Jude 1:24-25 (MSG) Still standing, Sandy With...
still saturday: still or stationary?
The stationary pilgrim always turns his head around to see what was or what could have been. He loses focus on the potential and possibility of now. So he stays in the position of inaction because he can’t imagine another way. Stationary is frail-boned, a faint pulse. The still pilgrim is engaged in a fully-realized act of re-imagination. She’s looking down the barrel of the possible–of the moment–and lives by keenly seeing the potential of an enlarging world. She’s a revelator ordaining–with courage–an all-surpassing peace. Stillness has clarity in its bloodstream and intention in its heart. ~Dave Harrity in Making Manifest Are you still or stationary? Stilled with possibility, Sandy Welcome to Still Saturday...
when you fall, do you die?
I’d done it before. Climbed up and sat on that metal bar. I’d grasp either side with my hands and then throw myself forward. The idea was to end up swaying upside down by my knees, wind ruffling hair and fingers ruffling air. The kid didn’t believe I could do this trick. I’d show him. So after school between bus runs (we had two buses, and each ran two routes), I climbed, sat, and fell forward. I don’t remember the fall or the splat of my back against the ground. When I opened my eyes, I saw him standing over me. “Wowww!” he said. This is where you pretend it was all part of the act. Like when I dropped my baton, and it bounced back into my hand. You don’t want anyone to know you flubbed up. (I won that talent competition, though my mom always...
bluebirds of sadness
I removed the makings of a nest. Several times. But then I got sick, and when I made it back to the box in the side yard, they’d laid their eggs. Cream-colored, speckled brown. And so I left them. And watched them. Since they were busy here, I reasoned, they’d leave the other box alone. So I took pictures daily after the babies hatched and grew into soft balls of fluff. I even saved them from the kestrel I saw clinging to the box one day. After all, His eye is on the sparrow. You know there’s more to this story, right? Meet me over at BibleDude. Still...
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April 19-21, 2013 (past but not forgotten)
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