when you think you’re just josiah
We’re at Steak ‘n Shake. “Takhomasak,” gleams the neon sign over the counter. It was years before I “got” it. I’d frown. “Tahk’-oh-mah’-sak.” I’d say it slow. I’d say it fast. It sounded Japanese. “Car, table, counter, or takhomasak?” Ooooh. “Take home a sack.” Duh! I’d stressed the wrong spots. Dennis and I spoon chocolate malt from a shared glass. The cherry is mine. And most of the whipped cream. I sense a slight stroke in a few strands of my hair and a light tickle on my shoulder. I hear a woman whisper, “Sit down.” Read what happened next over at BibleDude. I’ll get some more spoons. Stilled by His...
Still Saturday: Here I Am, Father
A still morning Because I am loved and I love, I don’t have to worry about my response or lack of it. I don’t have to struggle with my desire to understand. I don’t have to wrestle with my feeling of unworthiness. All I have to do is be still, stay close and let you love me into wholeness. Father, sometimes it’s the hardest thing in the world just to be still, stay close and let you love me. But because I am loved and I love, I try. Here I am, Father. Still, for once. Closer than I’ve ever been. Waiting. Accepting. Wanting. Love me, Father. ~Brennan Manning in Souvenirs of Solitude Remember this–you are loved. Welcome to Still Saturday where we pause after a busy week, move in quiet pilgrimage, maybe linger a while in some...
Roots, Relationships, and a Seagull
The parsley and the basil roots pant for water as they bake in their biodegradable pots. I meant to sink them deep long before this. And the geranium 6-pack baskets, bought over a month ago when spring exploded early? Once luscious red, now with browned heads. I need perennials. Plants that thrive and spread on neglect and lack of touch-me love. But that’s not so with relationships. Relationships need time and attention and lots of touch-me love. Or they’ll shrivel up and die. But when we die to self and our own agenda, when we sacrifice our basil, relationships bloom. So the plants will have to hang on a bit longer (or not) because I’m heading north to where my roots run deep. I’m going home for Father’s Day. Where...
Monday Meditation: Because the Father Turned His Face
He came on a colt. The fragrance of His coming preceded Him. A King bent on a peace mission. Hailed in the name of the Lord. But hearts would harden, spittle would fly, and fists would fall. Bone-and-metal-tipped strips would find their marks. He would be ripped apart like the temple curtain. Thorns would gash His brow, and spikes would shred His strong, yet gentle, hands–and feet dusty from earth’s soil. Blood would pour. Clouds would gather. The earth would shake. And He would be overwhelmed with darkness. The world’s sin-sick pollution piled heavy on Him. Suspended. Separated. Yet arms outstretched from shore to shore. Dry ground through wave walls. He could not see the Father’s face. It. Was. Agony. He knew what He faced when He...
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April 19-21, 2013 (past but not forgotten)
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