Broken Pitcher

Light Darkness, vast and formless Light  Brilliant light  Life Dark slithering shadow deceives Darkness enshrouds captives A single light announces Hope Light begets Light Light penetrates darkness Light is Darkness builds Darkness envelopes light Light eclipsed Day and night Day and night Light bursts forth with dawn Light obliterates darkness Light frees captives Light begets life eternal Light The Light Jesus is the Light of the world. In Him there is no darkness.

Today was not only a "Red Letter Day" as Pastor Todd called it but a fulcrum, a turning point, a line in the sand, a new beginning... Today did not begin as any other day, though it appeared in the sameness as so many that had passed before. The day began days before with a simple email, an offer, an acceptance, then a opening of a script that would forever change my life as I've come to accept... Actually, the origin of this day began even before there was day, before time began. This day was destined as an answer to yet to come fervent prayer. In response to words yet spoken, to a heart yet formed to be changed, a life yet conceived to be altered in course and destiny to be made manifest... Why such dramatic speech? What could possibly be so amazing to warrant such prelude?  "...but God" two of my most favored words. Words that will change a life, change a course of a life. As the first pages of the the script were turned, a deep peace settled over my

Lasts are very important to me, they always have been.  They are cherished memories, a "snap shot" held in the heart, if you will.  Last calls, last visits, last words...  I have a confession here. Because they are so important to me and handwritten notes are a lost gift, I keep several years Christmas cards tucked into the ornament box. Each year I take the previous years out of the box and re-cherish each one, holding one's love in my hands - pressing it into me heart. If it happens to be the "last" one I will have received it is reverently placed in a box my mom made for me.  But only after spending time considering what those last words represent...  One such treasure is from my Grandma Losey, whom I love dearly. She sent our family a letter when we lived in MO - she shared her gift of "hand written" love generously! That short note, folded in thirds then once over, wishing us well and sharing her heart heart with us, burns brightly still in my mi

"Christ in me, Christ in me, Christ in me the hope of glory, be my everything, Be my everything, be my everything, be my everything..."  These lyrics sank deep into my soul today and rebounded, lifting my heart into praise.   Though it sound like we are imploring Christ, cajoling Him into fulfilling our every need, it really has less to do with a response from Him as it does to a decisive action on our part. Reminding ourselves that He is to be our everything, to look no further. That He is near, so near in fact, He resides within us. That said, we are pitiful, needing constant reminders of His faithfulness, constant reminders to seek Him above all else. To order our lives rightly - that we would need no thing else - that He is "everything" to us. Willing our hearts to align rightly we sing "be my everything"... His answer to this beckon is always "yes" "I will be your everything and in fact, that is what I desire greatly." Our res

An ancient wise woman, Julian of Norwich said, "The highest form of prayer is to the goodness of God... God only desires that our soul....clings to His goodness. For all of the things our mind can think about God, it is thinking about His goodness that pleases Him most and brings the most profit to the soul."  The gift list is thinking about His goodness - and this, that pleases Him the most.  AND profits our own soul and I am beginning, only beginning to know it. If clinging to His goodness is the highest form of prayer, then this seeing His goodness with a pen, with a camera shutter, with a word of thanks, these are the most sacred acts conceivable. The ones anyone can conceive, anywhere, in the midst of anything. Ann Voskamp's book 1000 gifts,  focuses on giving thanks.   Echaristo means to "give thanks."   Consider this.   The Eucharist, communion, IS thanksgiving...... At anytime, anywhere you can partake.....  In giving thanks, you commune with

Once, it was this way.  A long and beautiful harmony.  That was before.  Then it was a strong and sustained tune. Each unique note heightened by the single movement - never lost within. With one voice praising, with one voice rejoicing, one singular voice.  Now it is this, now it is fragmented.  One lovely, singing a new faraway song. One lonely, left to sing a somber solo.  One astray, seeking an unfamiliar tune. One wandering, seeking a song of its own. Two writing new music for the one coming. Two steadfast in harmony anew - Two echo soundly in chorus. Three finding melodies, each their own. One quietly keeping tune. One vibrant soprano soaring to new heights. One solo, vying to be heard. One silent. What once came forth in full harmonious swell, now, is only happenstance -rarely finding a common note. Random chords, like the tuning exercise of a children's band. Squeal and rasp, awkward and disjointed. The lovely harmony broken by space and will, now void of

Distrust was birthed in me the moment I looked at a situation and deemed it "not good".  That, somehow, the Author either was not good or could not be trusted to bring about goodness. It that momentary misjudgment I chose to disconnect with the One who holds all things together. To elevate my view to supremacy thereby opening the door to doubt and fear.  Once fear and doubt took up residence, the frequency with which I deemed any particular situation to be "not good" increased. And what was at one time a knee jerk reaction to pain, to wounded-ness, now became an automated response to things simply dissatisfying. It took on a life of its own. The root of ingratitude wound its way deep into my soul. Unannounced, undetected, except by those whose lives had been transformed once it had been painfully extracted. Ingratitude. If unforgiveness can hold us in bondage to depression and unrelieved grief, then surely ingratitude binds us to fear and

Who do you serve? You may reply "I don't SERVE anyone" I live in America and I am free...  Whether you know it or not you serve someone, whether you like it or not you are a slave. Now, before you start pounding out a political correction on your keyboard, bear with me. It might be an eye opening experience. We don't like the term "slave" or "servant", unless of course you are the one served. The words stick in our craw, and are bitter passing across our lips. For some, because of human atrocities and indignity and down right cruelness - the epitome of our inhumanity. For others the freedoms are too precious and the thought of giving up a single one, well that's unthinkable. "I" begins and ends all thoughts, decisions and actions. Whatever deep place is pricked by these words, might I suggest that we are offended because we don't understand, but we long to. We have allowed the flawed image humanity paints to define the Spiritua

Until we are filled with the Spirit of The Living God, until we let His Great and Sacrificial Love fill our hearts to the brim, we grasp and wail at the insufficiency of mere human love. It was never intended for broken, imperfect love to satisfy our eternal longing souls. As long as we insist that it must, we will inflict undue own-ness on those we profess to love. We will insist that their love meet our expectations or it be worthless. We will be empty regardless of how much is poured into our pitiful life. This needy love leaves all parties wounded and left wanting... Rather we were meant to seek an eternal love, a love so great no void can not be filled.  Christ's love is perfect and His Word sets the standard for an eternal perfect love: Luke 6:35 But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great,and you will be children of the Most High,because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. John

Have you ever glanced at the clock just hoping that you still had a few more minutes to sit at Jesus' feet?  Five minutes, you have five minutes before...  You know, you are enrapt in His Word, you hear Him clearly speaking through a passage of scripture and you don't want to leave. You want to stay and glean all He has for you. He is so close you feel His breath and you breath Him in. Verse after verse, chapter after chapter, you glance back at the clock, you still have four minutes. How? what?  You must have looked at the clock wrong the first time. Grateful you return to His feet, page after page and you are lost to the world around you. Suddenly you wince as you remember the the task master and fear to look up. Four minutes until you have to leave...  The LORD held time, causing the sun to stand still, for Joshua.  Though He has not stopped the sun in its tracks, He has held time for me and if you watch expectantly, He holds it for you as well. The Creator of all thing

Some days it feels as though I live between two worlds. One foot firmly planted right where I want to be and the other, well on a path I never imagined. The hardest part for me is reconciling the two.  I've yet to master it & in fact this is my most recent prayer request. I am not good at balancing, anyone who knows me, knows I don't ride the fence.  So this betwixt & between is rather unnerving, to say the least, and in fact, challenges my life of "being real".  Who is the "real" me, the firmly planted one or the one who questions every step on the rocky path? How can I be both??? I share this because maybe you have been where I am, maybe you see it coming in your life.  I don't have answers for you tonight, I simply say that I know the One who will reconcile all things.  "ALL" being my favorite part!  He will make sense out of all the crazy, restore ALL things & makes beauty from my ashes (this blog is, in fact, just one way H

It matters little who I am. Each one of us has a story to tell, a life filled with love, loss, heartache, joy & laughter.  I am just a busted up pitcher.  Yes, the image that came to your mind - whether one you pour iced tea from, the one with the chip on the lip so it spills as much down the outside of your glass as gets in. Or the little creamer pitcher your gramma had in her hutch, the one with the broken handle that has glue globbed on it's listing side.  Or the one that you pour oil with, the one with the faint crack you overlook because you never think to replace it while you are shopping.  Oh, or maybe it's the purple plastic juice jug that hit the heating coil in the dishwasher... melted a hole an inch from the top but you never fill it that full anyway. No matter what image came to your mind, that's me.  The true value of a pitcher is not it's appearance or even its purpose but it's what the pitcher holds that is precious.  The sole purpose of the p