Life is made up moment by moment. Favorite old movie of mine has that title. Sad movie. About loving someone you can't be with all the time, but the moments you can are special. Magic.
Life gets in the way of seeing each moment as magic. Then the opportunity to have them is gone. Fight to make them magic while you can. See the wonder of the person before you. Really see them, know them, love them. And let them love you! True magic comes from Perfect Love.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Taken from "Mother Daughter Tango" blog
"LORD, help me to grow in compassion
for all I meet.
for all I meet.
May I never minimize a person's struggle,
especially when I have never experienced a similar trial.
Please give me Your eyes
to see the heart of those who cross my path
to see the heart of those who cross my path
and Your patience to minister grace and care."
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Works In Process
In today's fast pace world of technology things can be "created" in large quantities, in a relatively short amount of time. They can be beautiful things, lovely to look at, but lacking value because they are not unique.
I have a display case that is full of such things. Little statues that are collectiables only because the manufacture had set the quanity to be made at a set point, so only so many people could own them. But they are not unique.
Yet sitting among those little figurines are some truly distinct treasures. They really have no monitary value. Hand painted plates that my grandmother painted over half a century ago. Brush strokes that are her's alone and cannot be duplicated (believe me, I've tried!) Colors and shading all coming together in the way she invisioned them. It wasn't a quick slap it on and be done with it. I sat many hours watching her, trying to learn her craft. If it wasn't right, she would take a rag and wipe out that part and redo it, and redo it, until it was right. Then it would go into the kiln to be fired. That was the first step. All the truly lovely pieces of this art form take at least three, possible more, of the apply the paint, wipe out mistakes, and put through the fire, steps to a finished plate.
I start to reflect this process in regard to Philippians 1:6 "And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ," with the lives we live. Each and every day is a our opportunity to make the brush stokes in the masterpiece that God invisioned us to be. In some mysterious way, we do the painting, but God will pick up the rag and wipe out the mistakes, and have us redo, and redo, and redo, then back into the fire again and again until we come closer and closer to that which He sees us to be, reflections of love made perfect in His precious son, Jesus, the only unique one with the most precious value, and we his prize possessions.
I have a display case that is full of such things. Little statues that are collectiables only because the manufacture had set the quanity to be made at a set point, so only so many people could own them. But they are not unique.
Yet sitting among those little figurines are some truly distinct treasures. They really have no monitary value. Hand painted plates that my grandmother painted over half a century ago. Brush strokes that are her's alone and cannot be duplicated (believe me, I've tried!) Colors and shading all coming together in the way she invisioned them. It wasn't a quick slap it on and be done with it. I sat many hours watching her, trying to learn her craft. If it wasn't right, she would take a rag and wipe out that part and redo it, and redo it, until it was right. Then it would go into the kiln to be fired. That was the first step. All the truly lovely pieces of this art form take at least three, possible more, of the apply the paint, wipe out mistakes, and put through the fire, steps to a finished plate.
I start to reflect this process in regard to Philippians 1:6 "And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ," with the lives we live. Each and every day is a our opportunity to make the brush stokes in the masterpiece that God invisioned us to be. In some mysterious way, we do the painting, but God will pick up the rag and wipe out the mistakes, and have us redo, and redo, and redo, then back into the fire again and again until we come closer and closer to that which He sees us to be, reflections of love made perfect in His precious son, Jesus, the only unique one with the most precious value, and we his prize possessions.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Hurting People
Nothing new here.
Everyone knows that hurting people hurt others.
Hurt given. Hurt received.
Vicious circle.
Miscues.
Fumbled tries.
Misunderstanding.
Try harder.
More of the same.
Deeper hurt. Farther apart. Longing for change.
Afraid to try again.
Afraid that one more time will be too much.
Can one actually die from hurt feelings? Can one bleed from imaginary wounds?
Precious blood. Given in love. Try again.
Everyone knows that hurting people hurt others.
Hurt given. Hurt received.
Vicious circle.
Miscues.
Fumbled tries.
Misunderstanding.
Try harder.
More of the same.
Deeper hurt. Farther apart. Longing for change.
Afraid to try again.
Afraid that one more time will be too much.
Can one actually die from hurt feelings? Can one bleed from imaginary wounds?
Precious blood. Given in love. Try again.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Overtaken
Overtaken by emotions. Overtaken by pain. Overtaken by....
Loss
The loss of a child.
That can be in different ilks.
Each has its own distress.
Each has it's own depth of pain.
There is the loss through miscarriage.
Pain of the unknown face that you would have kissed so sweetly.
Imagined times of love and laughter never experienced.
Regret. Guilt. Questions.
There is the loss through death.
Pain of memories of that sweet face never being kissed again.
Countless moments remembered of love and laughter.
Anger. Hurt. Questions.
There is the loss through rebellion.
Frightening moments.
Fear and guild.
Hurt, regret, and even more questions.
Then there is the loss through growth.
The most natural.
The one anticipated.
Yet still there is pain. Though this one has few questions.
Just sweet memories and the dull ache of wishing it could have lasted just a bit longer.
Overtaken by the memories.
And the tear flow.
Loss
The loss of a child.
That can be in different ilks.
Each has its own distress.
Each has it's own depth of pain.
There is the loss through miscarriage.
Pain of the unknown face that you would have kissed so sweetly.
Imagined times of love and laughter never experienced.
Regret. Guilt. Questions.
There is the loss through death.
Pain of memories of that sweet face never being kissed again.
Countless moments remembered of love and laughter.
Anger. Hurt. Questions.
There is the loss through rebellion.
Frightening moments.
Fear and guild.
Hurt, regret, and even more questions.
Then there is the loss through growth.
The most natural.
The one anticipated.
Yet still there is pain. Though this one has few questions.
Just sweet memories and the dull ache of wishing it could have lasted just a bit longer.
Overtaken by the memories.
And the tear flow.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Sacrifice
Is what a mother does.
Is giving up what you want so someone else can have what they want.
Is loving that person more than yourself.
Is giving away until there is nothing left....
Unless...
You are loved by others who sacrifice themselves to fill you up again.
Then...
The circle of sacrificial love is complete and life goes on.
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