Write this day upon my heart…

I have always liked the comfort of sameness. I have sought it and drawn strength from it, choosing the peace of predictability over the possibility of unforeseen circumstances.  It sounds like the chicken way out, I know, but it works for me and that’s what matters. It’s when I’m at my best and I hear His voice.

    • Mornings looking out my window to field and grove, taking in sky and birds at the feeder, the pair of doves on the power line, the occasional passing of cars, reading Utmost and the Word—thinking, writing, watching.
    • Vacations to the same place where I always find my smile and my heart expands in wonder as I breathe in the beauty of gentle waves, an unhindered horizon and blue beyond imagination.
    • Trips to the mountains to hear the familiar laughter of my one true friend, who I’ve known all of my life, even when time and distance separated us—the sister by choice who remembers the child I was.

Today is a new day opening before my very eyes,
a new page, perhaps a new chapter in the book of my life
that began with You when the worlds were made.
It is not a slate washed clean
but a fresh new page that awaits Your Hand.
Will I ignore tomorrow what You write today,
choosing my words of limited power
over Yours that have no end?
Will I glory in Your Words — or revel in my own?
When I look back someday at what I have written,
will I wonder what it was all about,
or will this day be written on the halls of my heart
where You abide with me?
Will I rejoice in bended knee at sin expressed,
at contrite heart at sin confessed?
When someday I read this day,
will it be as fresh as this crisp morning?
O Holy Father, write this day for me — indelibly —
on this sometimes resistant human heart that waits
to hear Your Voice saying, “This is the way, walk ye in it.”



I hear the mournful cries…

A train in the distance heralds impending danger at crossing after crossing,
and just as surely as it comes, it fades into farmland, its mournful call forgotten.
We seldom hear the real harbingers of danger, but deep in our spirit
we feel their impending presence and know the certainty of approaching peril,
despite the lack of sight or sound.
Overshadowing this perfect morning of blue skies, gentle breeze, teeming life,
there is a hollowness, a sadness, that descends as surely as the sun rises.
It is the certain knowledge of children slain by madmen, crazed by ideology
so abhorrent, so base, I scarce can take it in.
The stillness is interrupted once more, but it is the mournful cries
of mothers and fathers ascending to Heaven that I hear,
and I cannot help but ask how long they must endure.
Father of Comfort, my spirit cries, hold them in the shelter of Your embrace.
Father of Life, safeguard their shattered hearts and give them hope.
Father of Mercy, deliver them from darkness to light.

This Holy Hush Within

There is this holy hush just beyond my window,
as if the earth is waiting for some life-changing event
to take us beyond what we have always known.
I hear the sudden noise of a low-flying plane
whose roar fades as quickly as it comes–and wonder.
The field of corn stands at attention, waiting,
thousands of tassels waving in the early morning breeze,
and I feel in my spirit that another type of harvest is coming
as surely as the mourning doves’ calls that accompany the silence.
A rush of gratefulness overwhelms my spirit, as I remember faithless days
when descended darkness nearly extinguished everything I knew and loved.
I look and listen and know the certain love
of the One who loves me like no other,
the One in whom I find contentment unbelievable,
joy unspeakable, purpose unequalled,
and once more I welcome Him, this Holy Hush Within.