Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Overcoming some pretty tough dirt




Flowers are springing up everywhere here in the Cockman neighborhood. 

Some that we don't even remember planting were hiding under the bitter ground all winter, and now have broken through some pretty tough dirt and are joyfully drinking up the rain and dancing in the sunlight.

That's quite a persistent little seed down in that cold earth. To endure the chill. To withstand the months of darkness. To press against the hindrance 
above it. To finally break through the barriers and reach for the sun with all its might.




If that flower were a preacher
I'll bet that he would say
Press on to the high calling
Letting nothing in your way

If that flower were a singer
I'll bet she'd almost blush
When grateful gusts of melodies
At once began to gush

If that flower were a teacher
I'll bet he'd count the ways
He'd patiently kept prodding,
Nudging, toward more hopeful days

If that flower were a girl like me
Who'd overcome some gloom
I'll bet she'd soak up all the sun
And let her testimony bloom!
                ~C

Have you thought there was no hope, but something just wouldn't let you give up? And against the odds, you endured. Have you been under some pretty tough dirt? Have burdens weighed down on you, but something gave you strength to press against them? And you pushed right on through to daylight. To happiness. To bliss. To drinking up the rain and dancing in the sunlight.



~Song of Solomon 2:10~13
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.~






Monday, March 19, 2012

Grandpa



Grandpa. 
One word defines him.
But a million words couldn't describe him.





I'm thankful for my grandpa. 
For the joy that is his, for the hero that he is, I am thankful. 
And I'm thankful that this first day of spring can only mean one thing.  
Somewhere, someday, somehow, someway...another spring awaits us all.

~He sits in the sunshine.  He breathes in its rays. 
He tells me a story of his younger days.
Bright yellow blossoms bend down to hear.
A butterfly flutters by, then hovers near.

He smiles at the children. He laughs as they come.
He holds out his arms to envelop each one.
The smell of wild onions and freshly tilled dirt
Set a spark in his eyes that is lively and pert.

He walks by the garden. He rests on the swing.
He soaks up the joy of this first day of spring.
Little blue flowers dance in the breeze,
Memories are molded by moments like these.~
                 ~C





Tuesday, March 13, 2012

If Your Doorknobs Were All Diamonds....

If Your Doorknobs Were All Diamonds....


If your doorknobs were all diamonds, 
Would you shine them all day long?
If your voice was never scratchy,
Would you always have a song?
If every morn were Christmas,
Would you wake more eagerly?
If your house was made of gold,
would you keep it sparkling clean?
If your ice machine made quarters,
Would you give to those in need?
If your Bible was a movie
Would you take the time to read?
If your husband....or your lovely wife...
were the king or queen,
would you take the trash out,
or keep the bathroom clean?


If.... If.... If....
Would you?....

Or do you take each day to love
And care for what you're given?
Happy is Today for those
Who know for Whom they're living.
                                                ~C

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

He loves us as He made us



This morning I decided to make bacon and pancakes for my children, before they woke up.  The scrumptious smells of breakfast, and the comfort of knowing that someone who loves them is just down the hall, would be a pleasant welcome to their morning.


Bacon~two pieces undercooked, two pieces charred.  Just the way they like them.
Pancakes~four plain silver dollar pancakes. Mix a smashed banana into the rest of the batter for three big banana pancakes.  Just the way they like them.
Milk~one pink cup with hearts, filled to the brim. One coffee mug, chilled and half-filled.  Just the way they like it.


As I was preparing for them, it dawned on me how different they really are. Yet I don't love my daughter more because she likes to eat bacon ashes, and I don't love my son more because he's fruity about his pancakes, but I love them both the same...with all my heart and soul.  I want to oblige them;  I enjoy it, actually, and I appreciate their colorfulness in an otherwise brown and blah world.


And then it hit me:


God is a God of variety.  And He loves us as He made us.


With our big smiles and our loud laughs.  With our big tears and our loud sighs.  With our black hair and our blond hair, our blue eyes and our green eyes, our skinny legs and our...not so skinny legs, our dark skin and our light skin...


In fact, He loved us so much that He made a whole world to accommodate...even to pamper...us.  That's right.  The unobservant, undeserving, ungrateful...us.


He made the majestic mountains for His hikers, His climbers, His I-want-to-see-the-world-around-me children.  He made the shining seas for His fishermen, His sun-lovers, His I-need-to-taste-the-salt-and-feel-the-sand children. He made the rain for His parched ones. He made the rainbows for His grateful ones. He made the spring for His hopeful ones. He made the fall for his sentimental ones.


I stood at the skillet, a fuzzy-robed, frizzy-haired mom, fumbling spoons and spatulas... and I cried.  I was just frying bacon and flipping flapjacks.  But if I would perform this little act of love for the unconscious ones down the hall, how much more must my God love me. 
And you. 
And all of His children...
His colorful, incomparable creations.