We are standing in the balcony.

Mary is pregnant with the Holy Spirit in the stained glass ahead.

Gypsy son asks me to bend.

Whispers the question.

“Who is that?”

And I tell him.

He loves stained glass. 

I never knew this.

Thankful that he sees the beauty because so do I.

Light flowing through the stained.

The stain itself making the light colorful. 

Begging the “adjective”.

It is quiet.

Smell of my childhood Jesus surrounding me.

A monk is at the altar.

“Momma, is he the pope?’

I stifle the giggle.

We aren’t in Rome.

This is Conyers, Georgia.

“No baby.”

My heart fills and feels tight and loose.

I am dizzy in memories.

I must bend again.

“Are any of those guys popes?”

Precious child of mine.

“No baby, just one pope. He is in Italy.”

We walk to the stained glass again.

He presses his nose to the royal purple, the blues of motherhood.

I want the stethoscope again.

I want to hear the hearts of my sons as they beat in this moment.

As we leave I dip a finger in the holy water.

Forget where to put it so I cross my head.

“Help me Jesus. You’ve never changed. It’s me.”

And we open the wooden doors to walk back outside again.

The saints are all pictured in books with the faint yellow circles of the Holy Spirit around their heads.

We need Him there, don’t we?

And I have the holy water on my head.

The cross.

I want a picture.

Sons peek back into the different and beautiful.

I want to cry for a moment in the middle aisle of my grocery store walk with Jesus.

But I click the camera instead.

We walk to the middle of the green grass.

A circle of new and old friends come together today for encouragement but also to pray.

“When pain and distress is overwhelming.”

“When the healing process goes slower than hoped.”

The healing process.

Slower than hoped.

Is it ever faster than we dreamed?

Do we ever heal completely?

Tears.

Salt of the earth presents itself in a stream down my cold cheeks.

“Lord be close to give your comfort.”

That is the response.

Our response.

These prayers. This circle.

And the sweetest woman sings as the prayers end.

She is starting her battle with cancer.

The church bell rings.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow. . “

We sing with her. Voices joined.

And I walk with a beautiful friend I’ve loved for seven years to feed the hungry ducks.

We go down the hill.

Tearing bread.

I walk with gypsy love.

My walk always seems different from others, but in that is the truth of my heart.

It is bible study night.

“What is your denomination?”

The question asked.

My faith has no exact value or size.

I am not a category.

“She lives on the edge, don’t you Danelle?”

Amen.

May I always live there.

Truth?

The edge is where we are most easily touched.

And Pastor Jay on Sunday?

“God won’t fit into your box. He’s too big.”

He blows the balloon.

The box explodes.

He opens it.

A perfect cross.

I remember the way the door to the chapel closed so slowly that you must walk away on purpose.

I whisper to my good friend.

“Do I need to shut it?”

And her reply.

“No.”

Doors open. Never closing.

Boxes become crosses.

My Jesus.

Yours. 

**Sharing my heart here with you today. Sharing with the following beautiful writing communities as well:

www.michellederusha.com  & www.lauraboggess.com & www.seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com & www.findingheaventoday.blogspot.com and www.aholyexperience.com.

Find your way to these communities if you have another moment. They always inspire me so very much.

Mark. Chapter Two.

I contemplate whether I am the mat carrier or the one stricken with legs that won’t move in my own strength.

And then I realize that I am both.

There is the crowded house and the Healer is there.

“Savior” isn’t what prompts the pilgrimage.

It is the Healer.

As a carrier, I am pained to see that I beg rest and seek wells along the way.

As a broken girl, I urge my friends, my carriers, to move quickly. 

I am stricken. I need healing.

Move fast before He is gone.

Please.

So tonight I begin a journey with those that limp and lean.

We will share the mat rolled out on the floor in my “living” room.

There will be relief as each girl enters the door and notices we are all leaning on crutches.

The crutches a confirmation of God with us.

Not just God “fixing” us.

And with all that leaning, He still assures us of this:

“My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:30

That mat is where we beg the miracle.

We realize the miracle.

Beginning with cookies, cranberry colored mugs of hot coffee, laughter and sometimes tears.

We take it all in. 

The crumbled, the messy, the comfort, the stomach aches from laughing, the final tissue torn in half to be shared.

I won’t throw our crutches into a closet or send an email requiring them to be painted the same color as the faded jeans we will circle around each other in.

Camouflage is for the hunter.

And we want to be captured.

His Love and Forgiveness desired more than legs that walk without a wobble.

We will allow our crutches to sit beside us.

Limping to carry my friends.

Joy comes even if the “miracle” is simply that I can still carry others while leaning on my own crutches.

And not that my every prayer request has been answered precisely as I desire.

It is difficult to stoop low in humility while walking “perfectly” in pride.

Seven girls will gather.

Broken.

It has been a full two calendars that have been placed and pulled off walls since we’ve been together like this.

We will both carry and be carried.

Removing roofs together. (Mark 2:4)

“And when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Mark 2:5

May He see our faith.

And may forgiveness heal every broken part.

Until we really figure out that we will walk with crutches forever.

God the crutches.

Us the broken.

Grace the Healer.

**Sharing with www.michellederusha.com for HEAR IT ON SUNDAY, USE IT ON MONDAY. Have another minute to read some inspirational words? Find your way over to Michelle’s beautiful blog. Also sharing with Ann at www.aholyexperience.com for WALKING WITH HIM WEDNESDAYS and www.gettingdownwithjesus.com for GOD BUMPS AND GOD INCIDENCES with Jennifer and KD at www.journeytoepiphany.wordpress.com. for Painting Prose.

**God speaks to me in such awesome ways through my Pastor. Many early week postings are simply my heart processing his words. Want to listen? www.southedge.org

*** Pray for a brand new bible study beginning tonight at my house? We haven’t circled up in years and I wait in joyful anticipation for tonight.

“There is something golden in back of them. I mean, in front of them.”

Older son says this when I ask him about what he sees in a picture.

A blogging friend has posted three pictures that she has recently painted.

The birds on the canvas speak to me. 

Dark birds hanging on to a bending limb.

Will the limb break?

And the leaves are almost gone.

Yet there is light, orange and yellow swirls of brilliance.

The contrasts are always what causes the  soul shiver.

The leap of the heart in knowing what is beyond is the direction of real.

And older son’s simple words become the focus of the next few hours.

Thoughts of whether I consider the light to be ahead or behind me.

It makes all the difference.

I can feel the sun on my back, but I cannot see it except in shadows.

And I need to know.

Need to see.

Like the birds, dark, hanging on bending limb

Not just feeling but seeing sun in winter

Knowing spring will come

And reading today just this. .

“Real fruit always grows quietly as it ripens.”  - Wil Derkse

**The picture? Such a beautiful soul and such a beautiful blogging corner over at http://canvaschild.blogspot.com. Go check out Emily’s three paintings that she posted yesterday (2/2/2012). You will be blessed.

**Linking up to FIVE MINUTE FRIDAY over at www.thegypsymama.com where the subject matter to write for five minutes today is REAL.

Miracles of a life draw the most attention.

In Mark, chapter 1, Jesus is healing.

Many people are following.

In cyber terms, He would have a lot of “followers”.

His fb account would be full of “friend requests”.

Would Jesus tweet?

Maybe.

But the cyber world didn’t begin until many years after the cross.

The only “Apple” was the one that brought the sin into the world and began the walk to the cross for future Facebook account holders.

Jesus didn’t answer those requests, didn’t start a blog, didn’t even stand on a platform to address the people who suddenly wanted to know Him because they witnessed the miracles.

He withdrew.

Moves away from the noise.

Breaks away for time alone with the Father.

“And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed.” Mark 1:35

Knowing that of all the connections I can have to people and the temporal. . .

Time with the Father is the Life connection.

Real Life.

And Pastor Jay is preaching on this Sunday morning.

He is concerned that the sheep aren’t waiting on the Shepherd before they move around the fields each day.

That the sheep are plowing the fence down, running around on their own accord.

Wolves smiling happy behind thickest trees.

The Son of God didn’t start His day this way.

He waited until He danced with His Father.

Enemy smiling when I get too focused on the “how to pray” and the “what to pray”

Like a scripted conversation with my Husband.

I don’t script it.

I speak it.

Right now.

The words of my heart.

I have much to learn in the true definition of “disciple”.

A “disciple” is more than a student.

A disciple transforms so their life looks exactly like the teacher.

“A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master. It is enough for the disciple to be like his teacher, and the servant like his master.” Matthew 10:24-25a

It is a twist on common thought.

What if I do what Jesus did until I understand why?

Not waiting to understand why before I do what He did.

Pastor’s words wrap around the chilly barn on Sunday morning.

Don’t I always wait to understand before I do?

I know I need the connection each morning.

I decide to place double layered socks to the ground at 6:30.

I have the coldest feet.

The flannel sheets felt warm and my Husband had his arm around my waist.

But I leave that warmth for the better.

I walk past two sleeping sons, rooms dark and quiet like tombs.

They resurrect each morning at 7:30.

I click the coffee pot.

Watch the first drops of water pressed over coffee beans.

Take the stairs slowly, rescue dogs are at my heels ready to go outside.

And when I open the door it is cold.

Wind hits the cheeks.

Awakens me.

No instruction manual is needed in prayer.

My desolate place is found in the darkness of a downstairs playroom.

It is the early morning praise of a cold day hitting the cheeks.

I need to dance here.

In my double layered socks.

Rescue pups tripping my steps.

Coffee dripping slowly.

Pastor tells us that God didn’t die for soldiers.

But sons and daughters.

Into me, see.

Intimacy.

Becoming what You made me before everyone else had a say.

**The picture? I’m the little blonde girl full of dreams and love. . .

Sharing for the first time with Jen at www.findingheaventoday.blogspot.com. Thanks for being here today.

Also sharing with Ann over at www.aholyexperience.com for Walking with Him Wednesdays.

Benedict writes that I should take a stethoscope to the conversations.

So I place the instrument on the words spoken around the treehouse table.

Spoken over cereal being stirred by the sons sitting on both sides of me.

“I don’t know why Esau was wrong for exchanging his birthright for soup.”

Older son says this.

He picks up the bible card we’ve been studying this week.

I set down the mug of coffee on the table.

Wonder for only a moment as I wait for the finishing.

“He was hungry momma. And if his brother wanted that birthright so badly, why not just give it to him? God says he will take care of us, like he does the birds. Why wait on the future when the soup is being offered now?”

He doesn’t know yet the end of this story.

How Esau forgives Jacob.

Esau meets his brother after all those years and he greets him warmly with a hug.

He says:

“I already have plenty, my brother. Keep what you have for yourself.” Genesis 33:9

I realize in this moment that son must know about food poisoning.

The food has been sitting for too long.

Stored in containers too tightly.

What should be open and served has been decomposing slowly.

The food poisoning exactly like the self-righteousness that develops in a soul seeking “rights”.

In all the grabbing and  scheming. .

The manna of now, the soup of today,  lies untouched.

Molds.

The gift of “today” grows unappealing.

A birthright?

Who on earth knows the number of their days?

A birthright is really only this: To belong to the Father. To choose Him.

To lay down a life for Him alone.

Otherwise, the soup gets knocked over.

Picking cooked carrots out of the dust.

“Yes baby. You are right. I do see your point.”

But those words fall short.

Birthrights and soup can cause a lot of pain.

And I know that all I can offer the sons is the soup of today.

The soup is the decisions to give all I am now.

Because all I am is His.

The flavor changes, yet I pray it is seasoned with salt, steam is all warmth.

Delicious because it is created with the exact ingredients our body and soul needs today.

They spoon this gift of the present.

It fills them.

Choosing the soup.

Breaking off the bread of today and dipping it into the deliciousness of Love stirred perfect.

Son understands.

Younger son is all fairness and justice.

“Can’t Isaac just take it back? Bless Esau instead?”

And we talk about words that we speak.

The analogy of the toothpaste that can’t be put back into the tube.

He nods understanding.

Stirs the cereal a bit as he turns this thought in his young mind.

“I would choose the soup too then. God is in control.”

And the manna falls everyday.

Soup is offered in exchange for our “rights”.

When it is stored up it rots.

I remind the sons of this.

Think about how this can relate to a life.

How I don’t need a deep freezer.

In fact we gave it away.

I don’t need to worry about future stews.

I haven’t stored grand quantities of lentils in a pantry for future generations with rules about how to measure the beans when I am gone.

They  need all I am today. God will measure. He will fill. I will pour.

The recipe is right here. 

In the book with the thinnest pages.

Yes, I can stir and share today.

I rub thumb and finger on these pages and find comfort in the contrast between their strength and the frailty of the pages on which they are placed.

I underline these Words.

The Recipe.

Write in the margins of this Cookbook. . . .”This is love. Pay attention!”

I fear the gong. Because without choosing love today, I clang and sons shut their ears.

They stop listening. Because it hurts too much.(1Cor 13)

Closed hands begin cooking.

Locked pantry door swings free.

We gather around the table.

Each morning a gift from the Master to the chef.

He ties the apron around my waist.

Hands me every single ingredient.

Exactly enough. Or more to share.

Sons smile eagerly as the manna is placed in the hands of their momma and daddy.

We break it into pieces.

Offer it to sons.

The best parts.

Now.

And I walk to the crock pot, spoon out the Love, and turn the black knob to “Keep Warm”

Trust that every bowl, filled to brimming or just a spoonful. . .

Is perfect for today.

**Do you read regularly? Well, this is what God poured out the Saturday after I wrote words of doubt at this blogging corner. This is God’s timing. This is why I write, why my heart is full and eyes brimming. Perfect today. All Him. He promises the manna and he ladles the soup into the containers we bring Him. Thank you for being here today.

**Subscribe to He sees me? Just fill out your email address in the box and you are all set. You may control how often you are notified of posts. You bless me with your encouragement and your words sharpen me as we become *friends*. Blessings to you!

**Linking for the first time with Spiritual Sundays over at www.bloggerspirit.blogspot.com and Playdates with God at www.lauraboggess.com . Also reconnecting with On, In and Around Mondays at www.seedlinginstone.blogspot.com. It is a sharing kind of day today.

To watch something grow because you’ve spent focus and time.

This week I’ve been mourning a bit.

Fingers feel lost because they aren’t tapping keys.

When my older son was 5, Husband and I made the choice to home school.

He will be 10 soon.

Teaching the sons at home is a full-time job and I am not good with the spinning plates.

They crash and fall around me.

So I haven’t been able to come here, to this writing corner, and pour out my thoughts and prayers.

I pass by the computer and push back thoughts as they roar and fill my heart .

I cannot “tend” them because I am tending two sons.

And when I sit at the computer and cry because I’ve finally typed out all that He has placed on my heart. .

The sons are struggling because I haven’t given them 100%.

And I admire those of you who work and write and it all spins with beauty and grace.

Words are tender.

They must be tended.

And lately, as I dream and words splash around and swim, I realize that I am not capable of doing both well.

Older son asked me if I could “Write on the weekends”

But it doesn’t work out that way.

It never has.

And so I pray for the tender words to find me.

For the time to find me.

And not to take me away from two precious sons who need a completely focused momma.

Who need my tender words spoken and lived.

***I am joining www.thegypsymama.com for Five Minute Friday. Beautiful blogging spot that you will love and should visit.

**Can I throw a question out? How do you do it?  How do you balance it all? Your love and encouragement here has been amazing. Your advice is appreciated with much love. Thank you for stopping by here today.

“But the hair on his head began to grow again after it had been shaved. ” Judges 16:22

The  Spirit of the Lord left Samson, leader of the Israelites, once the hair which had never been cut was shaved.

Seven braids of life dedicated to God.

A Nazirite.

The untouched head a sign of a heart promise.

Signs are important.

Samson tells the woman that he loves

The woman who will leave him blinded and weakened

That he has been dedicated to God from his mother’s womb.

The weaving promise hanging in seven long strands.

The braids become the trophy of the betrayal.

Samson’s eyes are gouged.

Physical blindness mirrors the spiritual darkness.

And moments happen everyday where I reach for my braids of promise.

I may not take time to part my hair and weave the pieces together. . 

But I touch the strength of God in me.

Whisper thanks for the braids of His love tightening comfortably around me.

I shiver at the thought of being shaved.

I wear my own hair long.

It surrounds me.

Warms me.

Fingers twirl the softness when I am nervous or excited.

I highlight it.

Straighten it.

And always only ask for the “dead ends” to be cut.

Find exactly what to saturate it in so that it is clean, conditioned.

Tangle free.

Baptized in water.

How much can I learn from the Spirit by caring for the hair on my head?

After all, each hair is numbered.

As are our days.

And then the rain.

It fills the hair shaft.

All the curls, the frizz.

I tie it back. Pull it up.

I want it off my skin, away from my eyes.

On those days. .

Rainy, Wet, Sticky

Dark

I find a mirror, frown at what I see, and wonder if I should just cut it.

Cut the ugliness.

Is it worth the trouble?

And then I consider what I dedicate my heart to.

The surroundings.

The conversations.

What do I highlight?

Not just with the fluorescent but with the time and energy?

And when it starts to get ugly and difficult,

Who or what do I cut?

Like Samson, dedicated to God, but tempted by the world.

The frazzled and frizzen are what sometimes fills the space.

The humidity and stickiness of life.

What do I trade His strength for when there is the ugly?

Because I know I do.

I  attempted to watch the Lion, Aslan, being shaved before his murder.

Husband found the movie THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE one night.

And I couldn’t.

I turned my face into a red pillow.

Listened to cackle of the darkness.

Cried.

It is Jesus. 

Shaved. Pierced. 

So that we never have to experience the baldness of Spirit.

So that His Love never leaves, even in the humidity  and rain of life.

It may get ugly and full and frazzled,

Or it may be empty, bare and dark

But God smooths, straightens,

shoots up hair from rough skin. . 

Turns darkness into Light.

Spiritual eyes that cannot be gouged.

May sleep.

But will always awaken when we seek Him again.

And as Samson walked through his weakness, his hair grew back. 

Whisker and stubble of the Father.

Thickest mane of Aslan.

I amble through my day.

Leave my hair down.

Strong in His strength.

Blessed in His blessedness.

“. . God gives us what He has. For He has no other to give you.” – George MacDonald

Eyes open on that red couch again.

Aslan is running back in.

Resurrected life.

Mane flowing.

Sparkling in the sunlight.

He is smiling with those wise eyes.

And I breathe again.

The torture scene becomes the rescue.

I snuggle closer to Husband.

The Husband shaves his head and the new growth is evident every morning.

The new, the beginnings, always the most obvious.

Eyes move back to Aslan on that screen.

Resurrected. New Life.

And Samson, surrounded by physical darkness and the dark hearts of the Philistines.

“Sovereign Lord, remember me. Please, God, strengthen me just once more. . . ” Judges 16:28

And He does.

He always will.

A crowded temple of darkness falls and dies with Samson.

Narnia overcomes the darkness of winter through Aslan.

A daughter of God sees Him in all.

Praying to be strengthened .

Just once more.

In this moment.

Braided.

“Despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loves us.” Romans 8:37

**Sharing this post with four beautiful communities today. www.aholyexperience.com for WALKING WITH HIM WEDNESDAYS and www.gettingdownwithjesus.com for GOD BUMPS AND GOD INCIDENCES and www.seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com for ON IN AND AROUND MONDAYS and www.canvaschild.com for IMPERFECT PROSE . Thank you for being here today.

But it feels right.

So it shall stay.

I’ve been deep in thoughts, dreaming of actions, the last weeks.

Wishing I were deep in actions and the only thoughts were dreams.

My reading list has kept me inspired.

I am reading about  Saint Benedict in THE RULE OF BENEDICT FOR BEGINNERS  and “attentive cultivation”.

And the “cow”  theme began running like a stream into my consciousness from “ruminatio” in this reading.

This Latin word is what cows do to grass.

It is used as a reflection of how I should be savoring every minute.

Fully present in every activity.

I know it is not everyday that you read about a cow chewing grass as a way to look at spiritual discipline.

I believe this might be my most unusual post to date.

I am also reading KISSES FROM KATIE and journeying through the thoughts that lead to amazing actions of a teenager from Tennessee.

No cows. Just a girl who lives big for God and never stops believing in His faithfulness.

A classic.

In church we began the Gospel of Mark and this will be our study series to begin the new year.

Pastor Jay always inspires and Sunday was no exception.

But what  inspired me most?

The dancing cow.

God speaks to us in our “everyday”.

Why does this always take me by surprise?

My older son is reading the classic novel, MARY POPPINS, by P.L Travers.

It is a fantastic novel and actually very thoughtful.

Each chapter reads like a story within a story.

THE DANCING COW is Chapter 5.

“. . All her days were exactly the same. One Red Calf grew up and went away and another came in its place. And it was natural that the Red Cow should imagine that her life would always be the same as it always had been – indeed, she felt that she could ask for nothing better than for all her days to be alike till she came to the end of them.”

Right after this moment in the story, Travers describes adventure stalking the Red Cow,

“. .looking like dandelions in the sky and the moon a great daisy among the stars.”

I am reading this book after older son finishes his chapter assignment for the day.

Constantly “catching up” to my 9 and 8-year-old sons.

And I think about this idea of adventure stalking me.

That God is the Great Master of Adventure.

What adventure have I been on lately?

I realize that I run errands.

Not adventures.

I see that dandelion, want to breathe on it and watch the petals fly away into the night.

The moon that always looks exactly like a moon,  finally taking shape of a daisy.

Can I see that?

I can. Or at least I am starting to.

Finally.

A star falls from that sky on to her horn.

And the cow starts dancing.

She can’t stop.

That is why the title of the chapter is “The Dancing Cow.”

And I wonder what the title of this chapter of my life might be?

How I can really live for Him?

Really live.

So that I don’t mind taking time to stare at a daisy moon and breathe on dandelions a bit?

The cow finally realizes with some help from the king,  that she must jump over the moon to stop dancing.

She does wish for rest and begins to desire some “normalcy” to come back.

She has to return the falling star that fell on her horn back to the night sky from whence it came.

The Star is what moves her.

Keeps her dancing.

The king helps her.

And I am praying for the same.

My King.

Help me.

But when she settles down and everything is just right in the pasture.

She is back into her routine and life is easy, predictable.

And the star is gone. . .

It begins again.

And the dancing cow wonders how she will ever dance again?

“. . . Good gracious, my dear! You don’t suppose that only one star ever fell out of the sky! Billions fall every night, I’m told. But they fall in different places, of course. You can’t expect two stars to drop in the same field in one lifetime.”

So the dancing cow “moves around a little bit” and begins to look.

That is me right now.

I need to move around a little bit.

Look.

Wait for His star to fall, His plan to make itself known.

The stirring is there. I see the daisy moon.

I breathe hard on the dandelions.

May I dance for Him.

**This post is being submitted to WALKING WITH HIM WEDNESDAYS at www.aholyexperience.com and GOD BUMPS AND GOD INCIDENCES over at www.gettingdownwithjesus.com. Please stop by Ann’s and Jennifer’s wonderful blogging corners where I receive such encouragement everyday.

Elijah is running faster than a king’s chariot.

He is running to beat a storm.

A cloud the size of a man’s hand is hovering in the distance.

Mustard seed faith in action.

He sees a hand and knows a storm.

“Nothing,” Elijah’s servant says as he watches for the beginning of the promise.

Do I watch for beginnings?

Trust that the Hand will appear?

“Go back,” Elijah replies.

“Nothing.”

“Go back.”

And I imagine I would have started to allow disappointment to swell in my heart.

Maybe walked around with my cloak dangling around my knees as I began to be frustrated.

Turning circles in the dust of that driest land and not looking up?

Not trusting?

But the “nothing” is the process.

Faith.

Seeing nothing but believing without wavering.

Yes, the “nothing” is the process.

The Hand is the answer.

Hand of God, vision of air and water.

“The power of the Lord came upon Elijah and, tucking his cloak into his belt, he ran ahead of Ahab all the way to Jezreel.” 1Kings 18:46

So Elijah tucks in his cloak.

He tucks it into his belt.

Belt of Truth.

Lies can hang around, weigh a soul down.

Sin and disappointment like large metal buttons circling the bottom hem of the garment.

So hard to tuck in.

The buttons can press hard as you run and stretch.

They want to come out . Desperate to be worn on the outside.

To dangle freely and become what others focus on.

The weight tangles our thoughts and becomes the focus there too.

And now the running ceases.

The walking laborious.

Yes, I must be tucked into Truth.

And Elijah tucks the cloak in.

Snaps Truth around his waist so very tightly.

Runs faster than the chariot of a king.

Faith that the storm is coming.

God’s supernatural strength carrying him as his feet become wings.

What do I need to tuck into the belt of truth?

So that I can run through the pain and into His Presence.

I take out Sunday church notes.

I find RUN typed in red letters.

Read this definition: a lifestyle requiring a decision, effort, sacrifice, training and perseverance, focused in a particular direction. With a reward in mind.

Decision.

Effort.

Sacrifice.

Training.

Perseverance.

Focused.

Reward in mind.

And the sons bring me a paper they have completed in children’s church.

Older son writes in orange crayon: “Do your best running the race of life Mommy.”

The orange crayon handwriting seems perfect because life is messy and perfect pencil just wouldn’t do.

And the sons decide to run a 5K with my Husband on Sunday afternoon.

I insist the knees aren’t great and the cough is deep. . maybe next time?

So they run.

They come home bursting smiles.

Take off cloaks dripping in sweat and light raindrops from cloudy skies.

And the truth revealed?

“I’m so glad I tried Momma. I really am.”

Older son says this and I  hug him. Hug his younger brother.

Husband says that the sons kept telling them how proud I was going to be of them for running.

How proud a Parent is when their child chooses to run the race.

Yes.

Sons took their cloaks.

Tucked them into Truth.

Ran through doubt and defeat.

So this year?

The year of the cloak.

May I wear it with grace.

Tuck it into Truth.

And run with Direction.

***This post was submitted to ON, IN and AROUND MONDAYS over at www.seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com. Happy to be a part of the community at this new (for me) corner of the blogging world. I am also sharing over at Jennifer’s cozy blogging corner (www.gettingdownwithjesus.com) and Ann over at www.aholyexperience.com.

**It is a brand new year! Want to subscribe to He sees me? It is free! It is easy! And you bless me so very much! Simply enter your email address in the box and you are all set. You can even control how often you are notified of posts. Thank you for stopping by today.

I’ve been sharing words here for 10 months.

I am so very thankful for each of you.

Many have become *friends* and your words here have blessed me and sharpened me.

You have encouraged me so very much.

Christmas blessings to all of you as we celebrate the birth of Immanuel.

Preparing and Paving every day.

Unwrapping the One True Gift each new morning.

Thanksgiving.

Immanuel.

God with us.

And this verse, warming my soul this Christmas Eve morning. . .

“But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. . ” Luke 2:19.

Luke penning up a mother’s love in one small line of words.

May I ponder and treasure every blessing.

Fully present to what I am unwrapping every single day.

Blessed Christmas.