In Black and Light

Apronhead

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A candle to push back the darkness, but the tricky thing is

that as light comes it burns,

burns the imperfections away–ashes left behind.

Can I not have the illumination without the pain?

The process?

If I could have light without burning,

I would,

I could, but

fire doesn’t work that way.

To my mind

come,

to my black heart

come,

Light of the world, come.

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Happy New Year

Apronhead

img_1031-copyN ow has accelerated through another day, another week, and

E very moment I thought I had left has evaporated into yesterdays

W ith unfinished to-do lists and unmet obligations.

 

Y et with this new beginning, I take a fresh look and a fresh breath, which reframe what

E ach new year can be—a chance to forgive, to forget, to dream big again, but to

A ccept my limitations in the context of what is possible. With

R enewed hope and a prayerful heart, I face what can be in this New Year.

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Merry Christmas to All!

Wishing all of my blogger friends a joyous Christmas! We are still sick and hoping the bugs die off quickly so we can start 2018 in robust health. Joy to all!

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My Voice Outstretched

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For me, singing is like following a rainbow through black rain.
It is like crepuscular rays that rupture leaden skies.

Singing is like walking in an unmarked place, lost, not sure of prayer or path and
seeing far off the pinpoint light that means home.

It is faithfilled praise, knowing that in this one moment with this one voice,
I am sure of one thing.

It is a hopefilled reach, feeling that in these simple words with this simple tune,
I am grounded in at least one true thing.

Singing is declaring Your worth when I am unsure of myself.

Singing is my voice outstretched, knowing if my hands were raised,
I would not sing but cry.

For me, singing is a peace of the puzzle of life—respite, restoration, renewal;
and so when other parts of my life seem weak and wondering, lacking conviction,
I will sing.

When disoriented,
disheartened…

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Twas the Mess Before Christmas

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

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Twas the mess before Christmas, and all through the house

not a thing was in order, not children, not spouse.

 

The stockings were thrown under beds and on chairs

in hopes that dear Mama would soon find them there.

 

The children all wrestled to find their warm beds

while remains of cracker crumbs danced on their spreads.

 

The closets were piled high with presents and more,

and when the door opened, they’d fall to the floor.

 

Over and over my spouse seemed to mutter:

“What in the world will we do with this clutter?”

 

On Comet, on Ajax, on Hoover, Dust Buster,

on soap and hot water; this place lacks some luster.

 

The sewing machine was constantly whirring

at night when nobody else was stirring.

 

I was making some crafts for my sweet little dears,

cursing Martha Stewart amidst all my tears.

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The Wonder of Angels

I remember as a young girl a big painting reproduction Mom and Dad had hanging in their bedroom. It showed two young children crossing a rickety bridge, looking scared and alone in the dark; however, unseen by them was a huge angel, towering above, guarding them safely home. Though the angel is much more feminized than possibly angels really are, as a child that image brought comfort; and as an adult, I bought a wooden plaque with that same picture to remind me that I am in God’s care.

In Hebrews 1:14, the author writes, “Are they not all ministering spirits sent forth to minister for those who will inherit salvation?” And in Psalm 103:20-21, we read, “Praise the Lord, you angels, you mighty ones who carry out his plans, listening for each of his commands. Yes, praise the Lord, you armies of angels who serve him and do his will!” And though prophetic of Jesus, as part of His body, we can also draw comfort from Psalm 91:11, which says, “For He shall give His angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways.”

In this broken world, it is a wonder to know that what we see is not all there is. We are not left alone to battle the brokenness and the forces that rage against God, both human and demonic. When we feel alone and scared, overwhelmed by circumstance, undone by sorrow, we have the Holy Spirit within and heavenly guardians without, watching over our lives. They are not fat cherubs, sitting on clouds playing harps. They are not the flawed Touched by an Angel deal, but the real deal—powerful beings with a mandate from the Father to guard His very own and war on their behalf. I would say that is wonder-ful!

 

 

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A Bit of This About That

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A Facebook friend posted an article link in which the writer very methodically went down a list of why people post certain things on FB (and by extension, I would assume, any social media) and what was wrong with all of that. It got me thinking.

There was much in it I could agree with–kind of, sort of. Some folks need approval and only post to get it. (Don’t forget the LIKE button down below.)

Others have no community–read that, no life–and so have high hopes that with a lot of FB or blog friends they will somehow find that sense of belonging they crave. This author would have you abandon that “shallow” quest in order to search out real flesh and blood friends and family (or stay home and sulk if you don’t happen to have any close by). I have, I must admit almost unfriended my faraway siblings…

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There is a season, turn, turn, turn . . .

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Impressions of Fall

Originally posted on Apronhead:
? St. Andrew’s Abbey ? ?

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Fall in Water Color

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