in the salvage yard

If my husband had his druthers, we’d toss the old and bring in the new.

And who can blame him?

Life with a junk collector, fixer-upper, tweaker, tinkerer, dreamer like me has it’s down sides. (And if the dishwasher breaks one more time, even I admit my usual take-it-all-apart-and-put-it-back-together-again tactics probably won’t cut it.)

Still, he makes time to go with me to junk yards.

He even acts like he’s having a blast.

He’s a keeper that way, my husband.

Besides, he knows I feel awfully close to God in weathered places.

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forgotten windows waiting

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lost locks longing

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heavy-laden thresholds

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displaced knobs

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notches on a pegboard

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tossed by someone

gathered by another

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salvaged

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redeemed

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restored

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But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,’ declares the Lord . . .”

~Jeremiah 30:17 (NIV)

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2 thoughts on “in the salvage yard

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