In a far field a farmer drives his tractor across the hard, barren soil, dust plume trailing behind.
How quickly the winter comes, the whole world brown and withered, not a sign of spring in sight.
The emphasis of course is on the thanks this season, but I wonder if it shouldn’t be on the giving, since only when we are empty and exposed can we know the blessing of the bounty.
Every harvest starts with a desolate wild.
Spring comes like hope, in the nick of time.
And thanks always follows the giving.
Have a blessed Thanksgiving, dear reader.
“But I will rejoice even if I lose my life, pouring it out like a liquid offering to God, just like your faithful service is an offering to God. And I want all of you to share that joy…” ~Philippians 2:17 NLT
I parked in the middle of the giant puddle
on purpose. There would be
no way of getting away from it, no way
to avoid the slosh and splatter.
But I didn’t care.
I Just wanted to remember what it felt like to be
careless. Not in the sense of neglect,
but in the sense of casting aside the baggage
brokenness that makes me
pinched and mean and more
like the things that broke me
than who God formed me to be,
Before the pain bent me.
I parked in the puddle, dressed
in my Sunday best, so I could
remember the joy and stand straight
in His sanctuary.
“For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace…” Romans 6:14 (ESV)
I can’t watch the news or follow social media right now. Times like these are too much for a survivor. Times like these are too much for a lot of people.
And so I retreat, to the old, godly way.
Not because I’ve surrendered.
I am stronger than that.
But because I know that on the Lord’s path I am free.
Join me in praying for abuse survivors? So many are triggered and hurting right now. But as I hoped to portray in my novel, How Sweet the Sound, we can trade hurt for hope.
Our God is an Isaiah 61 God who creates beauty from ashes and redeems and restores.
Pray survivors rise above these days to know this truth!