Friday, June 29, 2007
And the rains came
My panhandle state has had the oddest weather this June. We are setting records daily as the month comes to an end - wettest June, most consecutive days of rain, etc. Even as I type my street has once again become flooded.
I like this Newsboys song on days like this:
Let it Rain
Music by Peter Furler
Lyrics by Steve Taylor & Peter Furler
a fisher of men remembers...
and I have watched in wonder
as with a word You calmed a raging sea
I have seen You make the wine from water
mud and water made a blind man see
water still reminds me of the seaside where our eyes first met
let it rain
Lord, we're waiting for Your rain to fall
let it rain
bringing back the wonder of it all
and I can see Your face again
when You let it rain
and I've been bathed in mercy
by every gesture, every word You've said
once I spoke of power and high position
you took a towel and washed my feet instead
water, like a promise
heaven opens, but I'm not there yet
let it rain...
I've been foolish
thought I knew it all
three times I denied Your name
Your forgiveness, like a waterfall
washes away my shame
a new dawn is breaking
another hour, and then I leave this place
I am ready, Lord, to give my life up
I'm so ready, Lord, to see Your face
water, like a promise
and in this final hour, I think my final prayer shall be
would You let it rain?
let Your Spirit fall afresh on me
let it rain...
Just seeking the wonder of it all.
simple faith
My panhandle state has had the oddest weather this June. We are setting records daily as the month comes to an end - wettest June, most consecutive days of rain, etc. Even as I type my street has once again become flooded.
I like this Newsboys song on days like this:
Let it Rain
Music by Peter Furler
Lyrics by Steve Taylor & Peter Furler
a fisher of men remembers...
and I have watched in wonder
as with a word You calmed a raging sea
I have seen You make the wine from water
mud and water made a blind man see
water still reminds me of the seaside where our eyes first met
let it rain
Lord, we're waiting for Your rain to fall
let it rain
bringing back the wonder of it all
and I can see Your face again
when You let it rain
and I've been bathed in mercy
by every gesture, every word You've said
once I spoke of power and high position
you took a towel and washed my feet instead
water, like a promise
heaven opens, but I'm not there yet
let it rain...
I've been foolish
thought I knew it all
three times I denied Your name
Your forgiveness, like a waterfall
washes away my shame
a new dawn is breaking
another hour, and then I leave this place
I am ready, Lord, to give my life up
I'm so ready, Lord, to see Your face
water, like a promise
and in this final hour, I think my final prayer shall be
would You let it rain?
let Your Spirit fall afresh on me
let it rain...
Just seeking the wonder of it all.
simple faith
Labels: Life, Spiritual Journey
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Someone Else's Dream
For weeks now that phrase has rolled around in my head.
We seem to have spent a lot of time on the road the past few months. The phrase first formed while pondering old barns and homesteads that we past. They were abandoned and slowly falling apart. There is a unique beauty in them as they sit serenely in the countryside.
The thought came to me one day that they are, in fact, someone else's dream. They represent a time and way of life that is passing. The new generation needs/wants bigger barns and homes. That change has left abandoned barns and homesteads to dot the landscape. Silent reminders of another generation's dreams.
Recently we spent several hours on the road traveling to and from the Rocky Mountain High State. Again the phrase rolled through my mind as the landscape was dotted with old barns and homesteads. Then suddenly, the phrase took on an unexpected meaning.
My mind wandered to my own life and my chosen path. I am sure the turn in thinking had to do, in part, to a couple of books I have been reading. But the phrase became a question - "Am I living my own dream, or someone else's?"
I have been very purposeful about my chosen path. It has not always been easy to walk. I have spent much time this past year evaluating that choice.
I have had the blessing of stepping into temporary jobs that have given me the opportunity to "try on" that path. It set me to much pondering and brought me to the conclusion that, for now, this path I am on is best. This path is allowing me to live my dreams.
I firmly believe that we must often evaluate our path and ask the question, "Is this someone else's dream, or mine?"
simple faith
For weeks now that phrase has rolled around in my head.
We seem to have spent a lot of time on the road the past few months. The phrase first formed while pondering old barns and homesteads that we past. They were abandoned and slowly falling apart. There is a unique beauty in them as they sit serenely in the countryside.
The thought came to me one day that they are, in fact, someone else's dream. They represent a time and way of life that is passing. The new generation needs/wants bigger barns and homes. That change has left abandoned barns and homesteads to dot the landscape. Silent reminders of another generation's dreams.
Recently we spent several hours on the road traveling to and from the Rocky Mountain High State. Again the phrase rolled through my mind as the landscape was dotted with old barns and homesteads. Then suddenly, the phrase took on an unexpected meaning.
My mind wandered to my own life and my chosen path. I am sure the turn in thinking had to do, in part, to a couple of books I have been reading. But the phrase became a question - "Am I living my own dream, or someone else's?"
I have been very purposeful about my chosen path. It has not always been easy to walk. I have spent much time this past year evaluating that choice.
I have had the blessing of stepping into temporary jobs that have given me the opportunity to "try on" that path. It set me to much pondering and brought me to the conclusion that, for now, this path I am on is best. This path is allowing me to live my dreams.
I firmly believe that we must often evaluate our path and ask the question, "Is this someone else's dream, or mine?"
simple faith
Labels: Life, Ponderings
Monday, June 25, 2007
Marching On . . .
Wow! Time has definitely been marching on and I have not been to this keyboard in ages. Much is rolling around in my head, but nothing has made its way to any written form. That must change.
But for today, I will post a poem I wrote earlier this year. It is a tribute to the women who have made me possible - great grandmothers, grandmothers, and my mom.
Weaving Me
She was red hair flowing as on horseback she raced the locomotive.
She was ball gowns and costume jewelry.
She was the song, “Chantilly Lace”
And painted nails.
She was beautiful.
She was black braids as she rode through grass tall as her pony.
She was the wedding picture and a mother.
She was men’s work clothes
And a six holster.
She was beautiful.
She was independent and strong as she journeyed purposefully through life.
She was bowling and bingo
And cornbread dressing with sage.
She was shorts and painted nails.
She was beautiful.
She is quiet and accepting as life flows around her.
She is country music and classic western TV
And apricot fried pies.
She is weathered and aging.
She is beautiful.
She is wisdom and encouragement.
She is roller coasters and travel and books.
She is the wind that allows dreams to soar.
She is the scent of the tropics and painted nails.
She is beautiful.
simple faith
Wow! Time has definitely been marching on and I have not been to this keyboard in ages. Much is rolling around in my head, but nothing has made its way to any written form. That must change.
But for today, I will post a poem I wrote earlier this year. It is a tribute to the women who have made me possible - great grandmothers, grandmothers, and my mom.
Weaving Me
She was red hair flowing as on horseback she raced the locomotive.
She was ball gowns and costume jewelry.
She was the song, “Chantilly Lace”
And painted nails.
She was beautiful.
She was black braids as she rode through grass tall as her pony.
She was the wedding picture and a mother.
She was men’s work clothes
And a six holster.
She was beautiful.
She was independent and strong as she journeyed purposefully through life.
She was bowling and bingo
And cornbread dressing with sage.
She was shorts and painted nails.
She was beautiful.
She is quiet and accepting as life flows around her.
She is country music and classic western TV
And apricot fried pies.
She is weathered and aging.
She is beautiful.
She is wisdom and encouragement.
She is roller coasters and travel and books.
She is the wind that allows dreams to soar.
She is the scent of the tropics and painted nails.
She is beautiful.
simple faith
Labels: Life
