Perfume and spices on the air as I wait in the string-lighted courtyard of our final banquet dinner. There are fires burning in the metal stand welcoming street strays. The smoke in my clothes and tearing eyes might as well be from sycamore limbs back home in Missouri. My heart is full and oh-so heavy knowing I might not see my new friends ever again. Wishing farewells and whispering fevered fantasies about moving across the globe to adopt new customs, cuisines and children. This could be my home. My heart is a gypsy. A Native American warrior heart nomadic as a tornado.
My heart so fragile. Powerful. Chaotic. Ready to rope out and lose its whirl at any moment. Yet overeager to jump and pump arteries-first into strange territory of emotion and relationship.
What to do with all this feeling? Love? Raw force of nature?
I love this country. I love these people.
Purple Balloon Boy.
Yellow Chair Girl.
I hope to share eternity with you, Friends. Stay with God and send Him with me and we shall meet again on different, distant shores. Still bright and glistening.
I saw a young girl in a hot-pink jacket take her first steps with the help of a pediatric walker. She strolled straight through our hearts with smiles and laughter into the outstretched hands of her own mother’s love. I got to see what love can do.
Physical therapists seating kids who need wheelchairs. Nurses treating gunshot wounds. Kind people ready to laugh and bring joy, handing out glasses.
Make the sick well. Give sight to the blind. Bind wounds. And make the lame walk to mother’s waiting arms. Miracles. In the land where Jesus walked.
Love did that. Love changed their world. My world. THE world.
“For God so loved the world…”
Please let me see this place again. Please let me feel this love again. This beautiful lump in my throat. Jumping unrestrained from my lashes. Down my cheeks in rolling, fat tears.
Don’t let me pass from this valley without your love, God.
How do I take this with me?
My prayers are but whispered words
From a yearning, desperate, fallible heart.
Mist between tall hills.
Breath between pangs.
Yet any power they possess
Does not rest on my small human capacity.
They are gathered by an eternal hand
That has raised mountains and stirred oceans.
How much you love anyone is directly related to how far you had to walk to find them.
Or how far you’re willing to walk WITH them.
I am not saved by Christ because I’m good.
I am saved by Christ because he is perfectly motivated by LOVE.
I want to be more like Christ.
But I will always require his Grace-filled help.
Another repost poem. Happy birthday, Pencil Princess!
The picture on the post is Lilli wearing my dad’s old straw cowboy hat.
Before I had a girl,
I thought she’d steal my husband’s heart.
I was scared of sharing,
Expecting battle from the start.
What I didn’t know
Is that she stole my heart instead.
I wanted Dad to heap
Love and kisses on her head.
My daughter is my strength.
She’s taught me more than I could teach.
She’s my tough defender
When I’m sick or sad or weak.
She’s my will, she’s my power.
She’s my endless, eternal drive.
She’s the reason I get up.
She’s the reason I’m still alive.
Before I had a girl,
I didn’t understand
How much I’d love another girl.
I’m her biggest fan.
Love you, Cowgirl.
Flesh becomes one with the mind
When viewed beyond reality
The two are then perceived of kind
Transcend above fatality
Depth of soul to the depth of hell
And then you have a story to tell
Long-lived love is like–
Marriage is like–
Coming home to a small beach shack.
I built it.
With my hands, skills and know-how.
Outta stuff I had.
Most people can’t rough it.
It isn’t pretty to look at.
But it’s comfortable. It has everything I need.
I always wanted to live on the beach.
I am proud to live here.
I wouldn’t live anywhere but this place.
And when the storm hits?
We may have to pick up the pieces.
But. We’re gonna be here when it’s over and we know how to build.
The beach is where you can see the edge of the world.
Sunday-Fell in a hole.
Monday-Trapped in a hole.
Tuesday-Trapped in a hole.
Wednesday-A dog found me.
Thursday-Trapped in a hole.
Friday-Lost my mind.
Saturday-Died of dehydration.
Anything better than this and your week was not bad. Right? (I’m talking to myself.)
If home is where the heart is
Then make yourself at home
I’ve got love enough for two
And this house was built to roam
So, pack your bags and leave with me
We’re headed out tonight
We won’t touch ground, never set down
You’ll be my endless flight
Wanderlust is natural
For any courageous heart
Love is a bit more difficult
Never going unless we start
Don’t worry where we’ll end
You’ll always have a place
As long as we’re together
This journey is not a race.
good or bad,
leads us to truth.