on this half lit day...
I brace for the colder winds that I know will come. I admit that something inside me dreads or even cringes a little at this time of year. What seems like residue from a bad bought of depression a couple years ago begs to haunt and linger. The darkness outside seeps in and creates a haze over the truths in my heart. It surfaces the darkness not dealt with, that's buried a bit deeper. Darker doubts and fears come up and work a pile so high of all the "why" questions between me and God.
You know the type (I've been told it's much better to ask the ones that start with "what" and "who", but they don't seem to pack the same kind of punch that a "why" does. ) The "whys" have held a strange attraction for us since the age of 4 or 5. It drove our parents mad. Now, I feel they are no less voiced, just far more internally. I'm thankful that God has an amazing capacity for patience to go along with His ability to hear our thoughts.
So I have this nice stack here and all the emotional ammo to go with it. And I must be figure that if I get some answer, I'll be able to remove one more sheet... or should I say brick from the wall I've been building again between me and God. As if it's my right to have all my questions answered before I will let God be my God again. There's my will again trying to have free reign. And now I'm sensing a response not too far off from the one He gave Job. And sensing too, how deceiving my heart really is. He might not give me the answers I want right now, or even this side of eternity. And that's His right. I might not be able to trust myself or my feelings, but He wants me to simply trust Him. To know that He considers my prayers precious. That He'll remove the barrier, and hold this pile, until my ears are ready to hear and my heart, to understand.
I love the four seasons in Minnesota. I guess because I've become very fond of change. I find myself craving it, and all too often weary, for arguing with God when it fails to arrive in the my allotted time. I love fall, the beautiful sacrifice it portrays. The colder winds draw near, asking trees, once so full of life, to forfeit their leaves. Some submit and drop early in an encore of color, while others turn rust, holding for dear life until after the snow falls. I wonder, are the latter stronger or are they just more stubborn?
In every season of my life I'm been asked to die in some way, to give up something I hold so near to my heart. (Tonight, it seems to be those chronic questions again) To lay it down, that a new life would have its chance to bud. It's painful, almost a lonely process in the sense of loss, and usually met with a fight from me. With each new season, and my awareness of its coming grows, I'm hoping that my grip knows better when to let go. I'm assured the death is inevitable and though I will have to taste this winter, I am also a prisoner of hope. I know that in a little while, I will once again experience an opened door, see the new buds, and the breathe in the refreshing fragrance of spring.
on this half lit day
with your crown beneath your wings
ev'ry word just echoes
and the empty world sings
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
i never imagined i could leave
where have you gone, my sparkling wind?
right here is the hardest place to be
in the glistening
of the lost and open sky
tiny piece of you sits
simple wish waits for reply
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
i never imagined i could leave
where have you gone, my sparkling wind?
right here is the hardest place to be
forgive and beneath a shadow
delivered into a dream
where beating wings of the weary
let me in, take me in
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
i never imagined i could leave
where have you gone, my sparkling wind?
right here is the hardest place to be
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
you musn't forget what Love can see
Where by Lisbeth Scott and Harry Gregson-William
You know the type (I've been told it's much better to ask the ones that start with "what" and "who", but they don't seem to pack the same kind of punch that a "why" does. ) The "whys" have held a strange attraction for us since the age of 4 or 5. It drove our parents mad. Now, I feel they are no less voiced, just far more internally. I'm thankful that God has an amazing capacity for patience to go along with His ability to hear our thoughts.
So I have this nice stack here and all the emotional ammo to go with it. And I must be figure that if I get some answer, I'll be able to remove one more sheet... or should I say brick from the wall I've been building again between me and God. As if it's my right to have all my questions answered before I will let God be my God again. There's my will again trying to have free reign. And now I'm sensing a response not too far off from the one He gave Job. And sensing too, how deceiving my heart really is. He might not give me the answers I want right now, or even this side of eternity. And that's His right. I might not be able to trust myself or my feelings, but He wants me to simply trust Him. To know that He considers my prayers precious. That He'll remove the barrier, and hold this pile, until my ears are ready to hear and my heart, to understand.
I love the four seasons in Minnesota. I guess because I've become very fond of change. I find myself craving it, and all too often weary, for arguing with God when it fails to arrive in the my allotted time. I love fall, the beautiful sacrifice it portrays. The colder winds draw near, asking trees, once so full of life, to forfeit their leaves. Some submit and drop early in an encore of color, while others turn rust, holding for dear life until after the snow falls. I wonder, are the latter stronger or are they just more stubborn?
In every season of my life I'm been asked to die in some way, to give up something I hold so near to my heart. (Tonight, it seems to be those chronic questions again) To lay it down, that a new life would have its chance to bud. It's painful, almost a lonely process in the sense of loss, and usually met with a fight from me. With each new season, and my awareness of its coming grows, I'm hoping that my grip knows better when to let go. I'm assured the death is inevitable and though I will have to taste this winter, I am also a prisoner of hope. I know that in a little while, I will once again experience an opened door, see the new buds, and the breathe in the refreshing fragrance of spring.
on this half lit day
with your crown beneath your wings
ev'ry word just echoes
and the empty world sings
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
i never imagined i could leave
where have you gone, my sparkling wind?
right here is the hardest place to be
in the glistening
of the lost and open sky
tiny piece of you sits
simple wish waits for reply
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
i never imagined i could leave
where have you gone, my sparkling wind?
right here is the hardest place to be
forgive and beneath a shadow
delivered into a dream
where beating wings of the weary
let me in, take me in
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
i never imagined i could leave
where have you gone, my sparkling wind?
right here is the hardest place to be
where have you gone, my feather light heart?
you musn't forget what Love can see
Where by Lisbeth Scott and Harry Gregson-William
posted by cara joy at 6:53 PM
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