Saturday, January 4, 2014


This morning is cold.  The house is quiet and so I write.  Writing to remember, writing to give voice, writing to own things, writing to forgive.  These are the days of letting go.  The days of a new thing.  The days of letting joy creep in ever so slowly and test its weight in this heart of mine.  These are Isaiah 43 days that were foretold long ago.  Marked so they would not be forgotten.  Written so that it can't be known as anything other than what it is....God's word springing forth at the appointed time.  Through the grey of the low clouds I see it....clear blue.  Up above what appears on the surface.  I sit in a space and give my thanks.  Thanks for what is right this second....but joy gives me eyes to see what lies springs up....that's what joy does.  It perceives it.  As I wait, I remember.  I give thanks for what has been, what I have been delivered from, what the hard days....729 to be exact....have brought me through to get to this place.  In the waiting He whispers......He speaks the words I have waited for.  He gives what is asked of Him.  He is found by the seeker.  Joy is hard fought, hard won and it doesn't come into place so very easily.  It is big and wide and all consuming.  It is found by the heart that was shattered, for what else can contain this?  It gathers and binds and creates something new, something bigger, something more than was ever expected to hold Him for just a moment before it breaks wide open again....because joy was never meant to be contained,'s was meant to be spilled and it comes in a flood.  Thankful.

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