Joy comes in the mourning

Necklace crafted by Etsy artist, Lisa Hopkins

I’ve cried until my eyes swelled up and blotted until my face went raw.  I’ve mourned long and hard for my dog, and in many ways, still do.  But joy comes in the mourning.

Usually, I have an attitude like this: “God, does ONE MORE bad thing have to happen to me now?  How can I ever move forward with my life?  You are not good or loving or kind.”  Then I feel bad, so I repent yet remain absolutely miserable—a pitiful creature that spurns the happiness of others.

But not this time, not with this incident. 

I knew that I had to CHOOSE to turn my sorrow into thankfulness and find that elusive joy in troubles that James speaks so highly of in his New Testament book.  Even though I mourned and wailed for my lost dog, I thanked God for her life and for choosing me to be her human guardian in her life here on the fallen planet.

And I continued to thank Him for Cassie, and then I thought of more reasons to be thankful.  If Cassie had died a few months ago, I would have completely fallen apart.  Her life was in His hands…and yes, God cares about animals.  He created them, didn’t He? (If you’re in doubt, read the book of Job.  God tells Job that He knows when the mountain goat gives birth on the mountainside.  An infinite God cares about a goat on a mountain somewhere?  Yes, He does.)

Will I react the same way the next time I’m face down with a broken heart?  I hope so, but it’s not a guarantee.  I just know I’m closer now than I was before to finding “joy in all circumstances,” one step closer to choosing joy.  And I’m only asked to take one step at a time with my God. 

Between you and me, I don’t think I could handle much more than that.  Then again, God knows that already, doesn’t He?

Let’s dish…how has joy coming in your mourning?  What helped you arrive at this place?  Or is this still a foreign concept to you—why or why not? 

Poetry & Prose:: If I Was a Poet

If I was a poet,

I would write about the ocean

The feeling of sand between my toes

The smell of the salty air

Being knocked over by cruel waves

As I walk in the surf

The shrill cry of gulls

As they make their rounds

The bikini clad girls who make me blush

And the way the wind whips my hair

To and fro, to and fro

That is what I would write about the ocean,

If only I was a poet

If I was a poet,

I’d write about a summer’s day

The cool splash of jumping into a pool

The sweat dripping down my face

Wetting my shirt

Sitting in a tree’s protective shade

Watching the ants gather, gather, gather

Smelling the earth after it rains

Jumping in puddles, wading in the swelling stream

Searching for the rainbow’s end

Catching fireflies, scratching mosquito bites, nursing bee stings

Long chats with friends by the fire pit sipping iced tea

That I what I’d write about a summer’s day

If only I was a poet

If I was a poet,

I would write nobly of romance

Of love’s first kiss

Longing, needing, receiving a man’s affection

The way he smells, looks, feels, and breaths

I would praise his most worthy qualities

Perhaps I’d write of love unrequited

A sad spinster’s tale of heartache

Of a love lost to the sea or the ground

Or another woman

A sad and lonely affection still beautiful

True love drives the poet’s pen

If only I was a poet, I would write of these things and more

But, alas, I’m only a simple writer

Who writes about life’s poetry with no lyric or rhyme

Had I been a poet, I’d think of a better final line

Photo Essay:: My Best Friend

Photography Amy Sondova, Shayna Skalicky, and Shannon Sistrunk.

“Animals are such agreeable friends – they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms.” ~ George Elliot

“All of the animals except for man know that the principle business of life is to enjoy it.” ~ Samuel Butler

“If a dog jumps in your lap, it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing, it is because you lap is warmer.” ~ Alfred North Whitehead

“Every boy should have two things: a dog, and a mother willing to let him have one” ~ Anonymous

“I’ve met many thinkers and many cats, but the wisdom of cats is infinitely superior.” ~ Hippolyte Taine

“You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you a look that says, ‘My God, you’re right! I never would’ve thought of that!’” ~ Dave Barry

“There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.” ~ Ben Williams

“Until one has loved an animal,  a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” ~ Anatole France

Review :: Hello Love – Chris Tomlin

By Alyssa Bjornstad Hello Love (sixstepsrecords) affirms yet again that Chris Tomlin is more than a songwriter and musician; he is a worshiper. This album emerges in a different way than Tomlin’s previous solo albums (The Noise We Make, Not to Us, Arriving, Live from Austin Music Hall, See the Morning).

At first listen, many of the songs seem like a departure from what fans have come to expect—masterfully crafted #1 singles. Instead, the lyrics and music of Hello Love reflect the songwriter’s heart for God and passion to lead His people in worshiping the Creator.

Tomlin wants perspectives to be refocused. “People need to be reminded that what we’re here to do is to love God and to love people. Worship is a relationship of love. It’s our love of God and our love of people.”

Love, an often overused verb in our culture, takes on new meaning as Tomlin weaves the cause, purpose, fulfillment, and joy it brings into every song. The title track, “Love,” sung with the Watoto Children’s Choir, serves as a rallying cry: “Love is the answer. Love will find a way. When we love one another, it’s a brighter day.”

Many of the album’s songs are reminiscent of Gothic cathedrals—no, not hewn of stone and marble, but an expression of something greater than the mind or heart can comprehend. As a songwriter, Tomlin brings more to pen and paper than simply a desire to worship. He shares his internal questions about suffering, sin, and love with candor and honesty.

As a leader within the Passion movement, Tomlin’s desire for the college population is evidenced in “God of This City,” written by Bluetree. This song is igniting university students around the world to live for the name and renown of Jesus! “For greater things have yet to come and greater things are still to be done in this city. For greater things have yet to come and greater things are still to be done here.”

Chris Tomlin has once again captured the essence of worship in “Praise the Father, Praise the Son.”

“You Lifted Me Out” declares the joy of being “rescued” by the Savior, and granted the freedom to live knowing that He will never fail.  Christ-following is hardly void of suffering, pain, grief, or loss, and Tomlin has written a song that echoes far beyond church walls. “I Will Rise” is an anthem. “Jesus has overcome and the grave is overwhelmed. The victory is won. He is risen from the dead. I will rise when He calls my name. No more sorrow, no more pain. I will rise on eagles’ wings, before my God, fall on my knees. And rise. I will rise.”

Hello Love is a challenge for people from all walks of life to reacquaint themselves with love. After all, in the end, there’s nothing greater (I Corinthians 13:13).

Alyssa Bjornstad Alyssa’s greatest accomplishment to date was picking one major in graduate school. Her undergraduate career was filled with indecisiveness—namely, English, Communication, Journalism, and Psychology. When not reading textbooks, doing research, or writing papers, she can be found drinking coffee, painting, philosophizing, blogging, listening to music, drawing, or playing an immovable stringed instrument. After graduation, Alyssa hopes her dream of working for Passion Conferences comes true! Until then, she stays busy editing and contributing to the field of sanity. You can contact her by e-mail plansforhopeATgmailDOTcom.

With Love and Flowers

 

She is Beautiful, yet she doesn’t always think so

She has big dreams for a bright career

When she is nervous, she plays with her hair

She has a birthday… 1977 although I would have guessed the 80’s

She has two smiles, the real one is much better

She wants to have a baby and a family

She wants to forget about this part

She hopes for something more

[One of the many alleys in the Red Light District]

Awkwardly standing in front of the window I put my heart on the line by extending my love through a white and pink rose. Droplets of water had formed on the delicate petals and had smudged the writing on the love letter than accompanied the stem. I was no one, maybe even a potential client. The message was simple – God created you, your life is important, His love for you is better than life itself.

We all need to be loved. We were created with a desire for intimacy, for deep personal connection. Amsterdam is one of the last places that you will find it.

[I was amazed at the amount of tour-groups threading through the district]

We got a small group together and started praying about what we should write to accompany the flowers that we would hand out to the girls behind the glass. We rifled through our pocket sized Bibles led by ideas and references that would speak life into a dark place. Although we didn’t get around to doing a whole lot with the ministries in the RLD because of the short time we were there, this was what God wanted us to do; possibly even the reason that we were here.

The next night we stared at all of the flowers before getting busy attaching the love notes. Someone had been looking for something to give money towards and when they heard of the Flower Campaign, the Lord provided more than enough through them. There were ten of us that were going out on delivery, carrying with us more than flowers and strips of paper.

[The Cleft is in the middle of the Red Light District and provides some amazing ministries to Amsterdam's lost and broken]

The time had come. We paired up and headed out. I went with Deni, one of the staff of the program I was with. As we walked, the closer we came to our destination, the more feelings stirred in our hearts. We arrived with an arm-full of flowers. The first interaction was the most difficult and nerve-racking. As far as we knew, people just didn’t do what we were doing; there was always something else involved. I have an odd way of explaining what happened when they received the flower and knew that it was a gift… It appeared as if scales fell from their eyes. It is a weird way of explaining the phenomenon, but words escape me if I try to say it any differently. Their eyes literally changed and they became human. Now, obviously, I know that they are human, made in God’s image and deeply loved, but they have been objectified to the point that there is a disconnect with who God created them to be. So when they received something beautiful for simply being loved by God, grace came flooding in. With some it was a little more obvious than others, but I know that the messages symbolized in the flower were delivered precisely to the people they should have. It was an amazing time, I too, felt valued and loved by God.

We continued to walk, praying. We realized that we were no different from the people walking around the RLD searching. They search for the girl that will satisfy, but we know that the love of Christ and the Father is the only thing. We have all given ourselves over to selfish desires as well, searching for that element of life that will set us on fire with fulfillment. It is part of what being human is. One of my favorite authors, Brennan Manning puts it this way. “To be alive is to be broken. And to be broken is to stand in need of grace.” We all need the remarkable, exposing, and uncomplicated love of Christ. Since I have seen a glimpse, it doesn’t make me any better, because without Him, I am nothing, wretched.

[St. Nicholas Church in towers over the Red Light District (not seen here). Interestingly enough, St. Nicholas is the Patron Saint of prostitutes among other things]

We were on our way out of the district when I looked down and saw a broken flower on the ground… someone in our group had given it out. I reached down and picked up the discarded blossom saddened by what it represented. The paper was torn, the writing blurred beyond recognition. The head of the daisy was incredibly whole so I kept it, not knowing what the future would hold. As we passed the last window on our way out, my eyes met the disconnected glance of the girl who occupied it. I approached the window, again putting my hope on the line. She opened the window and we began to talk. Deni and I stood awkwardly as she explained all the scenarios of why we should come inside… It was difficult to stand there, extremely uncomfortable. Why was I standing there? Why had I found that last flower? Why this window? We eventually paid for 30 minutes of her time (how it usually works) and entered the room, flooded with red and black lights. We took off our rain soaked jackets and sat down on the bed. As we talked about life, hopes, family, and hard times, the time flew by. 45 minutes later it was time to go, she had to get back to work, we had to go back to our residence. Since then, my mind has replayed the events of that night over and over in my head… We said goodbye and I hoped that I would never see her in that window again. What can I say? What words can describe the thoughts in my head and feelings in my heart? There aren’t enough flowers.

["Window Shopping" as it is often called]

I came to Amsterdam frustrated, but left with a broken heart. I look forward to going back. It is a city of confusion, brokenness, and misguided seeking, but also a city where those who are searching can be filled with everlasting water and the Bread of Life. Where sin abounds, so does Grace^{(Romans 5:20)}.

May love flow from God into your life and from your life into the lives of others.
The opportunity is ours.

Backseat Writer welcomes John Paul Vicory to the site! JPV is traveling the world, taking pictures, and sharing the love of God with others as he goes.

How to Be Irresistible to Men

Mimi from “The Drew Carey Show” was confident, eccentric, and the take charge-type…and she ended up with Drew’s brother, who liked to wear dresses…hmm…

I was only checking my e-mail…honest. You know how web-based e-mail is–tantalizing little articles pop up on the site’s main screen and well, sometimes, you’ve just got to click ‘em. So I did. The topic–how to be irresistible to men.

Let’s face the facts–I’ve never been all that good in the dating/love department and I am turning 28 next week. Frankly, I need all the help I can get. According to this article based on the book Simply Irresistible by Ellen T. While, here’s how to be irresistibly you (with colorful commentary by yours truly).

1. Exude confidence (or fake it if you don’t have any. Always start relationships off pretending to be more than you really are or just be confident in the fact you’re boring).

2. First impressions matter (so don’t blow it)!

3. Wear perfume or “your signature scent.” Interestingly enough, I once heard that guys dig the smell of cotton candy and lavender–try making those your signature scents. No one likes a gal who goes au natural.

4. Be eccentric (translation, “Be an individual in a world of posers”. Although if you’re being individualistic for the sake of being different, isn’t that sort of like being a poser?)

5. “Accentuate the exotic.” Or get a tattoo so you can be more exotic. Whatever works.

6. Grow your hair long…really long, like Rapunzel, so if you’re ever trapped in a tower, a guy can climb up your locks to rescue you. Ever wonder why she didn’t lob off her hair and make a rope to get herself out of the tower?

7. Seduce him with words…use your “bedroom voice”. I’m sure that’s what Delilah did, and look where it got Samson. Ish. They have 900 numbers for that sort of thing.

8. “Make him the center of the universe.” Treat him like a Greek god he thinks he is. Uh…barf.

9. Be brilliant in conversation. I’m not sure if you use this tip in conjunction with #7, but I do believe it would ruin the whole “brilliance of the conversation” thing. I actually like this tip.

10. Get smartitude. Apparently guys like girls in glasses…hmm…maybe I should trash my contacts.  I do wear my glasses a lot though.

11. “Set the erotic stage.” Moving right along… (Not until you’ve got a wedding band on my finger, bucko!)

12. Take charge in the bedroom laundry room…like throw some dryer sheets in his load or show him how to fold his socks. Nothing sexier than a lady folding socks!

And unlucky #13…Think more like a man…right.

In conclusion, the tipster writes, “The less you need him, the more irresistible you’ll be.” Am I missing something? Didn’t I just learn to make him the center of my universe and grow my hair long for him and talk to him in my bedroom voice to bait please him? Now all of a sudden I don’t need him anymore? No wonder men think women are so irrational–see, I’m thinking more like a man already.

My Walk to Remember

Originally written in Spring 2004

By Amy Sondova Today I found myself in the most peculiar of situations. I was walking up a steep hill in South Bethlehem with a tattered plastic bag of worthless wares in my left hand and an 80 year-old woman clutching my right hand. Traffic halted as we made our way across the street, step by delicate step, and my new elderly friend, Martha, didn’t seem to notice the impatience of the onlookers. They had places to go, things to do, and most certainly didn’t have time to wait for this old woman to cross the street step by ever-slowing step.

It all started around lunchtime at my counseling internship. As I sat chatting with one of my homeless friends, I couldn’t help but notice the old woman hobble into the room. Her face was so full of wrinkles; it looked as though she had served with Mother Theresa in Calcutta. She gingerly made her way to the end of my table with the help of one of the soup kitchen’s workers. I smiled kindly at her as she looked over at me and introduced herself. Martha ate her meal in silence as the rest of us chatted about nonsensical things. I kept stealing glances at this frail, petite woman who looked so battered by life. I wondered what her story was. She kept a protective eye on her plastic bag, which was filed with pieces of plastic, dirty utensils, and other items that belonged in a trash can.

Martha got up from the table leaving the remnants of her meal on the tray on her table. She clutched her copper cane in one hand and the plastic bag in the other. She spotted something over by the free clothes pile that caught her interest…a plastic baby cup that was used, very used. She grasped for it, and finally enlisted the help of one of the soup kitchen employees to grab hold of the piece of plastic waste. Martha stuffed it in her bag and began to shuffle out of the building. Stopping briefly at the receptionist’s desk, she grabbed a handful of business cards, which she promptly shoved into her coat pocket, and out the door she went.

Amused by her eccentric ways, I decided to follow her to engage her in conversation. I found her standing by a pole seemingly waiting for something, I just wasn’t sure what. “Are you waiting for a bus, Martha?” I asked her loudly over the noise of passing traffic.

“No, no,” she replied quietly, “I’m walking home.” She paused and then asked, “Would you help me cross the street? I’m scared of the traffic.”

Such a simple and beautiful request touched my heart. “Of course I’ll help you,” I said gently, as she grasped for my hand. Wrinkled and cold, her hand firmly held mine and we began our journey across the street. She handed me her plastic bag and ordered me to carry it. It seemed like eons passed as this Martha and I walked slowly, yet determinedly to the other side of the street. I felt like an overgrown Girl Scout. If a car came careening around the corner, this lady wouldn’t have a chance, and neither would I, for that matter. So I prayed—hard.

We finally made it to the other side of the street and I was grateful to step out of the street and onto the cracked sidewalk. I was ready to walk back to the soup kitchen, but Martha did not loosen her grip on my hand. She merely kept walking, step-by-step up the street, and I could either choose to walk with her or let her go it alone. The next few blocks were composed of a steep hill, our own little version of San Francisco here in Pennsylvania. There was no way this old lady was going to make it up this hill without me. I decided to walk with her.

Now I could have made it up this hill by myself in less than five minutes, but it took Martha and me about 10 minutes to go half a block. I was half-tempted to grab her and carry her up the hill. I thought about running back to the soup kitchen to get my car. Anything was better than this lethargic hike. Then God pressed His thoughts on my heart as He so often does when I am an impatient child. My walk with Martha was like my walk with God, except when I walk with God, I was more like Martha. Weak, feeble, and crippled by sin, I cannot even climb the hills, much less to mountains of my life by myself. One day I put my faith in a Stranger I barely knew, and clung for dear life to His hand. Despite the mistakes I made, I never let go. I knew I couldn’t let go, because He was my guide and without His direction I would surely fall. How patient God is with me, walking slowly step by step, quietly assuring me that He would be with me all the way, no matter how long it took.

“How ya doing, Martha?” I asked the woman, as my right hand went numb from her strong hold. She nodded as if to tell me that she was fine. Then she pointed at a piece of dirty plastic on the ground and instructed me to pick it up. I was in no mood to argue, and did as she said. Then it hit me. Isn’t my walk with Jesus like this? I pick up worthless junk off the sidewalks of my life, and then because of God’s mercy and grace, He not only holds my hand, but also carries the garbage for me. All my difficulties, life struggles, and pains, as well as the joys and victories are nestled safely in His Hands as we walk.

Finally we came to rest on a porch because Martha’s body was aching. I told her to wait there as I ran back to the soup kitchen to get my Ford Focus. I loaded Martha into my car, and drove her to her next destination. As I waved goodbye to her, I realized that something in me had changed. All I really did was walk two blocks holding an old woman’s hand. Even though it didn’t seem like we really got much of anywhere in that half hour, I can’t help but feeling like I learned a lesson far more valuable than gold. All I wanted to do was incarnate the love of God to this woman, and the funny thing was, God used her to show His love to me.

Print copy of article.

“When We Dance” by Sting

Because it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m feeling a little romantic (for no apparent reason), I’m going to post one of my fave songs. The music video’s a little freaky, but Sting, a stringed instrument, a unicorn man, and weird architecture, what more do you need out of life? Also, it looks like Sting is the victim of unrequited love…poor guy.

Close Encounters of the Human Kind

Today I made two unlikely friends.

I accompanied my friend, Julie, and her greyhound, Bart, on their monthly visit to the an area nursing home. I wanted to get an idea of what the experience might be like for Maddy (my one year-old shih tzu), and to talk to the activities manager to see if Maddy could be a canine visitor. She can! So guess where we’d headed next week?

This is where I made my first friend–an elderly woman, who only speaks Russian. Perhaps she speaks a bit of English, but because of her age and her thick accent…she cannot be understood. And there’s one more thing–she’s completely blind.

Before even entering the room, the sweet sounds of old Russian echoed down the hallway, like we had stumbled into another country. We walked in to the small room to see a frail woman lying in bed, fully dressed and hard of hearing. The other was a short, earthy woman wearing a black headscarf. A smile was on her face as she mouthed the words to the music blaring from her CD player.

Julie went over to the woman with the headscarf, took her hand, and placed the lady’s hand on the greyhound’s neck. Immediately, she pulled her hand away from the dog, drew Julie’s hand to her lips, and began kissing it, grateful for the touch of another human. Then she reached for the dog and petted his velvety head.

Overcome with emotion, I took the woman’s other hand and hugged her dearly. She took my hand, kissing it tenderly several times. There we were, in the middle of a nursing home, neither one of us knowing the other, unable to communicate by traditional methods, holding on to one another with pure love. I hugged her again and held her longer. This beautiful, beautiful woman nestled in my embrace, desperate for human contact. I tried to put everything I was thinking into that embrace–you are beautiful, you have made my day, I wish I could talk to you and know you, you are smiling even though you are blind, you are smiling even though you cannot speak to the people around you, you are smiling even though your life seems to be passing away…you are the most beautiful thing I have beheld in weeks…thank you for crossing my path.

I saw some things and she said some things. We couldn’t understand a word of it, yet I’m pretty sure we were sharing similar thoughts. I told her that I was Russian and Ukranian and that my name was Amy. And then we had to leave the room to cheer up others, so I hugged her again and promised I would return. She nodded and smiled even more widely.

As we passed by the room on our way out of the nursing home, I caught a glimpse of my new friend, her hand thrown up towards the ceiling, singing silently to her music, and her face brightly lit up with joy. Tears started pouring down my cheeks as I closed my eyes to take a mental picture of her sitting there in all her glory.

Something indescribable happened between this woman and me. I am trying to find words, but there are none. It was simply an amazing, miraculous experience. If anyone reading the blog knows what I’m talking about, please leave a comment and tell me your story.

My second new friend had something in common with the first; he couldn’t see me either! No, I was not hanging out with an extraordinary amount of blind people today–I made friends with Bobby, my Dell customer service representative. Only a year out of college, Bobby told me that he didn’t know what a blog was (I still think he was pulling my leg!) so I told him that he should check mine because I would be posting about him. He laughed and asked where he could find this blog. Naturally, I gave him the site address.

(NOTE: CHECK OUT THE COMMENTS SECTION–Bobby, my Dell Customer Service Representative did read the blog and did leave a comment.  How’s that for customer service? )

Bobby was amazing as he helped me to put the finishing touches on the brand new Dell computer that Sarah is buying. Since I’m way more computer savvy than Sarah, I was instructed to make her the perfect computer for $700 or less. I did what anyone in my predicament would do–I asked my “big bro” Todd what to get. After telling me to get a Mac, he spent over an hour last night helping me know what to look for in a computer. With all my new gained technological smartitude, I put together a pretty awesome machine.

To ensure that my…I mean, Sarah’s new computer was all that it could be, I called the Dell customer service line to get a little advice, and that’s when Bobby came on the line. He sounded like the boy-next-store. I said something about how I love customer service reps and would love to give a big holler to all the hard-working Dell employees. Bobby said, “Sure, come on down to our main office in Nashville.”

“Nashville?!?” I yelled (probably causing hearing loss. Sorry, Bobby!), “I want to come to Nashville terribly!” We talked a bit about the city, music, and of course, blogs. But then we had to get back to business. This was no social call, but no one listening to our conversation would have had any clue that were were in the serious business of making a powerful machine.

Sadly (or happily), when it came time to play for the new computer, I had to hand over to Sarah. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Bobby, but hopefully he’ll check out my blog. I know it sounds sort of silly, but I sort of wanted him to say, “Dude, you’re getting a Dell”. I miss Steve the Dell guy…Dell’s commercials haven’t been the same since they fired that kid (who’s probably like 30).

After bonding with Bobby and Harold in the Philippines (read post), you may think I bond with all my customer service reps, and maybe you’re right. But what else are you gonna do when you’re on the phone with a complete stranger? I’m not the only one. My friend, Chris, also blogged about his experiences with a customer service representative by the name of Fernando (who has not one, but two posts dedicated to him…read post 1 and post 2).

It was an interesting day with a deep soulful experiences and a lighter, happy one. Both were unexpected pleasures in an otherwise dismal day…and both made me realize the ability we have to connect with others when we least expect it. If only for a few moments in time we can enjoy the company of a random stranger, who will forever be special to us, just because we took the time to reach outside of ourselves and ask a silly question or give a hug.

Why are we so afraid to feel the close bond of humanity we share with the others around us? Isn’t that part of what it means to be human?

By the way, since Chris posted a picture of what he thought Fernando looked like (a Grucho Marx impersonator) , I’m posting a picture of what I think Bobby might look like…

One can only hope that Bobby can stick that many clothespins to his face.

In His Grasp

Did you ever have a moment where you felt at peace after days of distress? Finally, you think, I can settle back into a routine and find comfort in the ordinary when–WHAM!– something smacks you right in the face. Unexpected, surprising, and unwelcome, suddenly you’re flat on your butt looking around in a daze. The only thing left is to look up and see how far you’ve fallen.

You’ve already been so down and so low. You can’t bear to go back into that hole you dug yourself because it’s so cold, lonely, and wet. Take a deep breath, gather yourself, and move on. It’s all you can do right now. This is merely a pull in your sweater, a scratch on your favorite CD, a hole in your socks, a kink in your plans. This will not destroy you because you’ve been through hell and you are not going back.

It hurts. It burns. It aches. Your heart is so fragile right now and cannot be held in clumsy hands. Fall into your Father’s arms once again. Let Him bind your wounds with words of Love, to show You that He will never forsake you, to hold you with the hands on which He has written your name. His wings will cover you, protect you, and shield you from this darkness.

Settle your heart now and allow your hurts to be nursed by the Great Physician. Do not be afraid, little sheep, for your Father has truly been pleased to give you the Kingdom. But not today. Today you must rest in Him. You must learn what it means to be in God’s image, and you must learn to walk. A lamb with broken legs, you will walk again, just not today. Rest now and know that your God, who numbered the hairs on your head and spoke the world into existence, is Your Father. In His grasp, you will find safety and love.