Show Me Your Glory…Even Though I’m Afraid

I love this song.
It is the cry of my heart.
…except for one line. “I’m not afraid.”
because I am afraid.
and shouldn’t I be?

His voice makes the earth tremble.
He is the Great Judge.
He holds Life and Destruction
and considers them like a chef considers which spice to use.
He says that no man can look upon His face and live.

That’s frightening.

I only know that God longed to show His people His glory
long ago
in a desert far, far away.
But they were too afraid.

And it made Him sad.
I don’t want to make Him weep over my rejection of Him.
Is my fear essentially rejection?
It was for those desert travelers.

I wonder what it takes to be a Moses?
To be chosen to commune with God in a deeper way than the masses?
But did God choose Him, or did He choose God?
Moses, with his asking?

Do I only have to ask?
and then have the courage for the answer?
It is true, I am afraid,
but I think I’d risk that fear to see His glory.

Jacob saw God in the face of His brother Esau.
He saw glory in a common relationship.
He risked death and unforgiveness to see glory there.
Am I willing to seek Him in the face of another?

Jesus saw the glory of Solomon in lillies,
And David has directed us to the stars.
Saying that the heavens declare His glory.
Because the stars sing, you know.

And their song declares His glory.
Does my song declare His glory?
For I am reminded by my sister that I sing because I have a song.
Not because I have the answers.

And my heart cries, “Show me your glory!”
And my Love answers, “My glory is all around you!”

…sharing a playdate with Laura:

 

I Am A Nehemiah One

The story of Nehemiah has been tumbling in my heart…and so I decided to start a project; a project of writing some application thoughts about an entire book of the Bible…one chapter at a time.

Like Nehemiah, I weep; I pray.
What was once glory and splendor
Is wrecked and ruined
only a glimmer of days gone by and
The rubble of broken lives dirties the hem of my skirt.

The deer-caught-in-headlight stare
of the old and weak reveals
a giving up of all that is good,
their children never knowing that these
“dejected ones” were once heroes of faith, valiant in deed.

Without permission from these brokenhearted,
I remind God of His promise
determined to implore, to persuade
to influence and beg if necessary
those who are downcast to look up again.

I rise from my prayer stool,
ask God for success in my journey;
my journey to the city that once was and is no more.

My Prayer For A Concrete Rebellion

I am late night shopping, and almost the only car in the empty lot.  The air is full of summer night sounds; grasshoppers, crickets and firecrackers.  The  spray of lights brighten the sky in the distance reaching into the atmosphere despite laws and crackdowns.

And we forget why we rebel and risk injury to celebrate this way.

My car turns from the lot onto the deserted frontage road.  And there they are, defying concrete and traffic and anything else that comes against them.  Illuminated by the streetlight I find God’s decoration against a darkening sky. But they have not forgotten why they risk injury and rebel against concrete and fumes.  They reach to Him to tell of His glory.

Delicate lace somehow defies rubber tires and cement just to remind me that He is faithful.

Though my heart be tender, and my strength seem frail, may I determine to break through” tough as bricks” life and reveal His beauty and faithfulness.  This is my prayer.

 

 

 

From Dandilions to Queen Anne’s Lace – A Mother’s Letter To Her Daughter

Just yesterday you were my dandi-lioness
Bright and sunshiny yellow…albeit slightly annoying –
cropping up when I least expected it
ruining my flawless world of endless green grass.

And then came the days
when you didn’t feel good about yourself
and you weren’t full of sunshine anymore but
dull and grey.

But I know a secret.
Because you scattered seeds of sunshine,
even in your “ugly” stage,
and now the seeds you spawned sprinkle my lawn
with happy faces, all changed by you.

You’ve grown into a woman now
and you are more like Queen Anne’s Lace;
British, exquisite and delicately beautiful.
True, you don’t have your own light anymore,
but instead your very lacyness provides the pattern
for His light to shine through and around you.

And it’s all about Him
and it’s less about you
and you still scatter seeds
only in a different field
in a different place
in a different way.

You may no longer be growing in my green groves
but in the cracks of cement sidewalks
where signs of life are far and few between.
But you are strong and fearless
even though you are called, “Weed!”

Not moved by “their” words
you reach toward heaven
etching the night sky with lacy patterns,
your beauty only recognizable
when Light filters through.

Let Light be.
Be in Light.

Dissatisfied With Heaven’s Bread

Aspire | The Wave by Brandon Ku (bkuPhotography) on 500px.com
Aspire | The Wave by Brandon Ku

Sometimes we despise God’s provision.
“There is nothing to eat here and nothing to drink. And we hate this horrible manna!” (Numbers 22 NLT)
Isn’t manna something to eat?
How we exaggerate when we are determined to be dissatisfied.

Our flesh cries out, “I’m tired of this food! It’s the same every day!
God your provision just. isn’t. good. enough.
If you loved me, you’d provide a seven course meal, with plenty of variety.
This bread from Heaven isn’t measuring up.”

and we say, “I’m not satisfied any more.
Couldn’t you send me a sign?
A miracle? You expect me to chew on the same crust of bread over and over?
…and like it?”

We are like
children looking in full pantry and fridge
proclaiming, “There’s nothing to eat!”

Sometimes we grow impatient with the length and difficulty of the journey
and we speak out against God, and His man.
We complain about the package deliverance comes in.
“I didn’t expect this!” we rethink the path we’ve chosen.

and the serpent of bitterness
brazenly bites leaving behind his mark on our skin and his poison in our blood,
and we question His very name Jireh, Provider.

But He is Provider, and “God is always good, and I am always loved.”
There is goodness in the manna – the “what is it?” bread of Heaven.
There is love on the journey – water from rocks and brass serpents for healing
despite our complaints.

Counting the provisions of the Lord with Ann:

139. A reminder in an art gallery.

140. His Word a lamp unto my feet.

141. A shopping kitty.

142. A day with Mama.

143. Encouragement to be a finisher.

144. A metropolitan afternoon

145. Tiffany windows raining glory on my hair…

146. simplicity

147. The journey of an altar.

…sharing a playdate with Laura:

….finding heaven with Jen:

…hanging out with L.L.: On In Around button

…sharing with Shandra:

Kim – the 44.0 version


I am forty-four today.
…and I’m am amazed at how different I am
than the younger model of me.

The younger, thinner, prettier version
was much more about herself
and how she looked to the spectators in her own personal arena.

She was the center of her universe
and when things didn’t go as she expected
hope slipped through her fingers like sand on a sun soaked beach.

She wanted so much to be like anyone other than herself.
If she could only look like this person,
cook like that one, or write like a Pulitzer Prize winner.

Sometimes I panic at the lack of
goals accomplished on my ‘bucket list’…
and I truly tremble at the thought of being in His presence for lack of a “Well, done.”

But model number forty-four is comfortable being Kim.
This day in my age has found personal purpose
and is done longing for who I am not.

I prefer handmade cards from small children,
rather than expensive trinkets from handsome men…
because value isn’t measured in dollars.

My value is much better measured
by my service and significance to others;
and in knowing that my forty-four years on this blue marble-of-a-planet
matters.

His Hands, His Feet – Premier of Painting Prose

 

My dear friend Emily Wierenga crafts language into masterpieces and paints pictures beyond words. Everything she touches becomes beauty, and yet these talents aren’t what I love about her most. I ❤ Emily’s <3. She simply does what she feels her Master would do. When she hears someone cry, she offers a tissue. When she sees someone hunger, she brings them food. When she felt this hurting mother’s pain, she reached out aching arms.

And she is an example of His nail scarred Hands and His well traveled Feet, doing the things I talk about on this and my other blog…going the places He would go. She takes on extra children, and she gives her time to families torn by the pain that she’s all too familiar with.

Emily is on hiatus from her meme Imperfect Prose. She has become twice the mother, and twice the author; providing care for two extra boys; and landing two writing contracts. She needs some extra time to accomplish the challenges set before her. Emily has created such remarkable community amongst her readers and those who share on Thursdays at Imperfect Prose, that I couldn’t bear to see it end, even temporarily. So, dear reader, whether you have participated in the past at Imperfect Prose, or if you are new to this group, please be encouraged to share your most heartfelt thoughts with us on Thursdays. The linkup will be activated by 6:00 PM CST each Wednesday and will be open until Friday morning. Let us also remember to pray for our dear sister, Emily, so that she can return to us as soon as possible. No one can encourage with the sweetness she can…

Would you consider including a our meme button on the post you’ve included here?

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