it's not over.

if anything I have learned from years of shift work,
and missing the 'traditions' of the Christmas hollidays - it is this:
it is always Christmas.
       sometimes winter. 
       sometimes gathered with family & friends, in the hallowed walls, flickering with candle glows.
       sometimes Friday evening, after work.  In your pj's...

The Goodness of the Son of God, born to our world... into our history,
it's not over
    though presents are unwrapped, the food enjoyed and packed up - and we've all headed back to dailyness and work and saying 'Happy New Year' instead.

Hallelujah to God, the Most High.
  Who has given us Jesus Christ, for every 360 days there are,
                                            until Christmas celebrations again.


Enjoy the wonder friends, it's here :)

I write.

Hi all.

I feel a bit sheepish, coming here.  Typing this and that - as though I've been at this. 
I haven't been typing black and white here,
and I wonder if it shows?

How He has soothed aches,
as every word marched down to page became a prayer?
a release? a surrender?

If it shows, how He set my mind, and heart,
and hands ablaze, with thought and word?
And how, a signpost led to love,
and work, and words to share and describe and explain?
Words to give Him praise and glory?
Words to point our  hearts and minds back to Him who enlivens us - makes us, live and move and breathe?

Next week, I stand to defend my thesis.
  I sincerely chuckle when I read it.
It means what is on those 117 pages.  And it means a lot more.
How God is faithful to you in the task.  How He drives you.  How He raises you from the pit.  How He places your feet on the solid ground of faith in Him.  How He put every heart, and mind, and soul, around you that you might give Him thanks and praise.


Amen. 

it is finished.

gravity of gospel.

it's been a tattering last couple of days,
as I try to piece together
this:

I'm trying to reconcile
standing, hearing the bloodiest shriek -

eyes rolling - not inhuman, but depraved.
I'm wondering, 'what in God's name am I doing here?'

how does an anxious, rumpled, twenty-something
find herself called
Here. With purpose.

Suffering tries to steal it.
worry grinds in deep, haunting memory.
Death, in all its suffocating power aims for precedence.


this threatens to take us all.
I've never seen it so grave.
So clear, and true, and bright the choice.

Even here, in the sobs of not understanding,
He is. Thank God! He is Who He is.

More than black, white and tangible page,

that burn and blot and tear

blood and body, Words from Holy lips

resounding - hounding for dear ones

to come to Life

for His Name's sake.