Praising God in the Dark

The February rain has usurped the modest daylight. i lie here trapped in a body that rarely tolerates being upright and i confess ingratitude. Recognizing how blessed i am to be watching a tufted titmouse at the feeder on the hill facing my patio doors stops me. A pile of rocks and roots that is the steep hill a few feet from my window blocks the view. Or, perchance, it is the glorious view of chipmunk, wren, and squirrel.

KQzoK4%+TVuQ2twtOQpuJwThe infirmity that keeps me lying and prevents me from participating in our society is the burden God gave me to bear. All our burdens are custom designed to help us grow toward Him.  The gloom and haze that infects the weather and our mood is the very medium we need to move our gaze to Him. i only feel sorry for myself when i am thinking about myself.

i am not the point. Period. Full stop.

Repentance, metanoia means to turn around, change direction and move the other way. i repent of thinking about myself.

The only reason i feel low is that i am thinking about what i would like to be doing. Being is more important than doing. i am learning in the lying down all the time to be. To be with God. In prayer.

Ceaseless, relentlessly He pursues me. Like Peter, i look about at the waves and cry that i am drowning. How can i drown when He is near?

i fear because i forget to be in His presence.

The hill does not block my view, the hill is my beautiful view even in the dismal dank rain.

My physical limitations are not preventing me from having a full life they are teaching me how to live a full life.

i praise God for His extraordinary blessings! His mercy never ends!

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The Lonely Rain

Today’s Poem

Tip, tap, increasing rap, someone’s tapping at my window.
Unlike a ring or tone that sings, no one’s looking for me.
My attention drawn, the torrent begins refrain long.
The sky looks sullen, grey, like a lonely specter wanting to come in.
Keep it out! Hide within! Cold blasts from the north whirl the soggy din.
I flip on lights looking for golden gleam, to keep out the lonely,
No one is looking for me.

The winds whirl, the boughs shake, the leaves are falling in the lake.
Washing down the golden treasure, fall’s brilliance is tricked by weather.
Never a fan of gore or fear, the holiday is not for me one of cheer.
I tuck myself in, with busy routine. I’m too busy to notice, they’re not for me.
The streets turn wet and quiet. All seek solace within, enough of the bustle.
Darkness falls early; the wind shakes the ivy, slaps the window, a sound that is churl-y.
No one is looking for me.

Tears from the sky, though none from my eye, force me to wonder. Why?
The path seems so long, courageous, forlorn, like a caricature drawn.
I wait in the wet, but dry indoors, sodden inside, I know the answer, “Not yet.”
Pitter, patter is a song of spring sweet, fall spits in my face, no one looking for me.
It shudders the windows, echo in chimney, I dine with the widows.
Wet-cold without, thawing in company, God lights a hope no one can see,
Surely, someday, someone, will be looking for me.

Jesus waits

Jesus waits