Your love crept into my heart
Like dust collecting on a knickknack
Slowly, over time
One small speck at a time
Sometimes it was dusted off
Trying to avoid being distorted
Avoiding hurt, pain, and being broken or forgotten
Then, somehow, it began to collect
One tiny piece at a time
Refusing the dusting
Attaching pieces of you to my once broken heart
I still dust you off, but
Not for avoidance, for maintenance
I’m still me, but with pieces of you
To make me better,
Pieces of you to heal my heart,
To make me whole,
One tiny piece at a time
I’ll be covered completely
Still me, but with pieces of you
To complete me, to make me
A better me, whole
Complete with love
Before I ever had a single child, I knew that one day I would wage war with an enemy who sought their hearts and souls. I anticipated battles ahead, knowing my children would test and defy me. But I never anticipated the Mommy wars. I think I watched part of an Oprah episode years ago on competitive moms, but that was about it. I didn’t give it a second thought. Not until I joined the club.
Let me begin by saying, the Mommy Club is a beautiful place. The moment you join, you find within your heart this unexpectedly raw capacity for love. All at once, you are a protector, a nurturer, a defender of innocence, a storyteller, an imagination factory, a kisser of boo-boos, and a cheerleader forever. Even on the scrape-me-off-the-floor-with-a-spatula days, you are being sanctified and learning to see God’s grace in a brand new light. It…
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I’m going to skip away from my normal devotional to ask that question. There are moments of tragedy, moments of shock that are etched on the mind not just of individuals but on communities. On cultures. These are the “where were you” moments. For my grandparents generation, it is, where were you on VE or VJ day? Where were you when man first landed on the moon? The next generation is marked by assassinations. Where were you when MLK and later JFK were shot?
For us, at least for Americans, that question is asked about the tragic events that occurred sixteen years ago today. I was a youth pastor in Webster NY, the first… no, the only one in the building when the children’s pastor called the church and asked, “have you heard?” I acknowledged my ignorance and she, through choked up words managed to get out, “You need to…
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Love this blog! He’s an out of the box type of thinker 🙂
I have a confession to make.
I totally judge a book by its cover. I mean that literally, not metaphorically, although I’m sure I am guilty of that far too often as well.
But whenever I am in a book store, or in a library, or at a friend’s house, or even scrolling through the WordPress Reader, I am far more likely to be drawn to a book whose cover instantly appeals to me. Similarly, I am likely to skip over a book whose cover I hate, despite the possibility that I might enjoy the book itself.
Disgusting, isn’t it.
I do the same with book titles. If the title is catchy and clever, I’ll immediately give the book a chance. With me, it’s all about first impressions.
I like strong, simple, straightforward book covers. Not too many swirls, not too many flourishes, and preferably no picture, if I’m honest…
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