Magical Morning

There are all too many things that spin wild about, whirl chaos, twist and turn pain all across our days until we feel we may not be able to bear up under it all.

Individually.  Collectively.  Humanity cries out under it all.  Inwardly, as one man in the millions, we lament under our loss.  Outwardly, as a mass of many, we cry at the craziness of it all.  This wild world whipping us about.

But, then there is this magic that can silence it all.

There are these truths that are too magical for man to replicate.  Or contaminate.

And woods whispering silent, covered in whiteness, telling of His righteousness are ethereal and magical.  Magical in a way no man can duplicate.  Nor contaminate.

There were snowflakes falling and I stood watching, snow tripping lightly through woods whispering of Home.  There I do know the magic that silences the wild world whipping.

Standing there, snowflake settles somewhere in my spirit.  Too many truths telling of too much magic to be duplicated, nor contaminated by man.

And settling snowflake settles something in my spirit, settles a wrestling in my soul ~ the things that twist and turn pain all about, the weight of the hurt that cause us to wonder whether we can bear up under it ~ is this all that is about?  Is the cacophony of crazy chaos the only melody I will hear?

But, settling snowflake settles the wrestling once again, there is a telling magic too tangible to ignore.  It tells of a better, a Best, that constantly calls us Home.  A glimpse here, a glimmer there ~ a bit of magic to remind us of the Majesty that is ever so near!

The finest artist only reaches into the Majesty and grabs a slice of the Magnificence and lays in on the canvas ~ the Magic was already there.  Placed by a Creator who craves our homecoming and whispers through woods and settling snowflakes the our Home is heaven, not here.

When the world whips wild, the weight weighs heavy we must silence the sounds save the Spirit so we can hear the telling tale that there is an oh so much Better than here.

If we do not silence all the sounds and listen into the Spirit the world whips us wild and we stagger through days dizzy.  That was not as Creator intended our days to be - dizzy days wasted under the staggering steps of souls who never slow to silence, to listen into the Spirit.

That morning, that magical morning with snowflakes settling into my soul, settling the wrestling in my spirit ~ the too magical to duplicate, too beautiful to replicate and certainly too much Majesty in that downy flake to contaminate ~ it was all settled again there in my spirit.  Amidst the whipping wild and crazy chaos He has splashed too much majesty across the canvas of my days to doubt, to doubt the goodness of my God.

Sometimes a slight snowflake is all it takes to settle a soul.  But, all the time we must work to silence all the noise, to hear the whispering woods whisper words of His Goodness.

His Goodness is everywhere, if we but stop and listen into the silence.

This One Is Just For Me

I wanted to be that sort of a somebody, that type of writer who is brave enough to sit with you in your pain.  To taste the bitter of tears falling, to taste the pain and stay on with you anyway.  I had wanted to be brave enough to sit with you through your pain.

To write in a way that holds your hand on the hardest of days.

I wanted to be that type of person, that sort of writer.

He was.  And He ever is.  And a day.

So, I pushed through.  I  thrust out my hand and grabbed yours and I held on tight.  I held on for dear life.  And the pain was real, the pain was palpable.  But, as the taste of terrible lingered on my tongue, I tasted the bitter and began to so desperately long for the sweet.  And as the terrible lingered long on my tongue I let loose just slightly.  Ever so slightly.  As the pain stayed on, I felt it slide through pores, pouring pain palpable.  On me.  And my grip slacked just slightly once more.

I wanted to be brave enough, to write courage into the pain and push it back, that palpable pain.  I wanted to be that type of person.

He was.  And He is, forever and a day.

But, the taste of bitter lingered terribly long and my hand grew weary under the palpable pain.  I began to look for the way, the way out.  To let go and leave you while you lingered, laboured under the pain.  It was terribly reasonable, all too reasonable — at least I had come for a time, at least I had lingered for awhile.  Sounding so reasonable.

I had wanted to be that type of a person.  He was, He is now into eternity.

But, under the pain I had buckled and withered away.  And under the withering I slowly let go.  Slipped hand away.  Disentangled fingers, slightly and so quietly slipped my palm from your pain.

I had wanted to be brave enough to sit and hold your hand while you wept.  To whisper words of sweet story to sing you to rest.  But, under the lingering labour of placing hand on palpable pain — I faltered and I walked away.

So, here on these pages, do you hear my pain?  I had wanted and then faltered.  I had wanted to be brave, like Him.  But, I faltered under the pressing of your ever present, palpable pain.

Today, I stand back and look back.  What was it?  What should I have done?  Never thrust my hand into your place of pain?  Left you alone, ever alone in your pressing pain?

Perfect Father is Bravery, Courage.  Into the face of danger, under the crushing, pressing pain of humanity He walks willingly in and stays on, sits on and hand never slips away.

So, why had I faltered so fast?  Should I never have tried, never attempted?  Am I void of any stories to sing at your side?



As I stand and look back, I often just see two — me and you.  I sat by your side, I wanted to be brave — for you.  For me.  I held on into your pain — I oh, so wanted to be brave.  But, as I look back I see just two — me and you.  And now I see, that was never as He intended it to be, it was always meant to be three.

Maybe, just maybe I had wanted to be brave, to sit in your palpable pain, to bear the terrible load.  But maybe, just maybe in my pressing need to bear your pain, I had held to tightly and caused my own slipping away.

It was never my burden to carry you through your pain, it was always my task to slip your hand into His.  To sing a story of His telling song, His sweet melody.

It was too often only two — just me and you.  It was not as He intended it to be — it was always meant to be three.

I faltered and floundered, for I forgot my stories are always suppose to be sung as just a simple, yet eternally sweet introduction.

I am sorry I did not know or maybe my pride caused me to purposefully forget.  Misplace what I knew — it was never suppose to just be me and you.

I am terribly sorry I sang a story song that supposed I could be brave, when what you really needed was to be near the One that is eternally brave.

I do see now.   All of life, all of love — what it is and must be, is us three, you and me and forever and always He, into eternity.


But, He is gracious and oh, so long suffering with me.  He allows me to sing another story song.  A song of simple, sweet introduction and He gently grabs our hand and holds on through pain and He sits and stays on forever and a day.