Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To come alongside.
In words of comfort.
Words of love.
To the divorced.
Who feel like they've failed.

Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the mentally ill.
Whose tormenting thoughts are a living hell.

Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the lost teen caught up in the downward
spiral of addiction.
Where escape from life is so appealing to them.

Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the homeless man without a dime.
Whose every moment is a struggle to survive.

Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the child in the classroom who doesn't fit in.
Who needs an aide to settle them.

Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try?
To accept.
To comfort.
To...
love.
To hold out our hand.
And then...
watch God heal.
The broken hearts.
Of the marginalized.
From the pain
of
the
stigma.
Of those who don't fit in.

She has fought through illness and heart pain.
She has seen tragedies, time and again.
She risked her own life so I could be born.
Not listening to the doctors who said to abort.
She has stood through life's trials,
and has come out stronger.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.

She has questioned God.
But her faith has not faltered.
She has placed herself in His hands,
for however long He gives her.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.

She is gentle-spirited, yet a warrior.
She is quiet, yet bold.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.

And she is still fighting.
She has endured long.
And continues to endure.
Whatever comes.
Her story will be told.
To future generations.
I will tell her story.
Her legacy of faith.
For I am her daughter,
and I love her.
She is my Mother, the Fighter.
With her Faithful God behind her.

Lord, all I can offer You  is a mustard seed of faith.
For I am so full of fear, and doubt, and unbelief.
So addicted to walking by what my eyes see,
I fail to remember that You are the God of impossibilities.
For so many years I've prayed the same prayer,
and it seems as though it remains unanswered.
Then...
I falter.
I faint.
I lose heart.
As what little faith I had,
begins to depart.
I fall on my knees in desperation before Thee,
I cry, "Lord, I believe!  Help my unbelief!"(Mark 9:24)
Then You tenderly speak to my soul and remind me of this:
All it takes to move a mountain is a mustard seed of faith.

I hold out my hands to You as I pray,
"Here is my mustard seed of faith, Lord.
Take it, for it is all I can offer Thee.
Lord, have mercy, and grant my request.
Even though all I have left
is a mustard seed
of faith."

I hear the echo of my own voice.
In empty rooms.
Rooms once filled with the
tears and laughter of my children.
Rooms which once held the loving
arms of family.
A room which once held the intimate
love of a husband and wife.

I hear the echo.
I hear the echo of my own voice.
In empty rooms.
Among boxes packed.
Boxes awaiting the unfolding.
Of a new chapter in my life.

I hear the echo of my own voice.
In empty rooms.
I see the For Sale sign on the lawn.
I think of the memories.
In every room.
The memories.
Of our family.
Now broken.
And my heart breaks.
Again.

I hear the echoes.
Of a house haunted with memories.
Of both joy and pain.
I remember.
I smile. I grieve.
I ponder...
Then.
Let go.
And walk into the future.
With my hand in the Hand of God.

I hear the echo of my own voice.
I hear the echo of my own tears.
In empty rooms.
In this house full of memories.
I bind each moment to my heart.
And say.
Goodbye.

He promises her he will be true to her forever.
As they seal their covenant with golden bands.
But he is only a man.
Imperfect and fallible.
Empty words and broken promises.

He promises her he will be her friend forever.
They will write and call and share life together.
She thinks he will always care about her.
But he is only a man.
Imperfect and fallible.
Empty words and broken promises.

He promises her that His love for her
is Eternal and Unchanging.
That she is forgiven,
and His precious gem.
He promises He will never leave
or forsake her.
For she is His child,
and He is her Father.
He is God.
Perfect and Loving.
Who keeps His Word
and fulfills His Promises.

Out on the ocean,
our boat breaks down.
Thankfully, we aren't too far from land.
The rescue boat is on its way,
but now the wind comes up
and it's pouring rain.
I know God is with me,
so I am not afraid.

The broken down boat
is tossed by the wind and waves.
Crash!
It collides with the big rocks
along the shore.
While grizzlies hide within the forest.
When will our rescue boat appear?

The rain pounds down harder.
We get colder and colder.
And then off in the distance...
we spot her.
The fast boat gliding upon the water.
To rescue we the stranded.
From threatening danger.

Then...
I think of my life.
And the storm that has come to be.
Like a boat in trouble on the sea,
I need a rescue boat to come and save me.
For I can get so scared and weary.

Only God can be my Saviour.
He is my rescue boat,
when I break down in the storm.
And the waves of sorrow engulf me.
He is my rescue boat who comes to me,
when I am stranded on the sea.
In the storm and in the rain.
When I'm out on the ocean of life,
and my boat breaks down,
He will come for me.
And bring me to safety.


(C) Elizabeth T., 2016

The lizard is alone.
The lizard is small,
insignificant,
looked down upon.
By some.
But...
the lizard is unafraid.
The lizard leaves her comfort zone.
She leaves it all behind.
An enemy comes.
And removes her tail.
She does not struggle
to hold on to it.
She leaves it behind.
The lizard is...
despised.
Alone.
Looked down upon.
But the lizard is unafraid.
She leaves her comfort zone.
And enters the King's palace.
To dwell in the Presence of the King.
She is small and wise,
and lives in the King's palace.

I am like the lizard.
Alone.
Small.
Insignificant.
Looked down upon.
By some.
But...
I am afraid.
To leave my comfort zone.
Yet...
I will,
I must,
leave it all behind.
I will leave the tail
of my past sins and regrets behind.
If that is what it takes.
If that is what it costs me.
To enter the King's palace.
And dwell in the Presence.
Of my King.

Winter moon.
Above snow-covered trees.
A glowing sickle.
In the cold dark sky.
Lighting up the frozen black.
Of this New Year's night.
The Winter moon shining bright.
Casts a warm glow
upon the snow tonight.
Forget the freezing, icy road.
For just a moment.
And lift up your head.
Fix your gaze.
Upon the Winter moon.
Which God has made.

I am finished trying to draw water to satisfy my soul,
from holes that cannot quench my thirst.
I try to draw water from holes of different names.
From friends and family.
From the words and approval of men.
From temporal pleasures and materialism.
But they cannot quench the longing for Love
in my thirsty soul.
I am like the Woman at the Well.
Tired of going to holes that I think are wells.
Trying to draw water.
Walking away still thirsty.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then...
My Saviour and the Lover of my soul
comes to me.
And I drink from Him.
My thirst is finally quenched,
and I will never be thirsty again.
For He is the Living Water.
He is not an empty hole which dries up,
sending me away still thirsty.
He is the Love which my parched soul needs.
He is...
the WELL.

Season after season.
I've gazed upon you
through my window.

I've seen the snow hang low
upon your branches.
With white upon red berries.
I've watched the snow melt away
to reveal new buds,
opening,
ever so slowly,
to leaves so green.
In early Spring.

I've watched all the creatures
hop, climb, and fly among
your branches.
I've watched the birds taste
your blood-red berries.
I've seen songbirds...
Nuthatches,
finches, and chickadees.
Come to the feeders.
That hang from you.
I've seen the squirrels steal
seeds from the birds.
As their little paws unlatch
a little hook.
I've heard the birds sing among your
branches.
So sweetly.
I remember when the chickadees
built their nest in you,
and then watched their young fledge.
I remember the year the woodpecker
came knocking at your trunk's door.
As he drilled his beak into you.
And made a hole.
After that.
You were never the same anymore...

I watched your life slowly end.
Another year.
Another season.
More dead branches to be severed.
Fewer buds.
Fewer leaves.
As your story slowly drew to a close.

Yesterday,
they chopped down what was left of you.
But I will always remember you.
And I thank the Lord for the joy
of beholding your beauty.
Of watching your story.
You have blessed so many creatures.
Including me.
Farewell,
Beautiful Mountain Ash tree.

Shards of glass lay before me.
Like the pieces of my life.
Of a broken relationship
that I cannot fix.
Myself.
Perhaps the broken vessel
must be tossed away.
And a brand new vessel
must take its place.
For new wine cannot be poured
into old wineskins.
Lest they burst.
We must begin anew.
We must start afresh.
Can we begin with forgiveness?
And trust the Master Builder
with the rest?
Can we throw away the past?
Throw away the shards of glass?
And drink love new.
Drink new wine in new wineskins.
Me and you.

---Inspired by Matthew 9:17, Holy Bible.

Alone she stands...
at the bottom of the mountain.
The beginning of her journey.
Her journey to forgiveness.
She looks at the steepness of the climb,
and wonders where is the strength she'll find.
Especially when her backpack is full of rocks...
The painful memories of emotional abuse and verbal attacks.
But, as difficult as this journey will be,
she knows she must take it,
in order to be free.
Then He whispers to her soul,
"Step by step, with Me,
this is the only way to climb
The Journey to Forgiveness."

She begins her journey,
one step at a time.
One foot before the other.
With the heavy burden upon her back,
which she knows she must surrender.
She makes stops along the way.
The memories surface.
Her wounds lay open and bare.
But she chooses to forgive.
To release them of the debt.
And empties some of the rocks
from her backpack.

She continues on.
The journey is tiresome,
and oh, so long.
She is tempted to give up.
Many times.
But He keeps reminding her of the prize.
Another stop.
More rocks dumped.
More forgiveness given.
More
freedom.
And another stop.
And another.
Until finally...
her burden grows lighter.
As her soul unloads its bitterness.
She sees the top now.
Oh bliss!
She climbs faster now.
She empties out the last rock.
The biggest rock.
The largest offence.
The one that was hardest to forgive.
The one that bound her in chains.
She releases it now.
Into God's hands.
And hoists herself up to the top.

She stands now in victory!
The burden she has carried so long is empty!
She has completed her journey.
Her Journey to Forgiveness.
And is finally free.
Until tomorrow...
when begins another journey.
To forgiveness.

Tiny feathers.
Of black, white,
and softest brown.
Tiny wings fluttering.
With quiet sound.
Loud voice.
Of sweetest song.
Which can be heard.
From miles around.
"Swee, swee,"
calls the chickadee.
Handcrafted by God above,
the little chickadee
is a tiny miracle.
Of His love.

His Truth invades
my
fractured
mind.

With
Light
filling
every crack.

Creating beauty with beautiful flowers.
Touching soft petals.
Removing dead growth.
Combining colours, shapes, and sizes,
to create dazzling works of art.
The art of flowers.
Beautiful flowers.
Soft petals in vibrant colours.
Scents of sweetness to my nostrils.
Packaged up and sent or given.
To bid farewell to the dead.
To congratulate the newlywed.
To welcome a new baby into the world.
To cheer the sick confined to their bed.
To keep the romance alive to the married.

Creating beauty with beautiful flowers.
Watching how they bring joy to those who receive them.
This is what I did.
When I was a florist.

Where do I go...
when I feel so alone.
Where do I run...
when grief's tears overcome.
Where do I turn...
when it looks like the end.
Cling to Him.
Cling to Him.
And let Him love me.
Until I am undone.

Speak to me, O God.
At last...
I'm listening.

Speak to me.
In a quiet whisper.
Speak to me.
In a lion's roar.
Tell me words
that will heal my soul.
Your words heal.
Every wound.

Speak to me, O God.
I'm listening.
Speak my name.
Tenderly.
For I am Your own.

Speak to me.
My very life hangs
on every word You say.
Speak to me.
At last...
I'm listening.
Silence every other voice.
Shout loudly to me
above the noise
of the enemy.

Speak into my stormy soul.
And calm the waves of grief,
and the torrents of fear.
That threaten to shut out
Your voice.

Speak, Lord.
For Your servant is listening.
Speak to me.
I'm listening.
At last...
I'm listening.
Speak to me.

Green meadows lush and still.
Quiet waters that restore my soul.
Autumn trees blowing in gentle wind.
Calm music of hope to which I can sing.
Winter's snow falling soft and quiet.
Gentle purring beside me on a blanket.
A soft, warm pillow upon my bed.
Where I can rest my weary head.
His still small Voice whispering to my heart,
"Rest now, my beloved, and let your fears depart."

Lord, I give You this day.
Help me to seek Your face,
and walk in Your ways.
Let me ever seek Your guidance,
in every step I take.
And to Your Presence,
let me be fully awake.

When guilt and regret
fill my heart with grief,
and when fears of the future
give me no relief,
Let me find You in the quiet moments.
And find rest of soul.
Remembering that only in You,
can I ever be whole.

Lord, I give You this day.
You are the Potter,
and I am the clay.
I give You myself.
I give You my will.
I give You my heart.
I give you...
my life.
Lord, I give You this day.

The youth
carry the burden of school.
Will I pass or will I fail?

Fathers
carry the burden of work,
money, and sleep deprivation.

Mothers
carry the burden of the juggling act
of the super woman.

Old folks
carry the burden of a body
that no longer works for them.

And all---and all---
carry the burden of never
being good enough .

Burdens.
Backpacks.
"Come to Me," calls the
Bearer of all burdens.
"I will give you rest.
Give your heavy burden to Me,
and exchange it for the lighter load,
which I give to thee."

She lets the backpack fall from her shoulders.
And walks on.
Carrying a lighter one.
Her striving is done.
A journey toward rest
has begun.

They do not worry.
About food.
They do not worry.
About clothes.
They aren't afraid.
Of being abandoned.
They know.
God will take care of them.
They know.
Their Creator will feed them.
They know.
The One who cares for them
will never forsake them.
They know.
His eye is ever upon them.
Oh, may I learn how to live.
From watching the birds.

Peace
      is
         flowing.
Like a river
         within me.

Casting
       every stone,
               every lie,
                       into the sea.

Peace
      is
          flowing.
Like a river
          within me.

And then
       the waterfall of joy
            meets the river
                      of peace
                               within.

And I realize I am complete in Him.

Many rocks.
Small and large.
Rough and smooth.
Sandy and hard.
Multicoloured and plain.
Are spun around for days
inside the revolving bin.
Until all impurities are
worked out of them.
The process is long
but it has a glorious outcome.
For the rocks emerge
polished and shiny.
As treasures they've become.
"The hardest rocks come out the shiniest,"
says the craftsman.
And I think of Christ the Cornerstone.
And His wise discipline.
Like the rocks,
He may turn us with force,
and the process may be long.
With trials threatening to drown.
While He refines His own.
He must use what is necessary,
to cleanse us of our heart's impurities.
Then He polishes us
and turns us into gems of beauty.
And the hardest stones among those that are His,
come out the most beautifully polished.

I fall on my knees as I consider His ways.
And I pray...
"Lord, refine me.  Cleanse me of my impurities.
Polish me. As hard a stone as I can be.  And
turn me into a gem of beauty. For Your glory."

He gently picks me up.
And places me inside the revolving bin...

I see birds overhead.
Flying free.
Once again.
So many!
With white-tipped wings.
In the wind.
And I am reminded...
that God is setting me free.
From slavery.
I am flying free.
More every day.
And someday...
I will be free.
Completely.

Crashing down.
The idols in my life.
Long worshipped.
Long trusted in.
Come crashing down.
They lie in shambles at my feet.
So long...
so long...
Have I worshipped one idol after another.
And forgotten my Lord and Saviour.
Rejected my Heavenly Bridegroom.
Who I am betrothed to.
And who is jealous over me.
Jealous.
Because I am His.
And He loves me.

Crashing down.
The idols in my life.
Lie in shambles at my feet.
Shambles.
Just like my life.
My life lies in ruins.
Because of my sin.
Of idolatry.
Oh Lord, I repent.
You alone must be my God.
You alone must have first place in my heart.
Have I ever truly known You?
Or have I been living a lie?
Surrounded by demons of idolatry.
Oh, let me know You more deeply now.
That I might fulfill my marriage vow.
To You.
That I might learn.
To trust You.

Crashing down.
The idols lie in shambles at my feet.
I bow in repentance before my King.
For only in Him am I complete.
And only He can repair
the ruins
of my shattered life.
Shattered by my idolatry.

Crashing down.
Shattered ruins.
I cry out for mercy.
My heart is now His.
Alone.