Life is a mixture of light and dark.
Of death and life.
And there is beauty in this.
Can I find gratitude in this?

Can I be grateful for the dead places?
Like autumn leaves falling to the earth.
Into decay and death.
Holding in their earth's tomb
the promise of spring's new life?
Just as the parts of me that must die,
fall away to make way for new birth.
For new life.

Autumn leaves are dying and falling.
Falling and dying.
While roses still bloom new life next to them.
Death and life can coexist.
And there is beauty in this.

Can I be grateful for the dark places,
knowing that there is wisdom that only
the dark can teach?
Knowing that it is in the dark places
that the Light of Christ
becomes even more brilliant to me.
So that in the dark is where I truly
begin to see.
Light.
Wisdom.
Love.
Gratitude.
Yes, there is beauty in this.

Life is a mixture of light and dark.
Of death and life.
There is beauty in this.
And I can find gratitude.
In.
This.

His very breath.
His every word.
Each step He took.
Was for His Father's Glory.
For the will of God,
He laid down His own will.
Not seeking His own plans.
To fulfill.

In His very breath.
His every word.
Each step He took.
He sought not His own interests.
But His Father's purposes.
His every step.
Was for His Father's glory.
Even steps.
That would lead Him.
To a cruel cross.
For the will of God.
For mankind's salvation.
To purchase forgiveness.
For us.

His very breath.
His every word.
Each step He took.
Was for His Father's glory.
He is Jesus.
Our Redeemer.
Our King.
Our Righteousness.
He is the Lion and the Lamb.
Who gave up all.
For Love.

One day every knee will bow before Him.
On earth and Heaven above.
Then, at last!
He whose
every word
every breath
every step
was for the Glory of His Father.
Will receive
All Glory.
All Honour.
All Power.

He gave up His will.
For the will of God.
He gave up His own glory.
For Love.
Of you.
And me.

Glory!  Glory!
To the King of Humility.
For all of Eternity.

He buries the pain of her past.

He covers the stain of her sin.

Beneath rose petals.

The colour of Blood.

Beneath rose petals.

Of

His

Love.

Do I take for granted the breath I breathe?
When there are some who are breathing their last?
Do I take for granted that my brain sends a message
to my hand,
to open the cupboard and take out a mug?
Or that my arms can move and give a hug?
When there are some who have no limbs,
or are missing one,
or perhaps they cannot feel the warmth of the sun.
Upon their face.
Or hear sweet music when it plays.
Oh how much do I have,
that I sometimes fail to remember.
Gratitude.
To be grateful.
For all of God's gifts under the sun.
Even the simple ones.
Like the breath I breathe.

Moving hand upon the wheel.
Moving traffic.
Moving people walking.
Moving branches full of pink blossoms.
In the wind.
Moving.
Movement.
All of life is movement.
Time never stands still.
We are racing on towards eternity.
Nothing ever stays the same.
Seasons changing.
Life's seasons changing.
People changing.
Time is like a river flowing.
Movement.
Racing towards eternity.
How much time do I have left to run my race?
How long is my role upon life's stage?
Moving.
Ever changing.
With each day comes change.
And hope.
Hope for change.
Movement.
And then...
God.
Who never changes.
Immovable in His love.
While all around me...
life is moving.

Water flowing gently from a hose.
Slowly...
It flows.
Little boy student,
so dear to me.
We watch the water,
him and me.
We watch.
We listen.
We live in the moment.
We live joy in the moment.
Joy and peace.
In the moment.
The only reality
is NOW.
As we stand and gaze...
at water flowing gently
from a hose.
Slowly.
It.
Flows.
This.
Is.
NOW.

Drop by drop.
Her grief falls.
Making circular indentations.
In the dust.
She falls to her face.
In the dust.
From which she came.
And pours out her sorrow.
Her anger.
Her regret...
Before Him.
Her fingers claw the dust.
In her anguish of soul.
Until she touches His feet.
Drop by drop.
The tears fall.
Until her floodgates open.
And she unleashes her grief
upon the One she loves.
Over all she has done.
And not done.
Over all she has lost...
He lifts her face up
between His hands.
And looks into her eyes.
"You are forgiven, dear one.
My treasure. My bride."
She lays her head against
His chest.
Finally at rest.
As the last drop falls.
To the dust.

Lord---

Help me

to slow down.

To breathe.

Deep.

To sway.

Like young trees

in the gentle breeze.

To the rhythm

of life.

Called

rest.

(edited)