Forgive me,

For all the lack

I fear.

For all the wants

I raise

Up

Above

You.

 

Forgive me,

For all the idols

Of time,

People,

Places,

Things,

I choose to worship

Before,

And instead,

Of You.

 

Forgive me for assuming

The worst of Your character,

A stingy, killjoy God,

Who likes to withhold,

To see what I’ll do,

To see if I’ll break.

That’s not You.

 

Forgive me for creating

Idealistic scenarios,

Castles in the sky

Where I imagine

My happiness lies,

Instead of seeking first

You.

I fear scarcity.

Don’t we all?

Isn’t this life

Like an anthill,

One mad rush

To make sure

We will be safe,

We will have enough,

Be enough,

Get enough.

 

I fear the not enough.

I fear the missing out.

Being left out.

Being passed in some race

I never signed up for.

I fear not becoming

All I can and should be.

Not making the most

Of all I’ve been given.

As if it’s all

Up to me.

 

I count the “I’s” and “me’s” above.

And I ask for mercy.

 

“Satan loves it when we focus on what we don’t have,

what God hasn’t done for us,

or how God has seemingly let us down.

Satan is the original killjoy,” ~ Ann Peterson ~

 

 

“Contentment comes from having the right priority-

godliness, not gain;

and the right perspective –

the eternal,

not the temporal,” ~Stephen J. Cole~

 

 

“Seek first His kingdom

and His righteousness,

and all these things

will be given to you as well,”

Matthew 6:33

 

Keep company with God,

Get in on the best.

Ps. 37:4 The Message

 

I was biking and it hit me.

The missing key.

Contentment is something I strive for

Unless I have this key.

Belief.

Do I believe that all along,

Thus far,

God, a good, caring Father,

Has guided me

By His Spirit?

Belief.

Do I believe

That where I am,

Who I am,

What I do,

Has been directed

Through a constant relationship

With the One who knows best?

The mind controlled by the Spirit

Is life and peace.

Have I been led

By life?

By peace?

Do I believe that

my fathers and mothers of the faith,

Have heard, believed, voiced,

Their assurance

of my place,

My identity,

My purpose,

Here now?

Can I believe

That maybe

It’s not all up to me?

 

 

I believe in Sovereignty,

And free will,

And I love the beautiful

Mystery of how

They blend together

From our perspective,

Down here.

I wonder what it all looks like,

From Your view,

God.

 

“If you make God the utmost delight and pleasure of your life,

He will provide for you what you desire the most.

Give God the right to direct your life

And as you trust Him along the way,

You’ll find He pulled it off perfectly!”

Psalm 37: 4-5 TPT

 

 

Fear is a place I don’t trust You.

A place I don’t believe.

 

Love, starve the fear out of me.

Love, starve scarcity.

Out of every pore,

Of every thought,

Of every heart-beat,

Of my very being.

Root and ground me

In a Love that covers,

Protects,

Provides,

Assures,

Releases,

Slows,

Guides,

Gives,

Life and peace,

Faith, to believe,

His Kingdom,

First,

The eternal,

The godly,

Over the temporal,

Over the gain,

Love of Christ,

Ground me.

Direct me.

This whole life,

My sacrifice,

Me.

Pull it off

Perfectly.

Cause this is what You

Have been known,

Over and over,

to do.

“We know that in all things

God works for the good

Of those who love Him,

Who have been called

According to His purpose,”

Romans 8:28

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1. Peterson, Anne. Finding Contentment by Killing Comparisons. Christianity Today .
2. Cole, Steven J. Perscription for Contentment. Bible.org.

Message, Matt. 6:

Linger

Here

Where fresh tears

Splotch

Dusty cement

Where

Generations wept

Before us.

 

Wait

Rocking,

In arms,

Bigger than earth,

Coming

Closer.

 

Hearts

Aching

As love invades

All the empty,

Dry spaces.

That blessed assurance

Of all the ages

Overwhelming.

 

Healing

Grace

Taking rags

And decking us

With beauty

Turning our mourning

Into joy.

 

And we sing.

These frail voices

United with

The choir of heaven,

Saints and angels,

Generations before

Who ran this race

Ahead

Diligent,

Who prayed us here

To our knees.

 

We sing.

We linger.

We wait.

We come closer.

We weep.

We heal

And

We dance.

As children,

Freed.

 

July doth come!

In pomp and circumstance she comes,

Her and her golden haired twin, August.

Those laughing, winking, charming girls,

Whose presence we long for so much,

But whose stay is always too short.

 

They come with divine temptations,

Hintings of heaven,

Unspoiled, sweet delicacies

We’d almost forgotten about.

Such as a warm breeze,

Bright red poppies nodding congenially,

Beds of soft, sweet mosses,

Shade on hot, brown skin.

 

Oh they bring their wee lot of stings and prickles,

The odd hot, humid, sleepless night

And the incessant whine in the dark by your ear,

That elusive beast, merely a pencil sketch,

But quite impossible to catch.

But the goodness, the abundance, the joy

Those twins give far outweighs these

Small inconveniences.

 

To rest, as many do when they come,

To stay up late and rise early of ones own will and purpose,

To chase their fiery sunsets,

Mediate in their honey soaked dawns,

To embrace their entertainments,

To splash in their breath-catching water,

To share smoke tinged laughter round their leaping flames,

To sleep in their starry arms

And to awake kissed all over with dew,

And ever serenaded by the robin’s lilting song.

 

We welcome you, twin July!

We welcome you, twin August!

We welcome your beauty

That soothes a white and grey

Winter weary soul.

We welcome your heat,

That melts our icy defenses,

And gently prompts life from death.

We rejoice in the time,

Sweet, liberating, running over, puddling up time,

To do and be and live in epic freedom.

To choose to live beyond the confines and productivity of routine.

To be rebelliously unproductive.

To take each adventure as it comes without excuse or hesitation.

 

Oh, we embrace you dimpled, darling twins,

Midnight air raids, sun burns and all.

Come cover us

In your garlands of blushing roses,

Come decorate our world with the vibrancy of Eden

And woo us deeper into your fleeting, precious world with you.

Oh July doth come!

 I’d never met anyone before whose parents were true hippies. Hippie enough to name their children Sunny and Dusty. And Sunny was a true flower child of the earth. What bound us together was loving this earth, delighting in its beauty so hard that it left an ache for heaven so huge inside us both that we could never seem to get enough. Time and time again we’ve re-discovered this truth together that C.S. Lewis spoke of when he said, “If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” Today’s guest post is the result of all these years of musing, all those dreams for a resting place to call our own, and all those L.M. Montgomery books that made us cry and long for eternity.

Thank-you, my dear friend Sunny, for sharing.

Home.

I long for, I ache for

Home.

I have been mislead, deceived

for countless years that

Home

is a place

a house,

a property

that I need to seek out

to find

to acquire.

Hungrily, hopefully,

my eyes have sought, have searched

for a nest for myself;

a rest for myself.

Ever searching and appraising,

my heart has lost joy;

gratitude has slipped

from my hands

as I’ve stretched them out

to grasp, to acquire.

And so I ruin my own contentment,

looking in all the wrong places.

But You pull me back,

gently, firmly.

You remind me that I am

a pilgrim, a sojourner

in this life, this world.

You remind me that this earth is not my

Home,

but that You are.

Until I see you face to face

and enter the Promised Land

of Your Kingdom,

my purpose is not

to have, to acquire

but to praise,

to hope,

to delight

in You,

Your promise.

 

You’ve brought me out of Egypt,

but I still cry for it and complain;

hungering for its

petty morsels and false securities.

In looking back, I am blind to Your presence

in this wilderness,

Unmistakable

if I would just open my eyes.

Teach me, O Master,

to walk towards

Home

with joy and praise,

so that in walking with You

I can make the Valley of weeping

a place of Beauty,

Refreshment,

and Abundance.

 

Fill me, O Lord,

with strength for the journey,

and strength again

when my first wind peters out.

Show me, O Christ,

that setting my heart

and course towards

Home

Your Kingdom,

You

Is better than a thousand lifetimes of worldly comfort.

Help me, dear Jesus,

to seek You,

Abide in You,

Dwell in You.

Amen.

 

 

 

With the advent of summer gardening and the denouement of school, I’ve welcomed other dear friends and writers to share the breathings of their soul herein.  Today’s guest post is generously offered by my dear friend Susie. This lady and I have such a delightful history of loving Jesus, embracing contentment, delighting in creation and being tea-snobs.

Thank-you, Susie, for sharing

.

Oh my soul why sorrow filled?

Why heavy and low of heart?

Where has thy light gone?

Worry about that which you cannot control

worry over loved ones that may be in trouble.

Holding on to the faint light of hope

the string of light

in and amidst

the cave of darkness.

Shine a light.

Take your stand.

Fear not the day of reckoning.

Too soon and short are the days.

ARISE

shine

Jesus, the light, has come.

Hark now!

Behold you stand

and your chains are broken.

Move!

You are free.

Do not stay a prisoner.

Walk in the light.

Walk in the joy and favor of the Lord.

Be not afraid of the barking dogs behind you.

The frail voices shouting lies,

whispers of “I can’t, that’s dumb, you aren’t loved, your aren’t worth it.”

Slam the book!

Burn the pages of the black past.

Remember, Dear One, your chains are broken.

Broken!

Arise.

Walk in my love.

My freedom.

The sun shines on the path and my hand reaches for yours.

I speak truth no lies.

I bring life not death.

You are loved, chosen, predestined and called.

Fear not the voices of the past.

Hold my hand and follow me.

Grab hold of the hope,

the anchor of your soul,

the peace.

I steady you when you tremble.

I protect you and lift you up when you fall.

Step forth.

Arise.

Let me fill you with love

so you can shine.

Shine, my love,

Shine.

Sometimes you need a real place

To carry your cares to,

A place you can tuck into,

For a little while,

A pocket

Of heaven-on-earth,

Where beauty

Is Gildead’s balm

To the heart-weary soul.

 

A long history of barefoot wanderings

Brought me here

Over the web-laced green bridge,

Down the cool, round cobblestone path.

 

My neighbours garden.

My resting place.

Where I can stare

Until I’m soaked

Until I blend

And I let the beauty

Gently brush

The cares

Off my shoulders.

She’s ever creative,

My neighbour,

Dreaming newness into

Small spaces,

Yet

Ever hallowing

The old, familiar.

 

Her flowers,

Such gracious companions,

The soft blue delphis,

Such astute listeners,

The bright-faced daisies and day lilies,

Ever nodding congenially,

Her cheeky sunflowers,

Waving their generous welcome,

The purple and gold splashed pansies,

Grinning giddy

In their pixie-wee faces,

And the demure lilies of the valley,

Snuggled tight under shade,

Beckoning I come

Humble down

To breathe them in

Deeply.

 

The giant swing awaits,

Arms open to receive,

The Muskoka chairs

Invite me

To rest.

 

And I think about how much

Of this life I now live

Wouldn’t be and couldn’t be

Without this

Pocket

For me

To let go

And be care-less

With a care-full

God.

 

Here where

Holy Spirit collected

Each tear like a precious pearl,

Where my words planted

Prayers,

Where the flowers

Heard the dreams,

And kept the secrets,

Faithful.

Here where

I would sing myself

Sane

Again

Time and time

Again.

 

So I gather it close

Now

Delighting in its nearness

And wait here again.

Wait till I blend

In with the flowers.

Wait till I’m once again

care-free.

 

 

See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.

Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.

If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?

So do not worry…seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.

Matthew 6: 28-34

You say

Beauty from ashes,

But the “from” is long

And waiting is hard

Hard when you’re

waiting cause

There is nothing else to do.

This in between time,

This long “from”

Between when the ashes

Sink

And nitrogenize the soil

And life flows

Alive in your veins

Again.

 

 

New.

What is it?

Old fit fine.

Very comfortable.

Full.

Friendly.

Purposeful.

Right.

But new?

 

It wouldn’t be so bad,

This waiting,

If it wasn’t for

This aching.

Like the muscles round my heart

Are sore,

Tender,

Reminding me

Each time it beats

of what was.

What felt

Like the end

Of us all.

When it beat

Too fast,

Filling up

My chest,

My head

With voices,

Panicked,

Strangling,

Voices,

Telling me

To fear.

Fear.

Fear.

 

Every muscle tense.

For hours.

Instincts, long in hibernation,

Alert,

On edge,

Ready,

To fly,

Adrenaline,

My animator.

 

And waiting.

I don’t like being in vehicles now,

For very long,

Cause I can’t breath

After a while.

 

I’m outside of it all

This normal life around me

With the people who love,

But don’t know

What makes me stare

For long stretches,

And what makes me

Loathe

The waiting.

I look into it,

Their normal life

And remember mine,

Like painful pricks,

Each one reminding me,

That it’s gone.

Places

On this rotating ball,

That held

Memories,

Pieces of my life,

Like patchwork,

All up in flames,

All buried

In ash.

 

And I can’t breath

Cause it gets caught,

All these things

Inside,

Caught so I can’t

Cry

Or scream

Or yell

At God

Or Satan

Or Mother Nature.

 

So I numb.

It’s easier that way.

Numb waiting.

 

There are moments

That I forget,

And I find myself

Laughing

Or

Enjoying food again,

Or

Delighting in the beauty

Of gold sun

Prancing in the new leaves

Above.

 

I am thankful.

That is true.

We, the beating hearts

Knit to mine,

We escaped,

Though places,

Places knit into

Our pasts

Did not.

And there is

A ripping.

 

But I go into a box store,

And see some of it

With price tags,

But it’s ok,

Cause some stuff

It’s still out there.

 

But I can’t find the aisle

That stores my baby photos,

Or the recipe book

Handed down from generations,

That I never got around to photocopying,

Cause I was too busy.

Always

Too busy.

The lady at customer service

Smiles sweet,

But can’t reach

Back

To get

That worn out blanky,

The only one that gets the exhausted toddler

To sleep,

Or my wedding dress

I promised I’d tailor

To fit my daughter,

One day.

Or that faded print of Grandma and Grandpa

After the war,

On their wedding day

In 1948.

Or the home video

Of my eldest son’s wobbly first step,

Or my parents final wedding anniversary,

Where they danced together

Before she died

And I can’t hear my mom’s voice

Anymore.

Ever.

And I break down

In Wal-Mart

And someone hands me a rose

And I try to breath.

This is where

Life goes on

After.

I covet

My memories

More than ever

Cause they are all I’ve got

From

Before.

And I tell my children

What’s most important

Is that we are together

Still making memories,

Their memories

Will be

This.

This running

This waiting,

This new life,

They will hear

My voice

Saying,

“We will be ok.”

 

They seem more resilient than me.

Strange.

Maybe it’s cause

Their past doesn’t stretch so far back

Their attachments

Are more temporary,

Their roots

Easily transplanted,

But I feel old.

 

Old and unsteady,

Rootless and wandering,

Having to lean

Hard,

On those who still have

Roots,

Strength,

Faith.

Faith.

Faith that a good God

Wouldn’t do this,

But didn’t stop it,

And will redeem it,

And I don’t know

Why.

Faith

That this is not the end,

That He has good,

Still

And I don’t know

If I can believe it.

 

So I don’t.
Anxiety plagues me

When the news comes on

And there is more black smoke

And I walk away

Or shut it off,

Cause I need to see

The blue sky here,

And breath.

 

But I can’t stay here.

It’s unsteady

Shifting,

Forever

On edge,

Waiting,

Afraid.

 

What is the opposite of all this?

This fear and wondering,

This constant uncertainty

And “what if” ing?

 

I long for something

Steady

And warm

And the same,

In all this change.

I long for something

To hold on to

That won’t be taken

From me

In this life, or after.

I want security,

I crave it.

“Help, Lord,”

I manage.

And it’s a step.

A teetering one,

And maybe one day

My faith will feel

More solid

Than this shifting sand

Of my now.

 

But now,

In the long in between,

In the “from”

That is stretching me sore,

And leaving its marks,

On my heart,

That is vandalizing my dreams

So fear doesn’t let me go

Awake or asleep.

In the “from”

where a stranger’s hand

is serving my family

And my husband,

is struggling,

but having to

accept it.

In this long, drawn out “from”

I inscribe

“Beauty from ashes”

as sign posts

to anchor me

for what’s ahead

and to remember

what is behind.

And I wait some more.

And I breath.

 

Written for the Brave Ones

Fort McMurray, May 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Come to me.

Get away with me and you’ll recover your life.

I’ll show you how to take a real rest.

Walk with me

And work with me –

Watch how I do it.

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.

Keep company with me

And you’ll learn to live

Freely and lightly,

Love Jesus.”

Matthew 11: 28-30 The Message

 

Aborting Sabbath

Empties me

 

And I go round

Melancholy,

Short-tempered,

Overwhelmed

Easily.

 

Hollowing out space

For Sabbath

Is painful.

It means I need to use the word,

“No.”

And the people pleaser in me

Cringes.

 

 

I didn’t even meet his eyes

Though he deserved at least that.

I didn’t acknowledge him

Honour him with words,

Explanation, gentleness.

I just said sharply

(and it still echoes in my head)

“I’m not interested!”

like a growl

and I let the screen door

slam.

 

It should have felt satisfying.

I’d always wanted the gumption

To reject a salesman like that.

Now I had it.

And I’d done it.

And I felt sick after.

 

His voice floated after me,

“Have a good day.”

Generous soul.

More generous that I was.

For sure.

photo courtesy of Christi Faith Visscher

 

A good day.

That would be nice.

Why?

Why would I call this day anything but good?

Because I rushed.

Why?

Because I didn’t listen

To those gentle prods

To take it easy.

Instead I jumped in

Over my head at work,

When I was already

Running on fumes

And it was only Monday.

 

That drive to

“Do more!”

pushed.

The drive to

“Please everyone!”

pushed.

 

All the driving

And pushing

And pleasing

Drove rest

And pushed God

Right out

Of a day

That could have been

A good day.

 

 

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,

in quietness and trust is your strength,

but you would have none of it,” Isaiah 30:15

 

 

I painted this Scripture on my classroom wall.

I didn’t paint the second part.

That’s the part that hits home

On weeks like this.

“But you would have none of it.”

 

 

 

Lord, have mercy on me.

Forgive me

For the rushing,

For the rebelling,

The refusing

To listen.

For ignoring

Your patient prods,

Those gentle checks.

Forgive me for elbowing You aside,

For crowding Holy Spirit,

For doing it my way,

Bull-ishly pushing ahead,

Playing god,

But really not having

Any fun

At all.

 

Here

In the rushing

My work, once a delight, lacks quality.

Here

In the ignoring,

I run on fumes instead of fresh revelation.

 

Here

I make mistakes

With the people, with the stuff you’ve given me,

Instead of treasuring, instead of serving.

 

And here is the clincher.

If I slowed, listened, waited

The project would have had quality,

And it would have been done in time,

Your time,

Not mine.

And the experience would have been

Cheerful, peaceful.

I would have been present,

Intentional, kind to the people,

And no striving would have happened.

And no screen door would have been slammed.

 

 

How many times do I re-learn this lesson?

I think it’s because of pride.

I want to be in charge.

I think it’s because of fear.

I don’t trust You with what is important to me.

I think it’s because of a misconception,

That the harder I work, the longer I work, the more I do, do, do

The better it will be.

This life. Me.

I’m striving ahead for something ahead,

Not seeing all that’s here.

Or Who is here and only here

In this present now,

Waiting.

 

 

Here’s the truth.

I finish this to-do list,

It reincarnates itself the next day.

I bull doze ahead manicly,

Then I run on low batteries the next day.

I wear out.

I walk over people I love,

I stop being inspired to serve from a place of
“want to” and I start “shoulding” on myself.

 

 

Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.

 

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,

in quietness and trust is your strength,

but you would have none of it,” Isaiah 30:15

 

 

So I repent.

And I rest. Intentionally.

And I am saved.

Saved from the sin

Of pride,

Of fear,

Of valuing the future

Over the now

The present

And your Presence

Here.

 

So I quiet

Till I can hear

The gentle nudge again,

I resist the urge to forge my own path,

I trust that

One little obedience

After another,

This act of constant communion,

Will take me forward

Get what’s most necessary done,

Maybe not the way I’d do it,

But done nonetheless,

And take me somewhere,

Somewhere good.

 

And I receive strength.

Strength because I stopped sapping myself.

Relying on myself.

Running on empty.

Playing god.

 

I choose it.

I choose to have all of it.

All of You.

And I know I’ll need to re-make this choice,

Re-repent, re-rest, re-quiet, re-trust…

 

And there You are.

Showing me the way to live

Gracefully,

Freely,

Lightly,

Unforced,

Rhythmed,

Inspired,

Kind,

Valuing,

Submitting,

Resting,

Being still

And knowing

You are God.

I choose to embrace,

cultivate,

protect Sabbath.

I choose to choose rest,

not just once a week,

but daily.

Resting in this walking and working with You.

This free and light journey.

This unbroken communion.

 

I welcome her,

hesitant.

A stilted, forced embrace

I’m unprepared,

Doubtful,

Fearful.

It’s not the right time,

Too soon,

Not yet.

I know what it means

Her early arrival

To all those closest

To this dry, dust.

“What if’s” crowd,

overcrowd.

The sky has been full

Of trailing “V’s” for weeks.

The pussy willows too,

All signs.

I should have known.

 

The earth

Breathes

Calm.

Taking even this

In stride.

This coming.

This surprise.

This hide and seek game,

When the hider is hesitating,

When the seeker calls,

“Ready or not,

here I come.”

She came.

Tip-toeing,

Sneaking,

Slow.

Touching all this empty,

Till it grew.

 

Maybe calendars mean nothing to her.

Maybe she is too spontaneous.

Maybe she’d rather come unexpected,

Maybe it’s her way.

 

 

The green is creeping,

Carpeting

slow

And the pussy willows

Are fluffing out

Reaching out

For the warm.

 

 

 

There is something negative associated with staying put

That I unwittingly agreed with

Early.

I saw each place as a diving board

To the next,

The new,

The best yet to come.

Maybe it runs in your blood when you’re young,

So you can’t quite help it,

And the globalized world doesn’t help it,

Our newsfeeds continually reeling out

Opportunities ripe

To compare my life with theirs,

And the longing to go

Grows.

How far can you go?

How impactful can you be?

How happy, how alive, how fulfilled

They all look,

Beyond.

 

Then there was me

Here, now,

“watching the children and the garden grow”

as Dixie Chicks said would happen.

Just a few more jumps

And the way would clear,

Full steam ahead,

Into the more,

The adventurous more,

The unknown more,

Where that silver lining glinted,

All allure

Beyond.

 

But then, calmly over tea,

she told me.

She said that this up and go,

This thirst for more,

This aversion to staying put,

This quicksilver in my veins,

That fueled my dreams

Awake and asleep

That kept me bouncing along

hopeful

Was not Biblical.

 

I felt like I slipped on my diving board

And fell,

very unbecomingly,

And jarred myself

Inside myself

And I resisted her words

Hard.

 

She continued.

She said what was Biblical was

This word, “content.”

Content.

It was a tight-fisted, squirming in your chair, type word to me.

It wasn’t a long, drawn out, exciting, full and alive, alluring word.

It was short, hopefully very short.

It was an almost there,

Soon, but not yet,

“Are we there yet!?” word.

 

 

Content.

I looked it up.

Content: happy with one’s lot, satisfied.

That was not a squirm until it’s over,

count down the days,

peek out the window repeatedly definition.

 

 

True content.

 

When you settle,

Wholly,

Mind, body, soul,

Into a moment,

This moment,

Or any string of moments

And you enter it,

Stay in it,

Happy, present,

With the windows down,

And the first warm enough spring sun,

Latticing across your feet,

And everyone in the car,

Singing loud

And the countryside rolling by

Calm.

 

True content

happens when

You stay.

 

You stay long enough

That your neighbours feel like your family,

And Sunday mornings

Like a family reunion,

Every week.

Content happens when you stay

Long enough to see a garden grow,

Or four,

And see the gap toothed grins of multiple siblings

growing up here, now, happy.

 

 

Content happens

When we try it.

Try being happy with our lot

Our here, now.

 

“In most of my church tradition, no one ever mentioned the holy work of staying.

No one talked about how the places where we live life matter to our spiritual formation,

how we are shaped by our communities,

by our rootedness,

our geography,

by our families,

and by the complex web of connections and history

that emerge only by staying,” Sarah Bessey

 

It’s taken years to agree.

It’s taken a lot of staying put to agree.

So I don’t resist anymore.

It doesn’t jar me inside anymore.

This idea of staying put.

I agree.

Contentment is Biblical.

It’s really all about trust.

Trusting He chose this here, now

For you to live, for me to live,

Here, now, happy.

 

Content: happy with one’s lot, satisfied.

 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul,

and forget not all His benefits.

Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things;

so that thy youth is renewed like the eagles.”

Psalm 103:2, 5

 

 

Sometimes we scrub away the shimmer

On our silver lining,

And discover that

Beyond wasn’t what we anticipated it would be.

And home welcomes you.

This place where you practice the art of staying put,

And you sink your feet in

And your roots hold you

here, now, happy.