Here is not
where I draw a line in the sand
the hill I will die on
where I queue up
against

Here is not
where the voice of angels
speak without love
where He would stand
I don't think

Here is not
where it matters who is right
where I have the answer
can fix you
can fix us

Here is
where I have only Jesus
when I know nothing am nothing have nothing
where He says
turn your cheek
come and die

Here I wait
silently
only for Him
to save us all.


Today is Five Minute Friday and I didn't think I have the words or the time. 

But I did. 

Maybe you do, too.

The box

There is a box that will not close

filled with fragile expectations

unsealed promises

straining under the burden of limitations

not yet willing

to lay in wait

For if it closes

who's to say

when it will be opened

Day 4 and I'm sharing something found in the unpublished archives of the blog

from this time last year

Boots

In Ireland, you gotta have a good boot. Rubber wellies for summer, leather boots for winter. They keep out the rain and the mud, the sand and the ocean. But not snow. Never snow. Boots in Ireland are for surviving the flood. To keep you upright. To save you from drowning.

(Written the night before a snowfall. Ironically.)

Dandelions

As if God were blowing seeds off a dandelion

scattering us,

into the arms of doorways,

under the shield of awnings,

fighting against the natural urge to fly into the air and far away.

To disappear between the tall reeds of winter.