Pursuit of a New Normal

I see the divine in their eyes, the precious innocence that keeps their wellspring pure,

And I am keenly aware of the pressure to get this right.

And by get it right,

The only possible thing I could refer to is grace,

Becoming a woman who embodies and extends grace,

As there is so very much I have received.

Their normal is one I have never known.

Even I am learning, perceiving, taking in, absorbing.

The baby slept as we prayed over a mad man in the den.

He was clothed in prayer, and then our own rags.

The eldest watched on, unphased by the happenings.

She knew it was time for the divine.

A life undisciplined will not bear the sweetness of vines tended.

But a life of routine risks ruts and roots lacking passion.

Teetering between the two, desperate to stay centered,

That their laughter is ever grounded in the security of the Father.

Steam rises, dances from the tea that sits before me now.

Like a worshipper, dancing around the fire

Lifting holy hands to God, offering whole self as living sacrifice.

The worshippers are gathering at the circle,

Acutely in tune, in sync, in rhythm with the community as it dances together,

And yet all eyes are focused on the Throne alone,

As if there is no one else in the room.

The gaze of the King embraces, warm and focused, yet gentle and cushioned.

Of all the worshippers in the room, the eyes of the Almighty see me.

Emotions balls at the throat, climbing higher.

Breath escapes me, stuttering, stammering

Unsure of whether it is tears or laughter that are soon to belt out,

The body explodes in praise.

And the dance grows wilder and the voice grows louder

Because love has set me free with eyes to see the divine.

Gratitude meets grace

And a new normal defines us all.

Today I am linking up to Imperfect Prose at In the hush of the moon. I'm excited and certainly humbled to join this community. Hop on over to take in some amazing prose and poetry.

On Change and Gratitude

The breaking of the habit of anger starts with two words:

Thank You.

When anger has taken up residence for so long, eyes for the divine, the appreciation for smiles, the ability to give and receive joy is quenched, closed, suppressed. Where others see hope and possibility, the angry heart sees only doors that have slammed shut and evil intentions. It is a strange phenomenon, oozing in slowly, quietly, until the fleshly heart is hard and cold, a stone void of feeling and responding in love. A heavy lump of nothing, taking up space in the chest, making it difficult to breathe.

But a simple thank you, primitive, basic, desperate.

Thank you for the day to try again. Thank you for the mercy for another chance.

Life-generating.

And suddenly there is a pulse; a small blip on an otherwise flat line. Deep red river flows to cold, hard darkness, and precious oxygen is sucked into the lungs that have forgotten how to breathe. The first inhalation in a very long time. That which was black and dead is being transformed, renewed, brought back to life.

Thank you for the smile.

Thank you for the deep, belly laughter of three beautiful little girls.

Thank you for the little girls.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Blood pumps and flows, less constricted. The strained breath of before relaxes, diaphragm rhythmically flowing up and down, up and down. Life giving. Life restoring. Life healing. Life generating. Breathe.

Eyes for the divine are opening, the Father’s love gracing His children. Every bit of joy, every smile, every giggle, every moment of contentment and peace is the grace of the Father, manifesting itself in everyday interactions. He reveals Himself. He shows His mercy, His beauty, His grace in all of creation, asking if His children are aware enough to see.

See Me, That I Am.

And in those moments of awareness, I say thank you. 

And so a new journey of healing and renewal has begun, with a simple acknowledgement of gratitude, and counting of blessings received.

#1. Thank you, Abba Father, for new life.




Today I am choosing to join a community of grace and gratitude, counting the blessings that God has given. Gratitude will be the new habit that replaces the dead chaff that is being blown away. In the counting of blessings, I must be intentional to look for them, asking God continually for eyes to see and ears to hear.

What about you? What you thankful for? Have you counted your blessings lately? Would you like to  join me in the journey of counting one thousand, and beyond, gifts? 


Take a look over at A Holy Experience, full of beautifully raw and humble writings of a journey to God,  to join the community.

Some Habits Must be Broken

There are words, themes, lessons of sorts that have been swirling around my head for quite some time. It has stumped me, unable to move forward in words and thoughts until this is sorted out. I know that God is teaching, transforming, so I search for a quiet moment on this precious Sabbath to process and decipher what it all is. By God's grace, now I sit alone, away from the tugs of little hands and demands of household chores, with people milling all around in laid back, African style, and a welcoming latte resting in front of me. The foam of the drink has been artfully shaped into a gentle heart, wispy and light, reminding of of what it is that God is after. Mine. My heart. The steam rises up as I struggle to offer up these thoughts and words.

Speak Lord. Your servant is listening. God of order and comfort, bring order to the tornado of thoughts. 

God, I hear you speaking.

He speaks healing.

He speaks comfort.

He speaks joy.

He speaks gratitude.

He speaks peace.

He speaks Life.

Anger is a habit, detrimental, devastating, destroying habit, but a habit nonetheless. Learned. Practiced. Mastered. It starts out small. Someone offends, betrays, wrongs in some way. I feel the offense and take it in. I welcome it in to unpack and make itself at home. It dwells, and welcomes its sisters, bitterness, resentment, and rage. They are messy houseguests, but stay for quite some time. They begin to call the shots. 

In a move of protection from further offense, I callously write the person off, shrugging of the hurt as no big deal. Doesn’t bother me. I don’t need that in my life.

So in the name of defending self, in response to a small hurt, a small corner of the heart hardens, blackens, and dies. I don’t feel it because it was small, an inconspicuous death numbed by the sense of justification and gall. It crept in unnoticed and now sits quietly, brewing, waiting to spread.

The first death took a small toll, though ire and disgust glazed the view. But by the third or fourth death, the response is a killer on autopilot, and the funeral is swift and emotionless. The mourners stand on the graves of previous victims, as the cemetery is becoming quite crowded. There is no thanks for things seen, or unseen. Nothing can be offered up, not even condolences for the tragic passing, as the true tragedy lies in the lack of vision for what is happening. The eyes are closed to the divine, and only hurt lingers. Gratitude is dead.

And so the cycle is formed, the habit established. Anger has moved in, as it alone can live in the blackness of a dead heart. Lifeblood cannot pump to those regions. Light cannot dwell with anger. Growth cannot compete with despair. A slow shut down has begun.

And yet He has spoken Life. The heart can only house one feeling at a time. It can only be filled with one spirit at a time. Life and Death will not cohabitate. Light and darkness with not reside side by side. Anger and peace will not live together. Mercy and disgust will not hold hands. Gratitude has no dwelling with such darkness ruling the land. So when He speaks Life, He speaks change, transformation.

He speaks a new thing, just as He is calling His children into a new creation, with a new name.

But then this habit must first be broken.