Wednesday, September 22, 2010

flower in the rain


I don't really have thoughts congealed enough to shape tonight. But read this--

"Again [the Shepherd] smiled, but only remarked quietly that the important thing about altars was that they made possibilities of apparent impossibilities, and that it was nice that on this occasion it had brought her peace and not a great struggle.

She noticed that he looked at her keenly and rather strangely as he spoke, and though there was a beautiful gentleness in the look, there was also something else which she had seen before, but still did not understand. She thought it held a mixture of two things, not exactly pity—no, that was the wrong word, but a look of wonderful compassion together with unflinching determination.

When she realized that, she thought of some words which one of the Shepherd’s servants had spoken down in the Valley of Humiliation before ever the Shepherd had called her to the High Places. He had said, “Love is beautiful, but it is also terrible—terrible in its determination to allow nothing blemished or unworthy to remain in the beloved.” "

Hind's Feet on High Places (Hannah Hurnard) p. 163



for all the things that don't resolve
that sink below the memories
for all the things we lost along the way

for all the things that used to shine
but cried themselves to rust
I pray I pray I pray

~~~~~~~~~~
oh I know that there are holes
and scars too deep to mention
but
you bring beauty again

and it's alright
if all is dead tonight cause
you raise the dead in the morning.


carve my heart into your art
no matter how I scream about it
make it so that I can hold the rain

hold my sorrow in your eyes
that wept when mary cried
just show me how to live another day

~~~~~~~~~~
I know that there are holes
and scars too deep to mention
but
you bring beauty again
and it's alright if all is dead tonight
cause you raise the dead in the morning.

darkness and sighing will flee away
death's swallowed up by life today
darkness and sighing will flee away
death's swallowed up by life today


~me. A few months too early, as usual. It's always weird when you write something and then God teaches you what it means--or puts it to good use--later.

it's a song (of course it is).



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