“For every beast of the forest is Mine, The cattle on a thousand hills.”
I looked at this picture and my first thought was ‘cattle on a thousand hills’.
So I did what I do–type the magic words–and see what the Google genie gives me.
There’s a saying that says “a picture is worth a thousand words”. A thousand words did not come to mind in this case, only five. For some reason the line “cattle on a thousand hills”, beautiful to my ear, somehow matched the picture, beautiful to my eyes.
I can only imagine why.
This time in the day
the afternoon hour from 2:00-3:00
tends to be a time when the stirring sets in.
Finding rest for my soul I rest for a moment
and write this down.
“Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath shined.”
There’s a difference between truth and honesty.
At least in the way words are used today. Being honest, at least in writing, means you don’t beat around the bush, don’t care (too much) what other people think, and aren’t afraid of telling it like it is. We need people’s stories. I believe that. Stories, words, flesh, blood– these are God’s chosen way of revealing Himself to us.
The thing is, at least for me, what I’m realizing, when I need to know I’m not alone, I don’t need someone else’s messy life to help me feel better about myself. I know what planet we live on. I’m well aware that me and everyone else in this world is completely screwed up, that life is hard, that creation cries on groaning for relief.
It isn’t honesty I’m searching for.
And Hope, you see, is only found in the Truth.
Okay so maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.
I know, I know, it’s not even Thanksgiving, not even All Hallow’s Eve. But good grief. I can’t help it. I love Advent. I love Christmas. It’s getting cold here anyway now so it only feels right. And I didn’t even pick the movie out–Daddy did. Before he left for adult Confirmation class he set it up as I settled in for a longer evening alone with the kids.
On nights like these–I’m finally making peace with it–I must lower my standards. Not that I still had any at this point. It no longer feels like full-fledged survival mode as it’s been in the past when we had infants. But these evenings still feel like a haphazard and halfhearted charade on my part. I simply run out of steam about two hours too early.
So we all watched A Charlie Brown Christmas together. I engaged the evening, entered into their little world, and gave the classic commentary my own Daddy used to recite for us kids. I fell in love with Linus, that adorable little Christmas tree, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and the King James Bible all over again. That’s it, where’s the Rudolph DVD?
Next stop–the Island of Misfit Toys.
“The depths have covered them: they sank into the bottom as a stone.”
There’s no need to white knuckle your way through temptation.
It’s already gone.
Let it go.
I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for eleven years.
There have been times since having children where I was employed outside the home. During vicarage I worked full time. Call it wishful thinking, but even when I had four part-time jobs during our second year at the Seminary, I still considered myself a stay-at-home mom.
For home is where my heart is.
You’d think by now we’d have some sort of routine down.
But we really don’t.
Free-spirit though I be, I do believe routines are helpful, just not always practical.
Oh hi, Baby! Yes, I see your silly face! A picture? Okay, just a minute, Momma will take a picture of you…
I think the mistake we make as mothers is not so much our inability to stick to and keep a routine.
Making a routine is not the secret.
The secret, I believe, is in the routine making us.