The top of the tree won’t light and it undoes me like a ball of yarn let loose. This undoing and with a house full of guests, I’d rather will it to work than just let it go. This undoing sometimes is at the tone of a voice or the title of a book, or a copier jam. A plethora of minute externals that can set off the internal undoing in me, often on the days I’ve drummed up the determination to keep it together. I can feel it brewing like the wind that strips the trees bare and I rush to gather back the leaves of me. I wonder if He shakes His head funny that after all these days and all these steps with Him, that I still think I can keep it all together.
Like a faint breeze catches a strand of my hair a thought catches in me that I do the world a disservice when I try to keep it all together. For the truth is I am undone like a leaf in the whipping wind. Beauty is in the leaf yet it pales to the beauty of the one who sets it all in motion. The one who is the Creator, the one who never changes yet who is the changer, the one who establishes the seasons of our earth and the seasons of us, beauty is Him. He is our portrait of the invisible God and from Him and for Him and to Him are all things and He is the one who holds it all together.
In a world full of to do and to be all He asks is that you and I just be His. Let it fly, be undone and just hold onto Him and rest in the truth that it’s He that holds onto me and holds to you.
Praising the Savior, the Alpha, the Omega, the beginning and the end and the completer of the work all to the one who sends the numbers higher each one closer to Him.
685. For the richness of the gospel in Colossians
13 And you, being dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, He has made alive together with Him, having forgiven you all trespasses, 14 having wiped out the handwriting of requirements that was against us, which was contrary to us. And He has taken it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross. 15 Having disarmed principalities and powers, He made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them in it. -Colossians 2:13-15
686. For orange clementines pretty in their clear bowl
687. For a heater and a sweet note from my neighbors above
688. For mornings when the time moves slow
689. For morning company of prayers and the word
690. For furniture rearranging
691. For the tree all decorated and redeemed
692. For peach hazy sun glowing in the cold air driving home
692. For Christ the eternal Redeemer
693. For Christ our hope
Monday, November 28, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
I understood the concept of a style icon before I understood the word concept. My first memories involve mimicking my neighbor and tapping it out plastic high heel style up and down the driveway. It's possible I watched Full House for Becky's clothes. It's unclear if there was ever a notebook of drawings of knock offs of her outfits. It was 1990, okay! Time heals all wrongs and now it's Audrey and Katherine and Princess Di and Jackie O, Oh and Kendi. The girl with the killer wit and spot on succinct, humor and mad style.
When I discovered her blog I did what any kid raised on puffed sleeves, side pony's and double socks would do, I alerted my bff of the new kid on the block. I made peace with Old Navy and went and bought this shirt. And then I ordered her famous red shoes......and quickly discovered I ain't no Kendi. I wore them once and them shoes ain't made for walking on these narrow feet. Like I needed the motorized scooter just to buy milk walking impairment.
My Kendi Reds have mourned in lonely exile for over a year, finally I pulled them out of the closet and cried like powder blue eye shadow going out of style at the prospect of letting them go. After a stylish walk in the most hideous stretchy pants I own, work shirt, stocking cap and laundry strung over my shoulder, genius struck......them babies fit with socks.
"What?" 'no?' Oh, you just wait and see, my style is going to catch like bad grammar in the heart of dixie. Watch out kids, there's a new style icon in town. And I don't wanna brag, but that perpetual pursed lip pout, stellar. Happy Thanksgiving, better wear your stretchy pants.