Sunday, January 30, 2011

You are

318 - believe


I learned something in church this morning that really blessed me. So besides counting it, I wanted to share it. Genesis 1:31 says, "God saw all that He had made, and it was very good." The Hebrew translation for the word "good" used here is the word "tob". Tob doesn't just mean good, it means gooder than good. It means VERY good, choice, charming, pure, worthy, pleasing, desirable.

So, this means when God looks at you and me, He says, "tob". Amazing. Humbling. He said it even though He knew the end from the beginning, and everything in between!!

Today I'm challenged to live it, to see that blessing, that proclamation, that godly likeness in myself--and live accordingly. To see it in the face of my neighbor and love accordingly. What would the world look like if we really believed it?




holy experience

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Thursday, January 27, 2011

Winter stitch

Nothing like a little quiet time with needle and thread -

...inspired by re-watching a favorite (see last post)

...and the weather outside

...and a warm crackling fire leaves me feeling stitchy

planning for this to be a lavender sweet bag (sachet)

a pillow, which I vow to finish this week

thrift shop find - wahooo!


"Take your needle, my child, and work at your pattern;
it will come out a rose by and by."
Life is like that; one stitch at a time
taken patiently, and the pattern will come out
all right like embroidery.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Monday, January 24, 2011

Life Imitates Art, or A Little Winter Nonsense, or…

You know you’re really lucky when the man you’re married to, who while accompanying you to buy some practical winter boots, does not get annoyed when you say, “Ooh look! Boots that look just the shoes Fanny Brawne wore in Bright Star! You know, Bright Star, my favorite movie?” I loved those shoes the moment I saw them.

By the way, if you’re anything like me, and you’re watching a cinematically beautiful film, you must watch it twice--once for the visuals, second for the dialogue. Because if you’re anything like me, you’ll remember stuff, like shoes the heroine wore, and you’ll secretly desire them.

So when you go out on a cold winter night looking for practical snow boots, and come home instead with Fanny Brawne’s shoes, and you’re married to a guy who doesn’t question your logic or sarcastically ask, “How old are you?” but rather says, “They’re really cool, and they’re you. Go for it,” well, you know you’re just one lucky bug.

Bless me!

"It ain't no use to grumble and complain;
It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice:
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,
W'y, rain's my choice."

James Whitcomb Riley


Counting blessings


312 - a beautiful mess and a spot of one's own

313 - winning Maureen's giveaway at Random Distractions

314 - anticipation

315 - new favorite

316 - squirrely sunshadows

317 - waking up to see my love's favorite book on the nightstand



holy experience

Joining Ann today

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Fortune cookie



It’s been hard for me to express how I feel without sounding schmaltzy. And as hard as I try, I don’t think I can--not sound schmaltzy, that is. Maybe that’s why it’ll fit perfectly here in Imperfect Prose. Okay, deep breath; here it goes:

The night at the Chinese restaurant, when you cracked open your cookie and smilingly read the slip of paper aloud. “I’m keeping this one,” you said. I don’t think you know how much that meant to me. I had to sip my tea so as not to get teary. And when again, you pulled that same slip of paper out of your pocket on the way to the airport, and said, “I’m going to frame it.” It made the parting less painful.


Those late night mother-daughter
Old married lady, new married lady,
Believer-to-believer talks

Sometimes with tears, but mostly hugs and laughter; I’m thankful for every minute, proud of the woman you’ve become, healed in giving what I wished I had had.

I am most fortunate, and God, who keeps His promises, is good.




Joining Emily today
Imperfect prose

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Master builder

Shortly before we were married, an elderly friend told my future husband and I a story of a custom practiced in his country long ago. Before a young man built his house, he would take his bride to the piece of land where their future home would be. He would have her stand in a sunny spot, and wherever her shadow fell, there he would break ground to lay the foundation. This way, his home would be built in the shadow of his beloved.

Under Your wings, we make our house. With trembling hands we build to last, and You are patient. Side by side, we three.

We are your house. Come in, my Host.





Joining Emily today
Imperfect prose

Monday, January 10, 2011

Taking stock

"Gladness can scarcely be a solitary thing.
The very life of praise seems choral; it is
more than one bounded heart can utter...
Joy is a uniting thing. It builds up while
it enlarges the whole nature. It is the wine
to strengthen the heart..."

Dora Greenwell

Counting blessings

304 - city streets

305 - luncheonettes

306 - love like a hurricane

307 - lollies

308 - underground bookstores

309 - shopping with my girlies

310 - pizza night

311 - bein' married to the guitar man



holy experience

Joining Ann today

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Old memories - a repost

I have this hazy memory of being very, very young and running through what seemed like an endlessly long back yard, with green grass and warm, yellow light. There was the excitement of being by myself--no adults anywhere. But I also remember the sensation of being lovingly watched over, feeling like I could run forever. I think that was my very first awareness of God, a more than ourselves moment. And I've come to learn that even in difficult and painful times, those moments can still be captured and appreciated if we keep our eyes open. Discovering His presence in the seemingly ordinary moments, and clapping our hands in thanksgiving.


"They are more than themselves and when the wonder grows in me I am more than myself. Whenever I am conscious of this more than ourselves I remember the old man in the garden at home, looking at the butterflies in the buddleia tree, and how the butterflies seem to shine on his face, or something in him shone on the butterflies, I didn't know which. I may have imagined the light but I didn't imagine the more than ourselves. That's real enough, and when I am conscious of it my wonder and gratitude clap hands together and what is caught up from me is more then either. If any words come to me then they are those of the old man's second prayer, 'Thee I adore.' "

Elizabeth Goudge, The Scent of Water


Joining Emily today
Imperfect prose

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Another year to sing

Be like a bird, halting in his flight
Awhile in boughs so light,
Feels them give way beneath him and yet sings,
Knowing that he hath wings.

Victor Hugo


Counting blessings

298 - the baby turning fifteen

299 - home for the holidays

300 - "For now we see through a glass, darkly ; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known" I Cor 13:12

301 - socks and chats

302 - paperwhites

303 - shenanigans


holy experience

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