Reminded me of two old songs that I loved...What a Friend I've Found, by Delirious? and You Called Me Friend, by Fred Hammond. Had these songs running through my head all day and it was a good focal point to have! Thanks, Angie!
I awake in a bit of a fog, only slightly aware of the telephone ringing. We got in late last night. Long past our bedtime. I can hear my father in the kitchen, his muffled conversation floating upstairs to my room. It's just before 8. We've slept in. I'll have to rush to get ready for school this morning. My father slowly climbs the stairs and I turn to see him enter my bedroom. He is tired and carries a strange expression on his face. He reaches my bedside and takes a seat. He isn't looking at me, but out my bedroom window to the hillside and winding road. When he faces me again tears have formed in his eyes. He covers my hand with his and tells me my mother is gone. His words get lost in a sudden release of grief. I turn my head into my pillow, tears flowing. I'm not completely certain of what he's said, I'm hoping I've misunderstood, but know...
I have a complicated laziness that kind of twists its way into every part of who I am keeping me stuck; creating a deliberate foolishness. Beyond my penchant for the foolish is the greatness of Him. The One Who gently calls me. When I expect a hammer to the head, he taps my shoulder and takes my hand. His eyes dance with wonder and expectation. Mine are sideways glancing, ready to pounce at any imperfection. He is grace while I hoard my lists of misdemeanours and missed marks. I judge with my eyes to the outside; he looks at the heart. While I am stingy and wretched in the giving of my tepid and impatient love, His is never-ending and free. His love is for everyone. For the lopsided, the lost, the wayward, the tossed aside, the loveless, the weeper, the cutter, the piercer. The foolish. He is more beautiful than we can imagine. His hands are gentle but firm. He chooses to carry the whole weight of who we are. No one is too much for him. He speak...
The heart of an eleven year old girl still beats in an adult. Somewhere. She's alone. Lonely. She feeds her to keep her quiet when her crying gets too loud. Her heart is broken and she can't find her way to fix it again. She thinks if she could just keep everyone around her happy, the pain will dull somewhat. Truth is, she only loses more of herself when she edits her character and her opinion to keep life at an even keel for everyone else. She is tired of holding up her world, while time marches on and the wound gets deeper. Her heart is tender but she makes allowances for those whose ways are a little harder than hers. She keeps quiet because it matters more how she appears than what comes from her heart and mind. She loves even more to be helpful with a smart idea if the moment presents itself. She'll replay the conversation over and over when she is the hero and does the same whe...
Reminded me of two old songs that I loved...What a Friend I've Found, by Delirious? and You Called Me Friend, by Fred Hammond. Had these songs running through my head all day and it was a good focal point to have! Thanks, Angie!
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