My Truth

I will lay on my face every night as I pray

Submitting myself to You Lord in worship and in praise

Crying aloud as I lift up Your name

Reaching in appreciation of Your grace

Day by day I fail You

Still Your love sustains

Commands, demands

All the worship

All my praise

Diligently seeking Your face as I ponder on the fact that only bits and pieces of Your Word I retained

No it is not enough to simply say I love You

For every breath I take

For every time I open my eyes

For my health

For functioning limbs

For vision

For sight

For strife

For my life

For being able to feel the warmth of a sun ray on my face

For that cool breeze that combs my hair

For emotions O Lord

For demotions

That have me down when I am out

Feeling sad

But then I shout

I almost forget how good that feels

HALLELEUJAH

And now I am reminded of Who I am dependent on

God puts us through so we never forget He is always there o lean on

Now in the midst of this storm that I was just in, I have peace of mind

Joy came out of her hiding place

And I just can’t get this smile off of my face

Because I remember

The source of my life

My strength and my might

His Word and His fight

His will and His plight

So I am ok with going through

And I don’t have to hear your comforting lies because I have found my truth.

By My Spirit

My spirit is keeping my soul in check because it is Him who dwells within me.

My soul is way too smart, way too emotional, and God bless the person who tries to interfere when she has her mind made up.

She governs her body but all too often becomes subjected to it.

My body loves to be gratified, satisfied, blessed, caressed, eased, pleased, but she never wants to give in and fall to her knees.

She is selfish, greedy, quick tempered, immature, lazy, hard-headed and her neck is always outstretched.

She fights tooth and nail to ignore that feeling in the pit of her stomach that always seems to show up when her soul gets convicted, inflicted, conflicted and wants to be restricted.

She is in denial when she "just can't" in the middle of doing that thing she wanted to do so badly.

She thinks her conscious is all out of whack because it must be wrong for fighting her desires.

Little does she know, it is not that made up thing that non-believers created to justify that which they cannot understand.

That “thing” is The Way, The Truth, and The Light.

The breath of God, all His will, a fraction of His might.

So check yourself when body gets that urge and soul becomes confused.

Now I live by my spirit to keep my soul in check and my body becomes subject.

For it is He who dwells within me.

My Stuff

When you are born into brokenness that is the only feeling that seems to be familiar.

You learn to cope by going numb.

All of my “stuff” is placed in that jar on the shelf where I leave things to be.

I stuff the jar until it is full.

Sometimes, when I open the jar to put more stuff in it, the pressure from the compression makes everything pop right back out.

I get frustrated and leave my stuff on the floor.

Then I realize that I have to clean up.  I must clean up!

I gather my stuff and fold each piece just right so that it all fits back inside of that old dusty jar.

I close the lid tight every time I put more stuff into the jar.

Eventually, it all pops out again.

Here I am, once more, folding.

Part of me wants to get a new jar, a bigger jar.

Another part of me wants to set my stuff ablaze.

But then I would be stuck looking at that empty jar on the shelf where I leave things to be.  I dust around the things on the shelf, careful never to displace a thing.

I just sit in the corner and stare across the dimly lit room at that jar full of stuff that I want to set free.

Those Hands

A reel of incomplete memories flash across my thoughts,

The one clip that stays consistent are your reaching hands,

I try so hard, but I cannot remember your face,

Just those hands,

Washing my hair as I fight and believe that the water is killing me,

Popping my hand and shaking a finger at me when I misbehaved,

Holding my hand while we took the bus to pop up at Ian's school when he was in trouble,

Helping me bob for apples,

Folded as you kneeled beside me to help us say our prayers at night,

Those hands

Mothering, nuturing, disciplining, molding, comforting, praying, washing, cooking,

Those beautiful hands.

If I saw a picture I may never remember your face,

But when I am in need of your comfort all I see are

Those reaching hands.

I love and miss you Aunt Debbie