Friday, October 24, 2014

Wrapped


Wrapped in wool from neck to waist
Shielded from the cold's embrace
Sturdied by the warmth in place
I feel the breeze upon my face

Kissed by rusty leaf on cheek
Walking down along the creek
Upon moss carpet tenderly meek
Golden rays of sun I seek

Questions swirl as leafy wings
Flutter down as Autumn sings
Oh to see the full of things
As on God's peace I cling

Rippled waters trickle by
Rusty rocks that say goodbye
Only a moment side by side
Shared underneath this bluest sky

In this wool I wander home
Questions in my heart still roam
Surer things some day I'll know
As life moves onward here below

                                    ~B Charmer






Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Even in the Empty


I have some empty feeling moments, days even.  There are often times when I feel beaten to a mushy, useless pulp. The daily living of caring, hoping, loving, hurting for someone that is very ill can drain a soul in lightening speed.  At the end of each day, I am faced with how little I truly can offer.  A glass of water, a clean shower, a bowl of soup.  I am not a healer.  I am merely a helper, and my help is meager at best.

If I am not careful, I run low of the deep soul matter that keeps a person afloat when they are faced with their own smallness.  Like water spewing from a broken pipe, my heart can think itself empty if not taken to the Savior.

It has happened.  I have been near to empty.  I have been short, angered, hurt.  I have taken blessings for granted, and like a small child I have opened a greedy hand and begged for more than my share.  I have doubted, mistrusted, forsaken.  I have wandered. I have spewed all the life out of myself and have tried to operate empty.

Oh, for grace....

I meet Him in the mornings in the dark hours.  Sometimes, I ache for sleep.  Sometimes I am silent.  Some days I jump up and go one hundred percent with all cylinders firing.  But many mornings I wake and realize the hunger pangs of emptiness are rattling my bones.  I see my smallness in all of it's frailty.  I see that all the busyness and bowls of soup and lesson plans laid out are just trifling attempts to go about life.  I see how much I need the Savior.  I see how much I need His Word.  And each typed letter of my Bible starts patching the holes once again.  Each remembrance of grace binds and protects the fragile places.

And then as graces are counted both small and big, my eyes seem to open more fully.  I notice the iridescent bubbles floating in the shower.  Little rainbow promises of unending Love, steamy warmth wrapping my heart as I ready for the day.

I drive over the river, trees hinting of autumn along the banks.  Little boys with freckles expanding across their noses, a reminder of the giver of Life.  Their questions, their giggles, their arms that circle my waist and offer love to a mother that feels inadequate.

Oh for grace...to see the most glorious pink in the sky at sunset that could have been missed.  Grace to feel the Savior in the embrace of a sister-friend.  Grace to see the patchwork of a binding, healer God that works this, yes even this for my good.

Grateful. Even for empty. Empty that longs the truth of the filling only God gives.  Grateful in trial, in sickness, in life.  Grateful to feel the pressing of a Loving God molding my life the way He sees fit.  Grateful that He opens my eyes to see these graces...these glimpses of the Holy One in soap bubbles and river banks.  Grateful for my hands that can serve soup, scrub a shower, rub a back.  This life, these lessons, this picture that is being painted before my eyes of the Love that spilled Itself out so that I would never, could never be completely empty.  For in truth I know the Fountain has no end, the Well is never dry.  No matter the holes in me, the Giver keeps pouring, faithful to pour out so I am never completely empty.  

Oh for grace...so great a debtor am I.  

In the hard moments, the dark nights, the restless no sleeping, I am learning to take notice.  Notice the graces, the love, the truth.  Notice that when my heart is most-pressed, Creator God is drawing most near.  When my strength reaches it's end, Creator God is proving His might.  This is grace, to be pressed into Him so tightly that suddenly the eyes and the heart see only Him...even in the difficult.  I cannot push away.  I can not refuse this Grace.

Even in the empty.
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.
Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.


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