Grace-period

I have been gnawing on this and I don't know where to go from here.  She is a very pleasant young lady who is obviously struggling right now.  She has been clean for 2 years, has been holding down 2 jobs and re-established herself as the primary parent for a 10 year old boy.  Her father died in jail, the day before he was to come home, and she hasn't gotten past that.  Her son's father is doing federal time, so there will be no child support anytime soon.  One of her 2 jobs ended unexpectedly.  She walks an hour to work since her car died.  The mechanic told her that it will take a new engine to get it running again.  Because she lost her job unexpectedly and then had to pay an old fine, she got behind on the rent. I don't have the money to give her to keep her from being evicted tomorrow.  I don't have a little car to give her.  I have NOTHING to offer, except my phone number, a prayer for God to give her hope / make his presence known to her, an offer to take

I should be leaving for church.  Actually, we should have left.  We should be at breakfast.  Finishing up.  On our way to church.  But I am sitting here typing and my husband snores peacefully upstairs.  I wonder about breakfast.  I wonder if I can shoot my gun today.  Do they let you do that on Sundays?  And I wonder about the irrelevance of gathering on Sunday mornings. Granted, I have been in a "mood" for a couple weeks now.  God is waiting patiently as I have a temper tantrum, knowing that eventually I will do the right thing, but that I have to get this out of my system first.  This, whatever it is. I know about the gathering of saints verse.  I just don't know if I care.  I can do church well. I can sing off key. I can stand and sit on request, tho I draw the line at closing my eyes on command.  That is creepy. I know where Amos is in my Bible, without tabbies. I give money. I even carry my Bible and paper and pen to take notes on some sensationalized mess

I had this dream the other night.  There was a daddy hawk and a baby hawk.  Dad was out teaching the little one to hunt.  The little hawk had managed to swoop up a baby squirrel on his first attempt.  My first instinct was horror, but since nature doesn't seem to have the same values, I swept that aside and was proud of the little hawk.  He was doing exactly what he was made to do-living as a hawk.  After his lunch, the little hawk rested as his dad flew off a little ahead of him. The stillness and rightness of the moment was interrupted by a scrambling from a bush to the right.  Erupting ferociously and attacking the young hawk was the mother squirrel.  She was larger than the little one and angry.  She stunned me by picking up the hawk.  Then she turned him upside down and slammed him to the ground breaking his neck in a dreadful crunching sound.  The feeling of horror washed over me again.  This time, I couldn't shake it.  It wasn't right.  Mama squirrel marched triu

A kruller and a 1/2 later gave me enough courage to enter the funeral. And remind me that my family is a bunch of emotional eaters.  My heart breaks for my friend.  I have no doubt that her daughter is loving heaven right now, but for those left behind, it is a little more like hell here.  The grief is like a rough sea that crashes repeatedly, as one sputters trying to stand after a wave, only to be hit again.  Those waves crashing my friend, they were hard to bear.  While I cannot make this journey for her, I wish I could.  I wish she wasn't alone.  I wonder where God is in this, in the death of a child, in a mother's heart break, in the change of a life that will now be seen as "before" and "after" with the tragedy marking the line.  I wonder if this is because sin entered the world, because shalom was broken, because sin and death have always gone together, then why hasn't my powerful Father stepped in and fixed it?  Why doesn't he put an e

Arise and depart, for this is not your rest....Here we have no continuing city, but we seek the one to come....There remains therefore a rest for the people of God . (Except from "Daily Light for Every Day") This week has continued to send waves of discomfort crashing over me.  It continues to shout, "This is not right!  This is not how it should be!"  From my friend's 8 year old dying suddenly to hearing a village is so saturated with abuse and alcoholism that women are not encouraged to participate in mission trips to the "zombie apocalypse" to a coworker's young wife passing away unexpectedly to the young woman still in bondage to abuse as a child, this cannot be what was supposed to be.  There has to be more.  There has to be a why. I believe this tragedy started long ago, when humanity chose to not trust God, and we perpetuate it even today.  Despite the fact that one might trust God now, things are still not quite right.  A mother should