Of Scribbles and Such

 

These lines we scribble in life’s dirt

May seem quite insignificant

A transient script of smile and hurt

Across earth’s blue-dot element

An employment of joy and strife

Inscribing chapters of a life

These lines we scrawl in moment-ink

When segregated, may seem trite

A repetition twixt dawn-pink

And velvet vesper-sigh of night

Yet time does not sever its text

Each murmur melding to the next

Our folly-foibles need Love’s grace

For this is not fictitious sod

Of hope and heart-ache’s mute embrace

This is our love-story to God

As tear and sweat-drops spill and spell

Those things we think we do not tell

The subtle imprint of our thoughts

May seem invisible and small

A gathering of jumbled jots

And unintelligible scrawl

But we should pay close, cautious heed

For what we write Someone will read

© Janet Martin

 So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God. Rom. 14:12

This morning as I swung my feet over the side of my bed I caught myself thinking ...here we go again, same old, same old ...you know, the 'lunches-laundry-living-loving:) Nothing glamorous but still important! Gently I felt an inner chiding, 'This is no 'same-old'. This day has never passed and will never pass again.Yes, but by the goodness of God we go...Lord, guide our quill.