Of Contrite Recognition

Oh, I should never want to be

Absorbed with living’s this and that

So that what’s right in front of me

Falls heedless through perception’s cracks

And I should never want to pine

Gazing to skyline’s in my thought

Missing what Love has tendered mine

While hungering for what is not

Else I might miss the golden glow

Of laughter in love’s eager eyes

Or how the hope of heaven flows

Through crevices in darkened skies

And then perhaps I would forget

To touch and hold and taste and see

The beauty of love’s preciousness

And life’s awesome fragility

We cannot choose love’s holy hues

What God will give or when He takes

We ought to cherish gifted blooms

Before their petals skim the lakes

Moments transpire, volatile

Slipping across ephemeral dust

Lord, teach us how to recognize

Your gifts these moments lend to us

© Janet Martin

and Job said: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised."  Job 1:21

Last night I had a dream/nightmare that somehow we were late for Emily's wedding because we forgot to look at the clock. When we scrambled to get dressed I realized that I had forgotten to get anything new for any of us to wear and Emily was calling from the church to ask what was keeping us! I just couldn't believe that I was so distracted that I forgot to look at the time!

It reminded me of this parable...

Please pray for the Bosma family...

The senseless cruelty of hate

Rocks and shocks the rudiments

Of hope and love, mercy and faith

It scars and mars love’s evidence

But still we know that our God reigns

He comforts those who mourn and weep

We trust, for we cannot explain

The demons of hate’s darkened deep

And while we long to justify

Our anger as we taste its gall

We lift our tears to God on high

For He alone can see it all

Someday, beyond this sin-cursed realm

Our unknowns will be heaven-clear

We trust the Master at the helm

For He beholds and counts each tear

© Janet Martin

Heart-felt prayers and tears are flowing for the Bosma family and friends.

The Home-front

 

Sometimes the front-lines become blurred; obscured

Beneath piled dishes, laundry loads and such

The aftermath of battles we’ve endured

For all its grief seems not to matter much

As daylight dims we cannot see the yield

Of blood-sweat-tear-drops spilled into the air

Upon this precious home-front battle-field

Soldiers-in-sacred-making need our care

We forge toward a Prize we cannot see

A motley stumbling, fumbling infantry

We watch the fledgling flounder, struggle; grow

Restless to fly on eager, untried wings

We cut the cord when they are born but oh,

We cannot sever love’s tender heart-strings

As, midst the noise of pots and pans and spills

Of bills and slamming doors and soft good-night

We pray the Lord to keep us through the drills

To give us courage to be strong and fight

For soon the care-free little boy and girl

Must be prepared to face this wicked world

In boot-camps strewn with homework, footballs, shoes

With muffin-crumbs and heaped, half-finished chores

Where we are startled by the hues and dues

Of love-in-training recruits for life’s wars

It’s easy to lose sight of Love’s High Call

As common cares distract and circumvent

We cannot know what battles will befall

But this we know; we must be diligent

As we scold, cheer and kiss those freckled grins

The home-front is where the future begins

© Janet Martin

 In our Mother's Day Service on Sunday our pastor reminded us that Timothy became the man he was not on his own but because of diligent examples of faith...what we do today MATTERS tomorrow!

 I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also. 2 Tim.1:5

 Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. 2 Tim.2:3

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.

Priceless Paper

She reads,

Her tears falling fast and hard

Over this rumpled scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card

She reads,

Words too dear to shape out loud

But spilled forever on a scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card

…and the echo of words not so pretty

As they fell furious and hard

Are forgiven; tears wash this ‘scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card’

She reads,

Beauty begins to bloom among the broken shards

She clasps to her heart love’s scrap of paper

Instead of a pretty card

Love bleeds truest in the torn and tattered
Its beauty is scribbled and scarred
Tender splendor on scraps of paper
Instead of a pretty card

© Janet Martin

I have to admit, I felt a little guilty as she watched me pull out all the tissue paper (just to make sure)…and there it was, folded in the very bottom, the thing every mother craves; her children’s words. The note began with an apology that it isn’t a pretty card…

That Life Within...

There is a life unfolding where

It has not touched our finger-tips

And yet, in subtle rendering

The shadow of its image slips

This life splays forth in rarest form

Where wisdom and folly collide

As love and lust release their storm

Without the effort of disguise

Upon this battlefield we train

And disentangle from its shield

Those things which will not be constrained

As its true spirit is revealed

There is a life unfolding where

It shapes each deed the hand has wrought

We ought to guard this realm with care

It is the life lived in our thought

© Janet Martin

As a man thinks in his heart, so he is. Prov. 23:7

Offerings~

 

 

 (I don't recall ever seeing this spill in these amounts in middle-May!)

Oh, this little cup of moments

See it from the skyline tip

To spill its offering of grace

Inviting us to freely sip

Gone beneath the sea of hours

Gleam the drops we can’t erase

Now a stream of renewed mercy

Bathes the spires with His grace

We have nothing in our keeping

But what Grace has kindly lent

From a little cup of moments

We receive what He has sent

Then let our life’s utter boasting

Be the praise we offer up

Not to self but always ever

Back to He who holds the cup

© Janet Martin

 "Come now, let us settle the matter," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Isa. 1:18

Choosing Fullness

 

When the emptiness of all that is not

Compares with the fullness of all there is

Weighed in the balances of thought

I blush beneath heaven’s kind kiss

And though I’ve born the pity-glance

Of those who do not understand

I close my eyes and wildly dance

In gratitude; God holds my hand

When want and wishing dare to taunt

And boldly wage a worldly war

Spreading before thought’s gaze the vaunt

Where emptiness and fullness spar

Then with a purposed, pleading prayer

I whisper ‘Lord, how great thou art’

And though life’s scales tip with its care

I choose His love; God fills my heart

Janet Martin~