Borrowing "Time"

Time

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.

Home
Home again
I like to be here
When I can

When I come home
Cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones
Beside the fire

Far away
Across the field
Tolling on the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spell

"Time" as written by Ernie Parada
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, T.R.O. INC., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., EMI Music Publishing

Image Bearer

Little image bearer

Growing in the dark

Who should choose your fate?

While you are formed so perfectly

Within a woman’s womb,

Without there seems a choice to make,

To decide if there is room.

No money, no love, too young, too old

Circumstances don’t seem right.

To those who think they have to choose,

It seems a hopeless plight.

We know it’s really life,

Not just a blob of cells

We see the baby on the screen

Her fingers and her toes

We hear the heart beat at three weeks;

The beat that tells the truth.

So why, as if we’re God,

Do we even try to make excuse?

Why do we think the choice to kill

Will not come back and haunt?

It will. What could have been

Will over shadow every waking thought.

Little image bearer

Growing in the dark

Who will choose your fate?

words

inadequate words to express what I think
can never get it right
want to think clearly but it's all a jumble
confusion in my plight

full of compartments in my brain
so many facets of my life
can't seem to sort through it all
words become strife

the roles that I play mix into a scrambled mess
how can wife, mother, teacher, reader,
disciple, believer all mesh
only through The Word I guess...

faith in the one whose word is perfect
the only one right
trust that my words don't have to go forth
He's in charge of my plight

I don't have to express
I don't have to impress
I don't have to obsess
I can simply rest

There is a place on the lawn this morn
That won't shed it's frost
The shadows stay and keep it cold
Until sun shines on that spot

There is a place on my soul this morn
That is as cold as frost
The shadows are deep and old
Until Son shines on that spot

I want to feel the warmth
That love brings to my heart
Gratitude for love will
Melt away that frost

Fragments

fragments along the shore
once a home for conchs
are now just pieces,
broken by the waves,
that add to the shore line
until human hands collect them

like my own broken life
that would be just pieces
were it not for Grace
collecting me
not as some arbitrary trinket
but to rescue me
and make me whole again

I can't make the shell whole again
to house a crawling sea creature
yet God can make me whole again
make me a home fit for His Spirit

amends

thirty years lived with many regrets
thirty years damage it's hard to forget

finding solace in owning all of the trash
no more blaming. the wrongs I am naming.
making amends clears the wreckage of the past
making amends takes away all the shame
gives courage and confidence to start a new day

Beach Glass

pieces of a drunken night
shattered glass shattered life
never to be whole again
sharpened by the brokenness
tossed about in sand and sea
a fraction of what could be

sharpness dulls over time
edges soften through the grind
of sand and salt and the constant rub
that wears the edges of a life
till landing on the shore
a piece transformed from before

time has smoothed the brokenness
separated from the rest
now a treasure to caress
lonely fingers find a store of
beach glass on the shore