When Your Eyes Are Growing Dim

Sometimes it seems I'm never going to grow up.

I bought a new bible.

The print is larger, and...

My eyes are growing dim.

I bought one for the Shoulder's for Father's Day.

He said if we read every word, it would be equivalent to having a bachelor's degree in theology.

I open the pages.

I close the pages.

You see?

I lied.

I have a bible exactly like this new one except the print is smaller, and...

My eyes are growing dim.

I didn't think about the cost until I had it home and in my hands.

Then...I felt kind of sick.

And when the Shoulder's saw it laying out on the table, I lied.

I said I had always had it, but that the zipper had broken on my cover.

Two lies.

Three days of misery.

And last night, I lay in our bed and cried.

I told him the truth, and it seems like I've been confessing a whole lot lately.

Stupid stuff.  Embarrassing stuff.  Thank God...

Shoulders are good for crying on, and he said we could earn our bachelor's in theology together.

I guess the Lord is answering my prayers and showing me anything not HIM that I worship.

Turns out, it's me.

Sometimes it seems I'm never going to grow up.

And my eyes are growing dim,

Bernadette

An Appeal to Lucille (her grand daughter anyhow)

Wendy, Wendy,

Be my Friendy.

Time to write.

And show your might.

Pen some words.

Please, never eat turds.

Make the choice.

To let the world hear your voice.

Share some wisdom here?

I'll buy you a beer.  (I promise.)

You have something that I really want.

Your friendship with Jesus...time to flaunt?

Anyone can rhyme.

But sometimes it's a bad idea.



Hahahahahaha,

B(posting your thoughts now)

Thank You.

Thank You that grateful has been these easy breaths today.

The Shoulders sitting in the chair wearing shorts with his white socks pulled half way up his legs.

A violin in one room, and a cello in another.  Singing strings.

The playlist of hymns.

212.

HT2.

Her hands.  The sound of her voice.

Sitting in the sun with Re, and I think summer might be here?

Watching the kids in the pool.

Slowing dooooown.

Daniel sitting down in the grass by our lawn chairs and comfortably chatting.

Two boys with their first jobs and their conversation over dinner.

E.'s "double barreled" hot dog that makes me laugh like crazy.

Just those words from the woman who loved my kids so well and for so many years.

The way she reaches out sometimes still, and always...

At.  Just.  The.  Right.  Time.

Andrew's smile when Michael teases him about taking over his company.

Sarah-girl off to counsel at kids' camp.

A precious niece spending the night with her friend, and me wishing I could have watched her grow up.

All these kids and all their friends and all their laughter in my home.

A son in the hands of God.



God,

Bernadette

THE WELL

The Well.

Must.  Get.  To.  The.  Well.

Where He pours out refreshment through the washing of the Word.

Where He plunges us down into healing power this world can't understand.

Where He says to us in strength and might,

"COME AND DRINK OF ME, AND YOU WILL NEVER THIRST AGAIN."

Where He offers us His cup.

Where we drink together of the only One Who quenches and fills and satisfies.

Where we, His beloved, link hands.

Where we sing hymns, and we are one.

Where we declare Him to be all, and...

Where we say, "This world holds NOTHING for me."

Where we make it public, and where He makes it private.

Where He says, "Woman, I know all about the things that you have done."

Where He asks us for a cup in return: "Will you give Me a drink?"

Where we fall headlong to please the only One worth pleasing.

Where we cry out because until we met Him, we were all dying of thirst.

Where He bathes our wounds in the amazing strength of His love.

Where we must go when the world scoffs:  "Ha!  You 'religious' nuts!"

The Well.

Must.  Get.  To.  The.  Well.


Meet me there?

Bernadette

Abba Father

When He holds your life.
He holds your heart.

He whispers your name.
And He knows you through and through.

He sings to you in the Psalms.
He reminds you, daily, of His great love.

He says you are His.
He says, "Come and know Me."

He says, "Taste Me.  See Me."
And..."Know that I AM good."

He cradles you in His arms.
He lifts you high on His shoulders.

He takes all that is broken.
And He says...

"Beautiful."













Bernadette

When You Need To Know Your Father

The kids have been coming to me these past few weeks.
To squeeze my arm and say, "You okay, Mom?"
And as I scrub the burnt-on egg from that stainless steel pan. (again!)
My Sarah-girl slips her arm right 'round my once-waist.
She says it quiet and so, SO brave.
"Mom, come sit with me awhile?"

We push into the chair that holds us both close.
The girl takes her mama straight into her arms.
My head on her shoulder, and the tears already streaming.
The wise daughter rubs her fingers down my bare arm.
And asks and asks and asks.
Because sometimes we don't know now, do we?

Sometimes we need a little help getting there.
When the wound is ocean wide but...
You can't see the forest for the trees?
She says, "Press into the Father, Mom."
I nod my head.
I know Him.

The Father of the fatherless.
The Protector of orphans.
The Redeemer of all things lost and stolen and bare and broken.
The King of all things, and that means my heart.
The Savior of the world, and that means me.
And we come to this place where I can finally lay it down.

I think of my Jesus.

He took the nails that were the whole truth about me.
And The Truth hurts, friends.
The Truth pierces straight through and goes to the grave.
It impales our pride and puts our flesh to death.
Yes.

But the Truth also raises us up.
It brings us up out of the grave, yes?
It is light and life because He is light and life.

I press close to Abba Father's side.
Like a small child, I hide myself in Him.
I ask Him this question:

"What do You think of me, Lord?"

I work at being still.
Not reaching for the phone.
Not picking up another book.
Just listening.

Because this fear of man is wearing me out.
Man's judgement is cruel.
My own judge is the cruelest of all.
And I long to be held in the hands of a righteous judge.

Even if He breaks me into a million pieces.

The Truth holds me close and tight and trustworthy.
This Savior Who gave His life for me.
Who loves me.
Who delights in me.
Who sings songs of deliverance over me.

And I...
I want to stack some stones.
Not thrown.
So I will never forget the hands that took the nails.
So I will never have to go back to the shadow lands again.

So I can live free.

In my Father's Love,

Bernadette