31 Days to Grace (Day 23): in memories (a poem).

In the deepest of remembering

 every life that entered mine, 

I am given grace.

In recollecting,

my mind awakens 

to what God has done.

Again, grace.

In reminiscing

my soul moves to knowing

that grace equals blessing.

In the recognizing 

who holds my life

so lovingly in His hands

I receive grace. 

                                            -by Dionne Adkison
                                                                        (copy-protected. Please do not use without permission).

I enjoy linking up with this awesome blogger:

 Jen Ferguson and the Soli Deo Gloria linky party

Breaking Chairs...sometimes ya gotta interpret the poetry: #2

Today, I am linking up with one of my favorite 
party blogs: Soli Deo Gloria (Jen rocks!)
http://www.findingheaventoday.com/ 
 
I despise labels and roles...they remind me of being forced to sit in the same chair at the dinner table because nobody likes change. Or perhaps they are less comfortable with spontaneity...prefer routine?

Sure, labels on merchandise help you buy baking powder so you don't make the mistake of buying baking soda, but human labels...limit people. Labels lie. Hurt actually.  

Some labels are desirable, but mostly I don't want them. I find myself getting too tangled up in them and trying to doing something to keep those labels...skinny, doesn't look her age, pretty, responsible, great mom, good Christian girl...It's exhausting.

Sometimes you gotta interpret the poetry: Everybody has scars

Ever read a poem and think...Huh, what?  Yeah, me too. So with a shameless plug for a poem I wrote...is a blog written and inspired from it.


 Some people have physical scars, but everyone has scars left on their hearts. Evidence of battles for acceptance, significance, truth, love, and being right. Everyone has at least one.  If we are honest, we would like to show off these scars to show the world what we have accomplished. How we got thru those fights, trials, etc.
    Others would say they prefer to hide their blemishes perhaps because they aren't proud of them. They're unsightly and the world mocks you when one is revealed. Most scars are hard to conceal. At some point, one burrows out of the hole we tried to cover it with and peeks out with a resounding, "I won't be squelched!"
     Still some scars are a beautiful reminder of having gave life to a new little being or to another person in great need.


If you are so lucky, you have scars inside and out. (Note sarcasm).
      Like the one below from a childhood accident (okay, so I stupidly listened to my brother and we were jumping from the wooden toy box to our bunk bed. I slipped and fell into a play kitchen made of metal). I think I single-handedly might have helped change toys made from metal to plastic:

Writer's Workshop: Flakes of Wrath

Flakes of Wrath hit hard.
A blizzard predicted perfectly.
Stuck at work with panicked students.
Spanish phone calls to frightened parents.

Cars stalled, slipping, stuck.
Digging mounds of pure white, an attempt to remove all evidence.

Headline reads: Hubby hero saves teens;
He helps them push bus out of a huge snow drift.

After snow chains applied to tires,
freedom to move occurs slowly, slippery.

An abandoned car sits outside my home.
Lonely, frozen in time.
Furious flakes accumulate and threaten to bury it.

Knee deep with snowmen as my goal, I wait patiently for the end of the pure fury.