Thursday, November 6, 2008


I'm seeking it.

I find certain words tiresome, confining, and suffocating:
They give me claustrophobia.

Isn't this gift of life to be more poetic than that? Could the God who paints anew a sunrise in prelude and a sunset as finale to each day have destined the crown of His creation to routine, schedule, and predictable?

I prefer to think not.

He is an artist. At once a poet, a musician, a painter, and a sculptor.

So I search for the rhythm of my life. The melody of my days. The poetry in to-do lists. The richest color in the mundane. The heart of a woman in the stony-ness of my flesh. I seek the artist's delight, His glory and His smile in the everyday.

1 comment:

  1. It sound as if you have a rhythm of words. Life is not a pattern. But your words can be the Rhythm you are looking for. Keep writing and do not loss heart in the stuff of life. Galen and I are praying for your family.