After God’s Own Heart

 

 

Ah!  Vast expanse of sun swept sky shouts “Glory!”  

while breath fully whispering into the depths of a heart

that You are close, wanting to fill me up til I soar with You

Up There

 

“David”, You called, a man after Your own heart

not perfect, certainly!  Just wanting to feel. “Come”

closer until I know who You are, Your heart

Down Here

 

With me, Creator, You create.  Love.  Intertwisted together

heart to heart.  Is that what it looks like to be

after Your own heart, somewhere?

Over There

 

That promising rainbow magically appearing

Wait…There’s a second arching over

so colorfully embracing, heartfully the same

Right Here

 

Now.  Peeking over the horizoned edge of creativity

I create, barely touching the potentiality that is ours

together, if I could just be after Your own heart 

Every Where

 

nk

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My Little Red Book

I awoke at 3:42 a.m. with a voice inside me saying, “You need to write about the little red book.”  Only such a crazy thought could have jolted me out of my sleepy fog.  “WHAT?”, my discriminating self responded.  “WHY would I write about THAT?”… and….”WHO would possibly be interested?”  Then my creative, whimsical self jumped in, “Why not? It’s one of your treasures.  It could be fun!”  My imaginative self usually wins out, so the wheels started to turn, “This could be a lovely challenge!”  I wanted to go get the book right then and hold it.  But instead I stayed in bed, holding it in my heart as I contemplated its intrinsic value. “What indeed makes this little red book special?”…and, “Why do creative juices so often flow in the middle of the night?”

Now it is a new day.  I hold in my hands the little red book which I keep tucked away in a secret spot.  The book is really not a secret, I just don’t want it tossed to the wind, mistaken for something old and worthless.  It has been around for many years and somehow survived.  I did not knowingly, with intentionality, keep it.  Yet, it is still present, kept with me.  It is soft in my hands, well worn, a small paperback bound with sewn stitches, and most of the pages are still intact.  It was a gift from the “Room Mothers” of my second grade class.  It was just the right size for small hands.

( I especially love the “famous & not-so-famous” )

It was my first blush with an “Autograph Book”.  I suppose they were popular back then.  I did know that you were to fold each page inward on the diagonal as it was completed in order to keep it “confidential”.

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What I did not understand was that the book was intended for signatures and perhaps hand written notes by others to the owner of the book.  I correctly had my friends sign (well, print) on an individual page, but then I exuberantly proceeded to write something about each of THEM!  What I wrote is quite amusing.  Here are a few examples….( unedited )

It is amazing to me how memories work.  One sentence written decades ago and saved in a small paper book can bring back a lasting memory.  As I read each line, I get a glimpse of each face still, as if it were yesterday, yet 75% of these people I have not seen since elementary school.  Two of them I have seen again in the last two years at a high school reunion.

Why is my little red book special?  Because friendships are special, and no matter who they are, or for how long, they are to be treasured.  Why else would I hold so close this little red book from so long ago?  These are childhood friends…they know me and I know them in ways only children can know.

Then, I think the intrinsic value of this little red book comes through the “but” or the “and” of the sentences.  Love is always present here.  Both positive and negative observations and perceptions of each person are expressed honestly and then encapsulated in the affirming, accepting nature of a child by adding a “but” or an “and” to complete the descriptive portrait. I hope and pray that as long as I live I can remember to put the “but” in every sentence I speak or write about another person, thus finding and expressing something good in all God has made.  I want to help create a world of friendships, so this must be a constant endeavor at every corner and every encounter, every day.  If I could do this and keep it in a little red book, it would definitely be worth saving and a treasure to hold.

Pondering….

What friends do you remember from your childhood and what was special about them?

Where might the “but” go into a sentence for you?

nk

 

“Here a chick…”

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“There a chick, everywhere a chick, chick?”

Caressingly nestled, downy bundles of joy!

“Hold them securely,” she said, “give them something to stand on.”

Oops…footloose!

Hard to tell, sometimes, heads or tails, forwards or backwards,

Which way?  Need to be held close to feel

a heart beat within.

Cradle the child, again and again til tomorrow’s tomorrow finds

a platform…breath, courage, strength

to soar!

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Dear children, Grammy is always here

for you.

 

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nk

 

 

The Redbud

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Hello Redbud!  Who named you my friend?  Why do they call you red when you are purple?  Or at least I would say you are purple!  Let me look again…

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Wait a minute…I think you are pink! Crazy Redbud!  Are you blushing? Perhaps we all see colors differently?

When we want to convey an image appropriately, we look intently to discern the color clearly.  Sometimes that can be a bit tricky, considering the different shades of colors.

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These are wonderful artist’s pastels which my Mom used and gave to me.  Through her  I became more familiar with the refinement of colors.  I know chartreuse, a strong greenish yellow to yellowish green…magenta, a vivid purplish red to reddish purple… turquoise, a light bluish green to greenish blue…on and on it goes.  Is color infinite?

Redbud, what color would you say you are?  If we give you another name, would you still know who you are?  Would you lose your identity?  What if I said, “Hey there Magentabud!”.  Whatever we call your color, it is still undeniable as a distinguishing element at the heart of your true self.  Your nature is to bloom in this color, the color in which you are most apt to blossom, regardless of how each of us sees it, or names it at any transitory moment.

The bigger picture is that often we prescribe what we think is an unquestionable truth to a certain place, person, or situation by the description of polarized color.  Is it black or white?  Can we come closer to the truth by being adaptable to changing perception of color?  Is not every color innately good?

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Late yesterday I took this photo of a different tree, quite large and not yet in bloom.  It appeared through the same lens I used to snap previous photos.  It is not a “black and white” photo, but it appears that way.  Wow, isn’t it beautiful?  It doesn’t look at all the same today in the sunlight.  Perhaps I need to look more closely before I attempt to describe any color.  Even late bloomers know who they truly are, and that is good!

Pondering…

What conclusions do we make based on color?

How do we come to name a certain color?

How do we blossom in a black and white world?

nk