Cut Along This Line
Blame the scissors or my hand or my brain but I can't seem to cut off the strip. I jab at it and chop it and throw the jagged remnants in the garbage.
Blame the scissors or my hand or my brain but I can't seem to cut off the strip. I jab at it and chop it and throw the jagged remnants in the garbage.
Anger and frustration over words yesterday.
Pancake mix just add water.
Quick and easy and I need to feed my kids and now the easy zip won't zip and God please don't let this be a bad day.
The conversation was a hard one. My fault. I ruined it from the very beginning.
I answered the phone to her asking me to gift someone. And I said no. I just can't do that right now and if I did manage it somehow I can only do it for someone that has done it for me.
And a part of me fragmented.
Sandra doesn't speak a word and I ramble on justifing and ended it with a
Do you know what I mean?
She quietly said, Yeah - dragging it out long and slow. For she knew I was wrong.
And in the hesitant drawl of that one word I pound nail.
And where is my heart? Not life organ that beats strong but love giver that is on a slippery slope to nowhere. It is not joined to my soul because Jesus has my soul but not always my heart . . .
And guilt is still wrecking me and it just says to Cut Along This Line.
And I have. I've cut line across kindness and goodness and mercy and thrown them jagged in garbage.
And the world keeps turning.
Steam rises and bubbles pop and I turn over pancakes.
They cover them in peanut butter and more butter and I pray, Please forgive me.
Baby cries and I test the warmness of life for him and Max runs, I need to wash my hands, and Jack circles tail wagging at each baby coo with a need to understand this small interruption into his life.
And my world has tilted slightly on its axis. Turning away from the Son with days like yesterday.
Child is home sick and I kiss the man I love going away for the weekend and on the stove my gift cooks long.
If I could just cut along the line that adds sin to my days . . .
For I am the one that permits my days to be bad . . .
Just Add Jesus.
My world needs to turn as much for what is out there as what is in here.
For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. Romans 8:13
And I have. I've cut line across kindness and goodness and mercy and thrown them jagged in garbage.
And the world keeps turning.
Steam rises and bubbles pop and I turn over pancakes.
They cover them in peanut butter and more butter and I pray, Please forgive me.
Baby cries and I test the warmness of life for him and Max runs, I need to wash my hands, and Jack circles tail wagging at each baby coo with a need to understand this small interruption into his life.
And my world has tilted slightly on its axis. Turning away from the Son with days like yesterday.
Child is home sick and I kiss the man I love going away for the weekend and on the stove my gift cooks long.
If I could just cut along the line that adds sin to my days . . .
For I am the one that permits my days to be bad . . .
Just Add Jesus.
My world needs to turn as much for what is out there as what is in here.
For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. Romans 8:13
