Day 111 – Focusing on Him

I am amazed how many times God speaks His word through Camilla’s blog. Keeping my eyes fixed on Him as He leads us through the maze of what we need to do.

God's creation through my eyes

“… nor do we know what to do, but our eyes are upon You.” 2 Chronicles 20:12b

(Is better to meet God with tears in your eyes than weapons in your hands. ~ Thomas Watson)

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I am from

My friend, Sylvia inspired me with a piece that she wrote a few years ago.  I loved writing this, and have saved it, because I enjoy the walk now and then down memory lane.  I may need to write one titled “where I am”, but not today.

I am from small town Idaho, from clothes dried on the line, from lazy summer afternoons spent watching clouds form into familiar shapes.

I am from a small 2 bedroom house, lilacs outside the kitchen window, climbing roses out the back door, new kittens born in the crawl space under the house, and goats and chickens in the back yard.

I am from the garden,  from fresh strawberries picked just that morning, and the never-ending chore of keeping the weeds out of them.

I am from penny candy and feathered bangs.

From Engblade and Schappert, and Lewis, Davis, and Durrett.

From “come straight home from school” and “do you want a spanking?”

From hearty laughter and “FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD”

I am from the Yakima Indian Mission, stained glass windows, “Now I Belong to Jesus”, VBS, Sunday school, traditional hymns, after church potlucks and ice cream socials. From dresses on Sunday morning, and jeans are fine for evening service.

I’m from Salvation Army thrift store finds, hand-me-downs, and saving babysitting money for those expensive popular brand name clothes.

I’m from Idaho, Oregon and Washington. From beans and cornbread, biscuits and gravy. I am from surprise family vacations, and weekend campouts in the hills.

I am from fresh baked bread laid out on mom’s kitchen table and from the fresh dirt tilled in preparation for dad’s garden next spring. I am from weekend long canning sprees, and cleaning house “like Momma likes it” in preparation for company.

From worn out LP’s of Hank Williams, Slim Whitman, and Marty Robbins. From Momma’s gentle humming. I am from the kitchen. From “Put your hand in the hand of the man” complete with our own version of the “jitterbug” taught and learned during chore time. From “Tell me why you love Jesus…” From candles and oil lamps and power outages.

I am from family meals, family prayers, and family gatherings. I am from a small house that sheltered a large family with faith in a Great God.

By New Things Posted in Poetry