Sometimes I put pen to page (figuratively) to pan for gold dust in the tumult of words in my brain, mining out the imagery, sifting out the illustrations, bringing a shine to the truths I want to share.
Sometimes I presume I have reached a clever perspective or the Lord has unveiled an epiphany and I rush to put it into words, then find that someone else who has had the same revelation has gotten it together more quickly. I am redundant. I take seriously the admonition not to add to the noise, and I won't presume my presumptions on readers if another writer has said it already, and said it better.
Photo credit: Josi Opo
It's been said before: God must derive a considerable amount of amusement in the outworking of some of his providences. That I have three daughters has to be near the top of the list.
I grew up with three brothers -- lovely chaps. I can put a worm on a hook with finesse, low-crawl through a field with a 3-foot long stick strapped to my back, and sustain mocking and teasing ("we're just building character in her, mom") without shedding a single tear because showing weakness was like tossing red meat to caged and hungry lions. But I didn't try make up until my senior portraits were taken. I didn't learn how to braid hair until I was twenty. And sibling moments were usually punctuated with jokes about flatulence.
My education in sisterhood was pretty limited.
For a homeowner, one of the greatest headache-inducing discoveries to make is to find that a portion of your home's foundation is deteriorating -- a threat, if left unaddressed (at least, according to the foundation contractors pitching their services on TV), that will pitch the beloved homestead at an angle or even (*gasp*) into a sinkhole. With a little investigation, the culprit is often revealed. In the cracks and crevices, you see wavy silt lines and feel damp surfaces. Water has made its way to the foundation, where the merest trickle is enough to wreak havoc. The lowliest drip of unrestrained agua persistently pattering on the same surface or through an opening for even a moderate length of time can touch off a series of circumstances that could result in thousands of dollars of repair. Believe me, I know.
If that's the kind of damage a little bit of water can do, imagine how unsettling it was for me to find myself standing in a passageway 13 storeys below the surface of the earth with water raging past overhead at a volume of 6 million cubic feet per minute. Even more unsettling is the realization that this passageway had to be built because a previous one no longer exists, having been worn away by time and erosion caused by the power of water -- approximately one foot per year. Just 70 years before and 60 feet to my left there had been rock through which a tunnel had been driven. Now, in that space, there was just air. Well, air filled with mist.
And I thought a little trickle of water was bad news.
In the days following 9/11, there was story after story about heroes.
Here's mine of my failure.
"Are you watching TV? Go turn on your TV."
It was an hour into our school day and 4 weeks since my knee injury which rendered me somewhat limited in certain activities, climbing stairs being one of them.
But climb the stairs I did because the urgency in my friend's voice compelled me to go, go now. I pushed the button and saw the World Trade Center tower with smoke billowing out of its side. All immediate sensations went numb; I blinked and looked more closely at the screen, sure I was watching some morbid daytime advertising mistake, and through the confusion in my brain I heard the footsteps of the 3- and 5-year olds hit the landing two-thirds of the way up the stairs.
Because I am enjoying a nice getaway with my husband and because I think more people should read my daughter's blog than mine, I am sending readers over to Mr. Hunter's Wife, where grace and vulnerability, wit and wisdom meet for some of the most poignant and delightful conversation around. Below begins her latest post, "Silence". I hope you read and enjoy, and I hope you regularly visit her blog. ~ LM
by Hannah Hunter
This blog post has no answer and it has no real point, except that God is good and the only solid Thing in my life.
I flail like a buoy in a storm that seems to have no end.
Perhaps, some days, I can keep the tossing of my soul under wraps. I can shove it hastily in a box, stick it in my closet, and scurry like the Mad Hatter on the temporary business of the day.
But most days, despite my attempts to suffocate it, to will it into submission, my somehow angry, frustrated, bitter soul snags loved ones close by with a left hook.
I say “somehow” because I really don’t understand what happened.
I was walking close with God. I could feel His presence in my every moment. I breathed in and smelled His glory in the summer air. I heard His praises in the quiet still of my jobless monotone.
And then I landed a job.
I thanked Him! I couldn’t believe He had answered my prayer after many weeks and months of desperately wanting to work.
And then He was silent.
I continued to get up early with Mister, to make some coffee and oatmeal with apples, to do the dishes, to feed the dog. I continued to ready myself for work and left at a reasonable time. I continued to work hard all day .....
One of the good things about having a bad memory is a tendency to forget offenses. But one of the bad things about having a bad memory is a tendency to forget offenses. The good part is obvious, I know. What a blessing it is that I am likely not to dwell on and mull over offenses, leading to speculation and assignation of motives. And this has indeed been a great thing when it’s really just irritations and annoyances and not offenses that pop up in my day. If I abide in Christ and allow the Lord to draw me nearer, I am not likely to even see these little blips of aggravations, and if I do, my bad memory serves me well again and the thoughts of them just fade away.
Colossians 3:13? I've got this down: “Bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.”
Laura Miller aka mrsdkmiller
Looking for a list of articles published around the web?
Looking for posts written in response to 5-Minute Friday prompts? Click here:
Her March Isn't Over
Across the River
When God Pries My Fingers Off My Children
Life's Defining Moments
To the Christian Wife Who Berated Her Husband in Front of My Daughter
Zeal and Grace in France
An Unconventional Love Story
Seeing What's in Front of Our Eyes
Remembering Why I Called You Hannah
Love Your Sister.
Because He Came Home
Go Valiantly! A Prayer for New Homeschooling Moms
© lauraenglandmiller, #thereyougothinkingagain, Laura E Miller
2015-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of written material and images without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to #thereyougothinkingagain, lauraenglandmiller, or Laura E Miller with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.