wings, fields, bones

Today is the last day of January and the snow is pouring down again. I've had a fairly productive day, one that allows me to relax and let grace sink in this evening, in the company of family.

Waiting de-motivates me. All my effort concentrates on endurance. Do the next thing. And the next, and then the next. So, I haven't had anything worthwhile to write, and I absolutely don't want this blog to be mere catharsis.

Events have transpired: I got to paint my in-laws' kitchen finally! My sister visited and together we met up with dear old friends. Brett's work has been suspended until the company gets a bid, which means we have gotten to spend much time together and pay bills out of our savings for a little while. In the past five months we were denied by five lenders and the sixth approved us so we were able to make an offer on a house this last week, just when I was about to start apartment-hunting. A gift we are making led us to explore several local antique shops which are tantalizingly quaint, and to our happy amazement we have acquired an authentic ship's helm.

I think a snowy field is one of the most restful, potent sights in the world - not barren at all. With all due respect to poet Langston Hughes, I offer this modified sentiment as an expression of what it looks like to give our dreams over to the Author of life.

surrender dreams
for when dreams end
life is a broken-winged bird
that God will mend

relinquish dreams
for if dreams fail
life is a barren field
Spring shall unveil

The truth is, I need God to crush my dreams. I know this might sound harsh. But if I build my house upon the sand it will be washed away. This capacity to dream such vivid dreams is surely meant for more than my benefit alone. I may not want refinement, but I need it.

Make me to hear joy and gladness, let the bones which Thou hast broken rejoice. Psalm 51:8