#TellHisStory – Divine Appointments

Yesterday I was in a waiting room at a clinic , taking in the people around me and waiting my turn. As many of you know, I am not generally a shy person so I usually end up striking up a conversation with someone that I sit near.
There was a lady and man sitting next to me. They were talking about finding parking (which in this particular area in hit or miss). He indicated that he had to drive a bit to find parking and had found a spot outside an elementary school. He looked up to find several young men leaning on the metal fence and looking down the street. As he exited his car, they yelled to him “Excuse me sir. Excuse me, mister” He looked up and they said, “Would you be able to get our ball, its down there a bit and has gone under a car.” The man looked where they were pointing and saw a yellow soccer ball stuck under the back of a car. He went and retrieved the ball, and as he walked back to give them the ball they boys began to chant ‘M-V-P, M-V-P” They received their ball back with thanks and the man went on his way. My comment to him was, ‘Now that is a great way to start a Monday.”

And this story stuck with me. How much did it cost that man to go out of his way for complete strangers? Not too much (well I don’t truly know this, but I’d guess this to be true). And yet so often, I see so many (myself included) that by pass things they could be involved in because its ‘not mine to mess with’ or ‘i don’t want to get involved’. I think a lot of the time, I am just not wanting to feel uncomfortable, truth be told. The situation or talking to the person might mean that I am somehow inconvenienced and for some reason that deters me. Many articles that I’ve read recently and instances in my own life have me thinking of the fact that each person is made in the image of God and each person has inherent dignity. While there may be a legitimate reason that I am not able to assist someone at the moment, it is integral that I check my actions and see if I am stepping away from an opportunity that God has placed in my journey.

I remember someone telling me that every morning when they woke up that they would ask God to provide opportunities to share Him with the world, divine opportunities they called them. And I wonder what my life would look like if my eyes were more open to the opportunities that surround me, rather then being preoccupied by what they might cost me. I am being challenged in this, and am not sure how to be consistent in this, but it something that I am seeing as costing me personally so little, and who knows what kind of difference in might make in someone’s life. Maybe this opportunity is a divine appointment that God’s set up…actually, there is no maybe about it.

linking with Mary over at marygeisen.com for Tell His Story >>”Each week we gather as storytellers, word weavers, and encouragers to make His name known. Our story is God’s story and this small corner of the blogging world, where we come together each Tuesday, needs yours.”

carrying the burden

The ebb and flow of words
melts between us
two humbled souls
seeking truth
through written word
and pondered thoughts

sometimes the load
becomes heavy upon our shoulders
seeking out answers
forming opinions
taking in the every present world
and yet there is a quiet we know
and we search for

His hands are open wide
ready for embrace
we can crawl into His lap
we can hear him whisper peace
letting us know
He holds us, he holds it all

there is peace to be found
in letting Him reveal truth
in bringing those moments
to our minds and pen scratches

letting our souls fill
with knowledge he has revealed
no longer a heavy burden
but a dream that has been shared
and given to us for the taking
the holding on
the breathing out

inspired by my dear friend Kelli  and our conversation of today, linking with Jennifer and Emily



reading through my Facebook feed and I see a picture of a mosaic..and it resonates.

pieces of the broken, re-imagined into a beautiful work of art. The brokenness remains, and yet it has become so much a part of something more, something bigger than it was originally.

and in the midst of the hurt, the ache, the pieces of our heart that we think will never again be full or working ever again, there is a hand, one that reaches down, picks up the pieces, and tenderly begins to place them in a mosaic of beauty beyond anything we had ever begun to imagine if we had been the creative force.

The broken pieces seem to overwhelm these days. A blog writer extraordinaire who has longed for several years for children, found out upon the day of her child-to-be’s birth, that the birth mama had decided to keep him…12 hours after they received a picture of his birth. His crib was full of blankets, the clothes hung in his closet, pictures of animals adorned his walls a place full of vibrant life to be, now a stark reminder of a raw ache and blistering heart. Closing the door on this room, feels like a punch in the stomach, a sucking out of the last breathe of light…and still her and her husband fight on, for one more breathe, for that one spark of hope, for those broken pieces to be made into something beautiful only He can see and know.

A status update declaring a husband of 30 plus years has signed the paperwork for their divorce only a week ago and is already engaged to the ‘new love of his life’. And i realize that even though i didn’t know it, these two from my past, from my early years seemed infallible to me. They too have suffered deep and felt the cracks threaten their very lives. A vibrant teenage son passing away in the middle of the night from an unknown ailment. Several years of life altering surgery…and with these two tragic events, fissures begin to make themselves known in the relationships. Cracks that perhaps had been masked with basic repair, began to blast wide open, leaving heart break spread carelessly upon the ground, memories lay in cascading force, the blast from the betrayal all encompassing…and yet somewhere, I know that there is hope for her, though the light seems more than dim, barely a flicker.

And I read of a daughter dreamed of, a soul taken to heaven early in the pregnancy…a vision sparked to life and then sent to black and white, only shadows of the dream that was. Not only aching in heart and body, but the young boys who knew the life that had sparked, now speak to know of heaven and their sisters time spent in the arms of their Saviour. And the ribbons and lace, the sparkles of grace, now seem to be a figment, a dream that became a reality and then was snuffed out, like the last burning of that midnight oil. This heart break, this soul tear…this wounding of places so deep and vulnerable, seems that it will bleed forever. and yet, there is hope…the sunlight glistens through the black mask of grief, and that one shard that lights up and pierces through the grief, speaks of a renewal, of a piecing back together…of a hand at work, holding in comfort, picking up and carefully reassembling what was worldly broken.

and my heart aches. Because i know that pain. Because i know that sometimes all you want to do is scream into the silence, to let people know that you’re still alive and that you don’t understand why life continues on like nothing happened when inside its all you can do to try to hold yourself together. When you feel like you’ve fallen to pieces, that you look around you and there isn’t a piece of you that you can call whole…and yet you know, there is hope. That there is a spark, that no matter what, will not be relinquished. and that there is a beam of light, that tears through those places and begins to warm and heal. And that there is a mighty hand, a hand that knows the picture of perfection, that we are being made into a reflection of our broken, beautiful Saviour, more and more as the pieces become smooth and worn and more perfectly fit together into the picture only he can see, to the design only He can fashion in his own way.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi