Wednesday, March 4, 2015

A Place That Beckons

At the beach, life is different. 
Time doesn't move hour to hour but mood to moment. 
We live by currents, plan by the tides, and follow the sun. 
~ Unknown

We are bidding adieu to the bitterly cold, snowy winter.
Not sorry at all to see it in our rear view mirror.
We are packing up our Maizie Grace and escaping someplace warm and happy and comforting.
Someplace that continually beckons our hearts and calls to our souls.
A place that heals.
A place where we feel God's presence in an incredibly tangible way.

We are bagging up our sadness and stress
and dumping it in the trash can on our way out the door.

We are going to quickly adapt to becoming lazy beach bums
with sunburned noses and tangled beach hair;
squinty tan lines around our eyes,
and peeling shoulders;
wearing a fragrance of salty air and suntan oil.

We are going to spend hours gazing at the rolling waves;
doing absolutely nothing but
listen to the tinkling of the shells being pulled back into the ocean
watch sandpipers scurry up and down the beach
drink too many Angry Orchards
read piles of books
walk miles along the coast
watch Maizie explore and discover sandy treasures
 chill out with tanned feet propped up on a porch railing
watch a sherbet colored sun kiss turquoise waves.

We will not think of returning;
only focusing on the present moment with toes sunk deep in the warm, shell strewn sand
with clacking palm trees overhead.

We will tilt our heads together in love.
Walk hand in hand through the surf.
Heave deep sighs of relief.
Relax. Unwind.
Hug, smile, and hug again.

We are going to regroup.
Remember what it's like to laugh again.

Lift our faces to the warmth of God's never failing love...
appreciate how blessed we truly are...
and savor every single moment He gives us.

~  Eucharisteo  ~

Linking to the linky parties on the lower right of my sidebar.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

The Love That Breaks a Heart

“If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. 
And it never faded, and it never got stale. 
And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.”  ~Daphne du Maurier

Days meld into evenings.
Snowy mornings fall into frigid nights.
Life moves, 
pushes forward.
 I find myself moving with it ~
sometimes reluctantly.
Dragging my feet; reaching back.
Arms outstretched.
Wanting to stay in the moment
and not step into the next one.
I feel like with each passing day
more life is left behind.
I feel anxious and nervous about the future. 

I don't want to forget.
I am so afraid of forgetting.

Their voices. Their touch. Their smiles. Their laughter. Their tears...
Bloglandia hasn't seen much of Heaven's Walk these past months.
My heart still struggles with emptiness. 
My feeble attempt at putting words to paper fail miserably.
The void is tangible, presses down hard.
Depletes me.
I know deep inside that I continue to be blessed abundantly ~
with my loving husband, my Maizie Grace, family and friends. 
Living in this old farmhouse surrounded by woods and water, 
rooms warmed by a big furnace,
healthy food lining the pantry shelves,
beds piled with down comforters,
patchouli scented air...
all huge blessings that make me bow my head in gratitude.
God makes his presence known with peace and comfort.
I close my eyes and breathe him in deeply.

But a part of me is missing.
Torn away.
Seemingly treading water;
pushing myself back up to the surface to gasp for breath.

Between chores...stolen gazes out the window....
purposefully remembering.
Knowing the pain will hit sharply
like a punch to the gut.
The moments come unexpectedly,
blindsiding me;
making my soul curl up in a fetal position.

I reach back in time and allow myself to sink into the memories.
Reliving the shock, painful decisions, and sadness.
Beating myself down with the "whys" and "what-ifs".
Not a place where I want to be, and I try to push away from it,
but it's a place I keep falling in to time and time again.

I touch my dad's lilac painting setting before me in my studio.
I pull his coat on over my shoulders to go shovel snow in our driveway.
I run my fingers across my mother's handwriting on a birthday card from years past,
and clasp her diamond necklace around my neck.

 So much has happened over the past eight months.
Eight months?  How could it be eight months?
To a broken heart,
it seems like yesterday.
The pain is still that big and encompassing.
It swallows me whole.

How long does a heart grieve? How long does the soul ache?
I want to go back in time...
I don't want to forget
I don't want the pain of remembering.
Yet still...
I want to remember.

Responding to the tugs of divinity within.
 Healing through tears and sleepless nights.
The [Holy Spirit] knows the beat of your heart when you have forgotten how to be.
The [Holy Spirit] knows the lyrics of why you are loved - when you can’t remember quite how to live….
The [Holy Spirit] will sing your song - God’s song for you - when you have long forgotten the words to His Word – to yourself.  ~Ann Voskamp
The world around me seems loud, crude, and invasive.
I want to shut it out and escape.
 It doesn't understand.
I feel God hiding me in the shadow of his hand.  

“God speaks in the language you know best - not through your ears, but through your circumstances.”  ~Oswald Chambers
"May our loves never leave us, at least not for long.
May our passions not be buried so deep by our pain and brokenness that they become impossible to recover.
May we know God and in turn, know ourselves." ~ author unknown

~  Eucharisteo  ~

Linking to the linky parties on the lower right of my sidebar.