Smaller Moments Mean More

When the mist on the pond lifts up to the air

The morning hath come and I give witness to life once again.

For I am up through the night, my old haunts hath returned

A way of coping, of living:  just what I gotta do for right now.

So I edit a magazine, make charts of treatments, plan for when I will be well,

Most folks would not notice the shifts ever so small

The wretched episodes continue albeit with shaking, less overall.

I had to gain courage to take more meds/more remedies than ever before

Go rogue to kill the monsters within with faith and every tool from this road.

“Parasites in the brain” sounds pretty scary might you agree?

Yet that is exactly where I have arrived so be that as it may

Find me spacey perchance to dream when restorative sleep comes that way.

The smaller treats of life mean more to me now in my softened state

I get to see them in slow motion and savior their texture, their smell even when awful like glue.

What is before me fills every moment in much more detail

Healing comes small before big so intentionally I walk through most of the day.

Don’t get me wrong, the chores fill more hours than they used to years ago

That ‘s just one part of the plan so is rest and in times of rest I believe answers we have found.

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One does feel ever so small next to God’s majesty revealed in the big sky over Wyoming . . .

Time to focus

Sick and tired of being the same

I digress into another rant . . . or shall I?

Would that honor the Lord who has sustained

Delivered me from near-death and brought me to you?

Oh if there could just be a happy ending already my dear

Would I still angst over my words or lightly dance over the keys?

These are questions that will not be answered this night or even the next

As my beloved returns home to my side from his travels, refreshed from lack o’ drama.

I must find some joy to carry me out of this funk for the path to recovery is becoming clearer

Glimpses of what may be come through the struggles amuck and late night appointments with my Doctor who works too much.

But is it more than I, just wanting to be well?  I think not for the rewards for victims are slim:  our fellowship better not be tainted by our woes!

Would you and I be friends if it weren’t for our life paths diverted?  Probably not so let’s not spend time there, just trust we were meant to be here now.

And I thank you for carrying me when I could not stand, liking my words when their worth eluded me in the dim of night, listening when most were asleep.

It is time to focus on the prize coming into view:  this possible final leg of the race that will take all my strength as Mr. Herx clears the debris that soured my inner places.

I might just win.  This life season just might end.  Stay tuned, Gentle Reader.  Please pray and I will do the same.  Of course you know me all too well:  I’ll be sure to letcha know…  JJ

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Digging down deep

Beneath the wet earth from the late season snow

Chilled like the flavorless angst of my threadbare resolve,

Lies packages of hope:  those tubers, those bulbs yet asleep

Waiting for their time when the sun awakens their beauty in Spring.

Toil not, they do not, using their time of dormancy for its purpose instead

Such that life may burst forth with all that emerges from within

Stored in seasons past, full of sugar-coated memories divided between

The new members, the seeds that join miraculous transformation:  the celebration of life as it comes.

How may I be like the created things all around knowing I am so much more —

Use my time of spinning, of strife, of waiting, of failure whilst holding on for my day of celebration too?

For I am worth more than the fruits of the earth, the birds of the air soaring on high

The giant wonders of dark seas, the furry and creepy crawly ones all around

For they have no sense of wonder to bother to reason or ask the mysterious, the “why?”

They simply trust in the DNA of their making and bid their calling to each moment in time.

I may never know the answers to my questions, my quest to make sense of this suffering that goes on

And that must be good enough for me anyways to make the most of what I have been given

As perhaps a stewardship issue, a story told more in the heavenlies than for me here on God’s green earth to know

That someday, digging down deep in my own soul, my Lord will reveal His glory and I will be glader than the raven capturing her prey from above.

Until then, Gentle Reader, we two must trust in the plans set forth by our Father God

Knowing full well that more lies ahead than the lime green leaves birthed from the showers of April

We shall see God and He will love us now til the end of the age when we blossom to the fullness of our destiny

Everlasting, everbearing, ever singing praise to the Most High Who had our hearts all along dear one . . . He said so . . . the beauty from ashes came as we went on and believed.  JJ

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