Skip to main content

Day 30 Thank You

The final day of 31 days of writing (or 30 days if you're me and you took a day off). I have loved sharing these words with you over the past month. I hope the experience has allowed the Holy Spirit to speak through me and whisper to your heart and give you some wisdom.  I know that he has definitely worked in me.

I'm currently working on some writing goals for 2019, that way I'll be here more often than I have been. And a new website is in the works, so stay tuned! Thank you so much for your love and support-- I really and truly appreciate it!

So for this final day, I leave you with a prayer:

Father, thank you for moments of peace in the middle of crazy schedules, hectic lives, and struggles in this life that lay heavy on our hearts day to day. Your peace surpasses understanding, and for this we are grateful.  I thank you for this journey you've brought me on, and the friends that have supported me along the way.  Bless them and fill them with your joy and your hope. Help us to go out from here and love people well, love ourselves well, and love you well.  We need you Abba. Thank you for who you are, Love, and for your salvation that tugs a reminder of love and grace in our hearts every day. We love you.

Amen.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Day 25 What Are You Carrying?

Yesterday I drove up to New Hampshire to visit Ian (my boyfriend). I got there later in the afternoon and I had spent the morning working on things at home.  About an hour after I got to NH, we went to the Fall Festival at his church across the border in Vermont. By the time we got there, it was dark already, I was pretty tired and hungry, and this event was HUGE.  Much bigger than I expected. It was really cool-- food trucks, pony rides, laser tag, trunk-or-treating, Incredibles 2 playing on the side of the church, the works. But. Of course. My anxiety decided to form a lens over my eyes.  The crowds of people around me grew louder and I felt trapped amongst the hundreds of bodies.  My heart started to beat faster with every person who walked by. I have anxiety, I've mentioned this before, and many times large crowds will bring it on. I'm sure many of you know the feeling. And it can be the worst. Here I was, looking forward to having a fun time and enjo...

Dear World

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To an utterly broken world, Why? A question so frequently asked, but is it ever truthfully answered? So many horrid, horrific, unspeakable things happen day after day. Many to innocent persons. Many overlooked. Dear world, there is one who knows your suffering. No, not simply knows, but feels it in an innermost way, understands so deeply, so intimately. In fact, he suffered every pain this world has to offer. And he still bears the scars. Consider Lazarus' death.  The biblical story that holds the shortest verse in scripture: "Jesus wept." He knows the pain. No matter how big a scar it leaves on your heart or how long it lingers within you.  He knows. He knows and he weeps with us.  He holds us close during tribulation, and he reminds us that he has overcome it all-- we do not have to be overcome by it all. When dark...

Anchor

Breathe. Inhale... exhale.  I am alive. The first fragile snowflake falls in December. A field of flowers swaying in a spring breeze. A star shoots past the moon on a warm summer night. The low roll of thunder when a storm begins. A broken pot that sits on the shelf in an old potter's home. I see my Savior in all these things-- my Anchor -- but not in the broken pot. You see, the broken pot is one that simply sits on a wooden shelf.  It collects dust. It is known for its brokenness and it does not serve a purpose. It does not know why the potter keeps it.  But the potter knows. The potter has never forgotten the pot. I am the broken pot. I sit on a shelf collecting dust. I am helpless, hopeless.  I cannot serve my purpose.  Nor any purpose. But one day, the potter takes me from my shelf.  My shattered edges shift and crumble.  It hurts. The potter with gentle hands and loving fingers takes on broken piece ...