Indelible Etchings
I am a caged bird of late.
My mind is loud with the cacophonous image and voice traffic of the past couple weeks, the argument I had with Eric last night, the controversial discussion over e-mail with an old friend, the problems we encountered at worship practice last week, the sisterly rivalries of my girls.
I don’t know what utopia I was raised in because I don’t remember one, but still my soul longs for a life that will clean up after itself. My kids should get along; people should make good decisions; life should fall easily into place. Unresolved issues lie on life’s unswept floor; they litter the plain of my mind. There, troubles lurk, imagined or not, until they can be neatly folded and put back into the cabinet where they should be, hopefully buried permanently. Yet the nails of even resolved conflicts often leave their bitter etchings.
Oh, to soar above the clutter, to rise above the befuddled clamor of this life.
I know when I’ve lingered too long at life’s door, staring perplexedly out at the confused masses. I know I don’t have all their answers, nor mine. Sometimes I cannot reach up high enough for help, it seems.
Change my water frequently; I’m likely to be in here awhile.
[Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God!
I will praise him again—my Savior and my God!]
My mind is loud with the cacophonous image and voice traffic of the past couple weeks, the argument I had with Eric last night, the controversial discussion over e-mail with an old friend, the problems we encountered at worship practice last week, the sisterly rivalries of my girls.
I don’t know what utopia I was raised in because I don’t remember one, but still my soul longs for a life that will clean up after itself. My kids should get along; people should make good decisions; life should fall easily into place. Unresolved issues lie on life’s unswept floor; they litter the plain of my mind. There, troubles lurk, imagined or not, until they can be neatly folded and put back into the cabinet where they should be, hopefully buried permanently. Yet the nails of even resolved conflicts often leave their bitter etchings.
Oh, to soar above the clutter, to rise above the befuddled clamor of this life.
I know when I’ve lingered too long at life’s door, staring perplexedly out at the confused masses. I know I don’t have all their answers, nor mine. Sometimes I cannot reach up high enough for help, it seems.
Change my water frequently; I’m likely to be in here awhile.
[Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God!
I will praise him again—my Savior and my God!]
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