This is my very first blog post!  I have considered this for years, and am finally just trusting that perhaps God may use my heart to share with some of yours (plus my love of amateur photography).  I love nothing more than a really deep conversation with a trusted friend; often for the sake of edifying and encouraging, and of course, laughter!  I am so imperfect.  As I focus more and more on myself through His lens, though, yes, I see my utter wretchedness, but also I view the absolute hope & grace He offers each and every moment of my life.

I started initially writing the poem below as an overview of anyone’s life, but parts of me flowed into it.  So it is part reflection, part vulnerability, and mostly a deep, intense knowledge that my Savior knows ME!

Her life seems drab.

Her face does too.

No spark to kindle.

Her spirit’s subdued.

She knows the Master Weaver

Her life is crazy.

Her thoughts are too.

Hundred miles an hour;

She’s coming unglued.

She knows the Master Weaver

Her life is joyful.

At times it’s sad;

She’s overwhelmed some days.

She loves so deeply;

Feels intensely.

Sometimes that’s good.

Sometimes that’s bad.

She knows the Master Weaver

She’s running here,

And doing there.

She’s still

So her heart can learn.

She knows His peace;

Satan whispers lies;

She’s learning to discern.

She knows the Master Weaver

Her love tank’s full.

It has run on fumes.

She’s felt truly cherished.

Her heart’s been numb.

She’s bubbly & excited.

She’s subdued & quiet.

She’s talked incessantly;

Been rendered speechless.

She’s treasured friends.

She’s craved solitude.

She’s listened.

She’s heard.

She’s mourned.

She’s rejoiced.

 She’s received criticism;

Has dealt some out.

Been apologized to;

Has said, “I’m sorry” herself.

She knows the Master Weaver

She’s gone places.

She’s done things.

She’s sat quietly at home

For days.

She goes to the cabin.

She’s been to the beach.

She’s taken trips.

She still has dreams.

She knows the Master Weaver

Some friends have come.

Some friends have gone.

Some have stayed

Through thick and thin.

Some have encouraged.

Some have torn down.

Some have been sandpaper.

Some she’s left walk away.

She has smiled & laughed,

Shared hurts & pains;

Some know her heart,

Some only her face.

She knows the Master Weaver

She’s a mom.

She’s a wife.

A daughter, a friend.

She has family;

Both blood & chosen.

She’s felt joy.

She’s felt sorrow.

She’s cried many tears.

She’s felt happy,

Light-hearted;

She’s felt loss,

Dealt with fears.

She knows the Master Weaver

She sees life clearly.

It’s all a blur.

She’s calm & content,

She’s frazzled,

Unnerved.

She’s easily amused.

She takes long walks.

She’d prefer

To read quietly

Than suffer small talk.

She knows the Master Weaver

She’s tired.

Full of energy.

Not enough

To go around.

She’s impatient.

She’s gracious.

She’s humble.

She’s proud.

Her heart is heavy;

She’s withdrawn,

And shy.

She’s hesitant,

Impulsive,

Triumphant,

And loud.

She knows the Master Weaver

She appreciates music.

Devours books.

Grows daisies

In her garden.

She wears flip flops,

And the color orange;

Likes tattered jeans,

and guys t-shirts.

Would drink coke slushies

All day long;

Prefers a Jeep,

Knows how to work.

She has loved,

She has hated;

Been misunderstood.

She’s been confused.

Lost her focus.

Would spit if she could.

She can hold a tune;

Can’t whistle at all.

Her favorite season

Would have to be fall.

She’s confused.

Lost her focus.

She’s intentional;

Has purpose.

She knows the Master Weaver.

She’s comfortable.

She’s strong & sure.

She prays,

Sings praises,

To the one she adores.

She’s a warrior;

Battle-scarred;

She’s beautiful;

He knows her heart.

 

The Master Weaver knows HER.

All the knots and the tangles,

The unexpected loops,

He patiently weaves

Into a beautiful art.

The softness of silk,

The resilience of tweed

Is all masterfully woven

Into a life meant to please.

He uses the patches,

He repairs the split seams,

He weaves in bright colors,

Among the blacks, grays, & creams.

He’s embroidered His name

On top of hers,

Covered all the frays

And tattered ends that are torn.

He stretches & pulls,

Adds more colors and threads;

He skillfully tightens

When she’s skipping ahead.

Each moment,

Each heartache,

Each joy

Or mistake,

Every tear,

Every smile,

He carefully

Takes,

And He mysteriously weaves

It all together for good.

She’s a beautiful mess.

He has covered the wounds.

She is a princess of God.

He has claimed as His own.

She’s found freedom in surrender.

She is forgiven and KNOWN.