Cracked Clay

I'm dust transformed by
grace and mercy;
created by His hand for
His glory...
The cracks in the clay
make room for the new dirt;
encouraging growth
of new green and gold buds...
and causing new pain
as the clay gets harder.
In realms of Glory,
my clay will be transformed...
completed in joy
though manipulated by trial
as my tears soften the edges
of the cracked clay...
His way of redeeming and making room
for the Potter's hands
to create something new.

Hide Me

Hide me, Lord;
for I am unsure
that the eyes of perception
will match the statement of reality.
Fear offers its'whispers
and lends me its' cloak;
cold comfort
isolating me
from believing in warmth.
Hide me, Lord;
as the one who paid so willingly
for what I cannot afford to live without.
Protect me, Lord;
as I am unsure
where I went wrong;
help buoy me up
and restore Your courage
to my faltering spirit.
Forgive me for the avoidable
failings and foibles
drawn into with willing hands...
and restore the years
that the locusts have eaten.

Part 4: Stars in the Headlights

The feast for her eyes was a mixture of egg and milk mixed on the floor manually without the benefit of a mixing bowl. White oak flooring soaked up a measure of the liquid; but the eggs were more tenacious to the surface. "I hungry, mommy!" the beloved tornado wailed as if in agony. "Could you help me clean this up, love? I can make you some eggs if there are any left." She took an inventory of the cold zone and discovered that there were indeed eggs in attendance. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ella continued to clean up the mess with a quiet assistant clinging to her for comfort and reassurance. She looked at her child's face; framed with wispy brown locks in continual motion. In vanity, her eyes looked over her young one to discern where her DNA had left its' mark.


Ella was "sitting on the hill" but had been told that "still looked good". Turning 40 was a jolt to her psyche, and turned her into an armchair philosophy major for a good two months. Passing by a mirror and noticing a gray hair or two, the thought came to her that she needed to get over herself. Her shoulder-length hair was a honey brown with a furtive hint of auburn when the sun hit it just right. She had her father's British Isles complexion that prompted her husband to tell her that she should stay out of the sun because "vampires start smoking in sunlight". She stood about 5'9" at one point in her history; but that might have changed. Ignorance was bliss in this department; and she wasn't going to harbor any intention of double-checking now. Her behind seemed more like a double-wide trailer than a compact car these days. Blast that age-induced metabolism slow-down. A chocolate addiction had absolutely nothing to do with the matter.
Nathan was watching from the edge of the living room and let out a loud "gross!" as if trying to contribute to the morning's activities. His light brown hair was as yet unbrushed and gave him an artistic style to his morning look. The spider man pajamas were still hanging from his thin frame; which elicited a "time to get dressed for the day, Nathan" from a very domesticated female down on all fours. A thought came to her about the days they were both brought forth from her womb; beautiful and perfect. There was joy in the mundane and the inconvenient for Ella; and the day promised to keep her engaged.