spilled (2.38pm)

for me writing is an in-the-moment giving home to words and thoughts that never stop bubbling up in me.

like a tap running, never off.

no time to write, feels as if it is spilling over the edges of table.

lost. irretrievable.

and though little things—-these heart words—-i grieve them. like favorite drink spilled on road trip….last gas station too far back for refill. wasted.

and i am frustration filled with what’s left sopped up in paper towels and seeming worth less now.

and in my lost, god’s great patience takes shoulders and turns me toward him revealing…

immense.

the beginning the end.

ocean to my dripping straw.

and holding now nothing paper towels slip from my hands.

hands lifted up in seeing true worth.

spilled

 

this is what the lord saysβ€”
he who made a way through the sea,
a path through the mighty waters,
who drew out the chariots and horses,
the army and reinforcements together,
and they lay there, never to rise again,
extinguished, snuffed out like a wick:
β€œforget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
see, i am doing a new thing!
now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
i am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.
the wild animals honor me,
the jackals and the owls,
because i provide water in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland,
to give drink to my people, my chosen,
the people i formed for myself
that they may proclaim my praise.

isaiah 43.16-21 (NIV)

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