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Morning Mercies

breakfast close up coffee coffee cup
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It just doesn’t happen every day.  No, some mornings barge in without yesterday completely being put to bed.

The sun peeked up over the horizon early this morning (really not any earlier than it does any other morning) and I was not ready for its perky light.  It stretched up over the houses behind ours waking the morning dove and sandhill cranes.  From a distance, I could hear the cars driving by carrying unreluctant folks into their Monday and work schedules.

My Minature Schnauzer, Maggie, was curled up tight against my body to stay warm.  We’ve had our windows open during the night to enjoy the crisp cool air.  I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and gave the sun a bemoaned look while Maggie grunted her displeasure along with me.  I quietly prayed, “Lord, I’m not ready to face today — please teach me to be grateful for this day.”

My husband sauntered out of our closet — dressed for work.  He greeted me with his perpetual smile and came over to kiss me.  He cupped his hands around my head and gently pulled it to his chest…and at that moment my heart betrayed me as a tear slipped down my cheek.  I think he sensed the betrayal and gently held me a bit tighter.  I wanted to scream, “please don’t go…don’t leave me today.”

I quickly moved into the bathroom and brushed my hair and teeth then made my way upstairs to our den.  I sat down and it just felt so difficult to breathe the air that God had so graciously provided for me that day.  David came upstairs with a hot cup of coffee and I tightly wrapped my hands around the warmth of the cup and smiled at him.  And, as he gently kissed me on the cheek and said, “Goodbye, ” I was alone.

We don’t always get up in the morning feeling grateful and alive and ready to take on the day that is so mercifully and graciously provided by our Heavenly Father.  When the living is tough, the days run quite unmercifully together and grace seems foreign to a day that won’t end.  However, God is not foreign to the day or what He has planned for us that given day.

You see, ours isn’t mere survival — although it often feels like it.  Our lives, intertwined with others, is a gift.  It is given in love and graciousness.  Resting in the understanding that I am tired and He is good — well, it can be work.  I always know He is good — “all the time,” but my energy and light abandon me and so I have to know (not feel) that He can be trusted regardless.

As I continue to hold the warm mug of love that my husband prepared me, God whispers to my heart that His mercies are new each morning.  Thank you, Father.

But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: GOD’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with GOD (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left. GOD proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It’s a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from GOD. Lamentations 3:21-26 (The Message)

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Faded Quilts

christmas home house light
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I have a quilt that my Mammaw made over 30 years ago.  It is a patchwork of squares made from her dresses that had worn thin and threadbare.  She sat many a night working on that quilt — each stitch sewn with love by hands that always worked so hard.  It is certainly a treasure and heirloom to have such a gift now that she has passed to Heaven.

That quilt laid on my parent’s bed for at least 25 of those 30 years, keeping Momma and Daddy warm.  Momma kept it there long after Daddy died — comforted by the love of Mammaw and her memories of Daddy.  I can only imagine the security she must have felt underneath of it — after all, we kids were all grown and moved away and had families of our own.  When Momma finally joined Daddy and her parents in Heaven, I became the owner of that beautiful quilt and all of its memories.

Sadly, that old quilt is threadbare like the dresses from which Mammaw fashioned it.  I have it put away “for keeps” so that it will pass on to my child.  I have asked around on how it might be mended, but have been assured that to mend it would take away from its original work…and so, it must stay tucked away.

This quilt conjures memories — it is a reminder of love.  Each stitch into each square sweetly fashions images of a home that lives in my heart.  The old folks are leaving us so quickly now  — the church bells toll more frequently with their mournful songs of buried love.  Each grave, each soul — it takes one of those stitches out of the quilt that is family.  Then, as we age ever so quickly ourselves, we find that we are getting a bit threadbare here and there.

It is good that God gives us blankets of family — quilts sewn through the ages — kin and kindred.  We are all unique like each square in that quilt Mammaw fashioned.  We are blessed to have known such love…and loss.  We grieve — then when the grieving is not so raw, we take that quilt and place it gently in a box so that the next generation will have a bit of fabric that was us.

I hope that as we journey into the coming holidays that we all will be thankful for God’s gifts of relationship and love.  More importantly, I pray that Christ Jesus will fill your heart with His merciful love.

Soli Gloria