Showing posts from July, 2015

Ruhamah and The Spikenard, North Carolina Slang, the Impossible Made Possible, and Art

The four random facts post.

Randomness #1: My sister just recently started her own blog. So if you enjoy poetry and excellent writing skills, I would recommend you hop on over and visit her blog here at Ruhamah and the Spikenard. ;)

Randomness #2: Now this randomness will hopefully give you a little laugh. For a little background, I am a full-blooded North Carolina Southern girl living in Minnesota and do not remain silent about being from NC. So speaking to one of my coworkers, I randomly stated, "Its 1:11". My coworker, a bit confused (since I did say it literally out of nowhere), says, "What does that mean? Is that some kind of North Carolina slang or something?". Haha! No its simply the time. ;)

Randomness #3: I love that God can use me in ministries that most people would consider ridiculous for me to even attempt. Several years ago I went on a medical missions trip to the Dominican Republic. Now for your information, I get nauseated really easily over blood and …

Take Me Away

Taking me away To the cherry picking trees; To the red woods, please; To the roads that ramble; To the blackberry bramble. Take me away To the forest to see Where I run wild and free. Take me to the mountains Where there’s natural drinking fountains. Take me away Where the air is clear And the birds bring cheer; Where there’s red-roofed barns And rolling hills with farms. Take me away To the land of Maples and Oaks Where the frog croaks And the creek meanders Where there’s geese and ganders. Take me away From here!!!!

The Mother

Her hands Wipe away tears, Clean dirty faces, Hold tiny fingers, Knead the bread. Her arms Hold tight the crying, Rock to sleep the infant, Support a child, It becomes a bed. Her breast Feeds the hungry, Nourishes her child, Brings life to the little one, A pillow for the weary. Her heart Loves unconditionally, Serves willingly, Prays unceasingly, Perseveres courageously. Her days are long Defending the weak, Encouraging the faint of heart, Speaking words of peace, Calming the stormy seas. She toils Night and day. Blessings seem scarce, Fights ensue, Baby's awake all night And so is mother dear. Dinner not on time, Child scrapes his knee, Peanut butter in hair. This is a  mother’s life. But she arises With each new day Ready to brave the weather, Ready to bring sunshine in the rain, She’s undaunted by yesterday’s failures. Because There’s so many blessings Within each messy day; Babies cooing,

There's a Reason She Lives

She was feeling useless and down one day,
Not sure of her worth or purpose on earth.
Life was looking and feeling pretty grey.

But God saw her in her despair
And opened her eyes wide
He saw fit that her life be spared.

She lives this day because of the breath he provides
That he breathes into her feeble lungs
Its not yet time that she meet death, not time to die.

Life is hers to live in him, until he takes it away
But while she live, he still has a purpose,
A perfect plan for each passing day.

So she face another day with a smile on her face
Knowing God can use a simple smile
That tells of his unfailing grace.

Troubles will come and troubles go,
Confusion still stands.
But Christ is her anchor, this she does know.

The winds may blow
Or the sun hide its face,
But rain is needed to make flowers grow.

And she, too, will grow when it rains
But when the rainbow appears
She remembers that God’s promise remains.

But I Choose to Remember

Some people may choose to forget Because memory causes pain. But I chose to remember, Even though I cry like the rain. I choose to remember that smile of yours Even though it makes me cry. I remember your laugh But it makes me ache inside. I remember the way you strummed your guitar And how it made me dance with joy. But I don’t dance when I remember. Instead my body shakes with sobs untold. Why do I choose this road of memory, When memory is suffering And forgetfulness is bliss? I can’t explain a pain worth enduring Yet I chose to remember and not forget. Days come and days go by. People ask how the brother did die And I tell them the how, but not the why? I remember. I did not forget. His story lives on. I choose to share. I will not forget. But lest you think it easy For me to tell his story once more. Remember, I chose to remember And not forget. And memory hurts.