Dear Queen, I see you in your garden there In your yard, in the back. Tucked. and hidden. Where the chickens roam free And the dirt brings you close To the grief in your eyes. Broken and bruised. Battered and beat.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Dear Queen, I see you in your garden there In your yard, in the back. Tucked. and hidden. Where the chickens roam free And the dirt brings you close To the grief in your eyes. Broken and bruised. Battered and beat.
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Country music is not my chosen genre, but Rascal Flatts said it best: “I set out on a narrow way many years ago, hoping I would find true love along the broken road But I got lost a time or two, wiped my brow and kept pushing through…”* I don’t know with whom this singer…
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I think it probably started off broken. I know it was over two days of a labor of love, constant pain and effort. A little bit of drama and questioning of WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SO HARD. Ending with a cry of relief and fear. If I could time travel, I think that’s…
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I stared at her angelic form swaddled beneath the moonlit window. She was so sweet, so small, so fragile. Who was I to bear the responsibility of her, to soothe her fevers and give her direction, to train her and teach her about God and the world? I watched her breathe, in and out, in…
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I pulled into the almost vacant parking lot of a well-known church in the community. All of the answers that I had faithfully recited to wounded people in the past were no longer satisfying.
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Sometimes, on a Thursday, dreams come true. I’ve decided that is why life is great.
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