Simmering

I have half a dozen posts marked "drafts" which have yet to be fully crafted and brought out into the light of day - or at least, onto the blinking brightness of a computer screen. While mornings are my freshest time of day for writing, once started I lose track of the hours and find too many important things gone by the wayside only to later trip me up in their "undone-ness" (yes, I made up that last word.) In the evenings I have some quiet time to myself but the truth is that by the time all five kids are nestled in their beds the synapses of my brain are just not "synapping" like I need them to be in order to write in a semi-sensible manner.

Yet my brain is not idle and indeed, "simmering" is the word I might use for the mental exercise my mind entertains all day long. There is hardly a moment in the entire day when thoughts are not running rampant in the hollow hallways of my brain, and of late there are many so heavy that my head feels like it needs a vacation. Sometimes the rottenness of this fallen world just gets me down.

Specifically of late my heart is aching for families whose children - by no fault of their own - were damaged early in life by the failings of those who should have protected them. Now in loving families through the miracle of adoption, yet the shattering repercussions of those failures linger on in the emotional, psychological, spiritual battle that rages for the hearts and minds of those precious children.

Tonight I penned this poem - it is rather rough and raw, but in that it reflects my own emotions on this subject. How I long for the day when Christ the King will reign in holiness and perfection on the earth! And even before that, when the glory of Heaven will bathe the hearts of God's children in healing and bring to reality the eternal hope that rests solely in Him. So be it, Lord!

(untitled 04.17.11)

The hammer falls,

A bitter blow –

Shaking the core

Of all we know.

A child’s grief,

His hurt, his shame,

Years later,

Still without a name

Yet twisted, turned

Into this shape

Choices made

With mouth agape

We shudder; what does the future hold

Only the Truth that long foretold

He holds the broken in His hands

Nothing impossible, because He can

Heal the wounds and right the wrongs

Halt the tide that roars along

Towards death, destruction and the End

But He is faithful … He will mend.