Archive for Psalm

The Sands Of Life

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on June 26, 2018 by Her Broken Wing
Psalm 139:17-18How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!” Were I to count them, they would out number the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you.

How do you kiss the wind?

Or

Embrace the warmth of the Sun?

And what is it like to hold someone you love as their life passes by like the sand sifting through the fingers of a small child lost in play for hours at the beach.

Even if we tried to hold each grain of sand, some bits would slip through our fingers. We may hold on tightly vowing to never let go but eventually the winds, the water and our toil cause us to drop each granule of sand we believed to have held tightly in our grasp. And the specks of life, the ones we so dearly love, fall back into the hands of the One who owned them all along.

I am trying to grab the wind and hold on tightly to the force of nature given to me by my Abba. But I know the days are short for my Papa is calling one of His children home soon. My precious daddy is going to be going home and each moment I have I want to hold tightly the last grains of sand representing his life; this will always remain precious to me.

But I know that eventually the last piece of sand will fall from my hands and Our Papa will call. And my Papa will brush the sand off my hands and pick me up and hold me like a child not ready to leave their place on the beach, their place of comfort.

And in my sadness, I will just rest in the arms of my Papa….

To my sweet daddy….I love you (1940-2008)

To my sweet Papa, I love you

me

Strike Three

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on February 3, 2018 by Her Broken Wing

Somewhere in the fleeting seconds, he had to make a quick assessment of the situation. “Now,” he wonders. Does he swing at the ball? Or should he wait? (Psalm 46:10)

The game win is on his shoulders. The last play of the game.

He chooses not to wait and it is in the moments that follow, he knows. The swing. The miss. There was a reluctance in this challenge. I saw sorrow in his follow-through as he made what would be his final attempt.

The slight pause was his downfall. The lingering regret.

“Strike three.” The crowd goes crazy.

The sting. The pain as onlookers watch.

He walks slowly away from the base. He is conquered by the opposition.

He relived this play over and over in his head in the days that ensue. “What if I had …?”

What if?

I have asked the same question. “What if I had just…?” If I could just do this over I have often thought.

But it is in these failures, I am forced to climb off my platform of pride.

I have heard it said that sports builds character, but I think it reveals my character more than it builds it.

Someone in the game must lose that others may win.( 1 Peter 2:21-25)

And that is just what Jesus did.

 

Living the Supernatural

Connie

Happy 2,920 Days to Me

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on February 1, 2018 by Her Broken Wing

 

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, nope! Not the belly button kind. Even better. I am 8 years sober, that means no chemical substances. That is 2,920 days one day at a time. It does not mean I am emotionally sober at times or all the time (like I don’t  even know what that means some days).

Emotionally sober well that is another devotional and another day. For now I just want to thank God for where I am today. It is no less than a miracle. And definitely thank my family, friends and you for allowing me to share my story.

White chip Day 1…..8 years ago (yes I still have my chip)

Psalm 149 The Message. ( …He lifts the fallen…)

living the supernatural

Connie

 

The Hourglass of Life

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 29, 2018 by Her Broken Wing

What did you say? Sitting next to him, I impatiently asked.

And then I saw the pain in his eyes that told me he was doing his best.

He was old now and his speech had begun to slur. I took his hand and held it. I was convicted. The twinge of pain ate at my soul. I looked at his hands. They were wrinkled and aged–they were old. He shook as he squeezed my hand back. There was an unspoken language between us then.

In that brief existence, his heart spoke of a time when he was vibrant and virile. A man who raised a family. A man who had a career and worked a garden in the hot Sun. This is the reason his hands were weathered today.

His heart spoke through his eyes, he was a man of God. Although my impatience saddened him deeply, he understood. For he had once been young and he too had been quick to judge an elderly man like himself as I did him today. Oh, he understood, he just didn’t like it.

I saw all this in the look of his eyes and the small tear that fell.

Time passed and we sat there quietly–together.

An understanding.

A forgiveness.

A love.

Psalm 71:9 “Do not cast me off in time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is spent”

Connie

Daughter of the King

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on January 24, 2018 by Her Broken Wing

Some days, I don’t know, who am I? The oceans’ waves roll in calling me such names like self-pitied , self-destructive , unworthy  , depressed, and  chasing  shadows of the night, haunting my time in seeking peace and serenity.

People (I) gawk at things, my weakness and failure like an anomaly of nature, having come up on a bad wreck, trying to see how bad it really is,  I slow down to take a look. Why do I or we do that? Why do people look and stare and whisper….about me? “Do you know she’s ….?” I look back in wonder at the wreck. The wreck of my life. We  have all been there in a sense, staring and talking. Yes, you have in your human frailties. Denying it does not mske it go away! I don’t know but maybe watching  others in pain and destruction  makes our life’s  look, well normal, tender, loved and safe and more.

I had become the victim. Poor me. I used to believe that was a good place to be. People would feel sorry for me outwardly. But that wasn’t  the case.  A friend told me  when we have the victim mentally it is ugly and not an advantageous place to be. Just think about someone we knew with  the victim mentality, how do we feel about the person?  It isn’t appealing and sometimes grates us the wrong way.

What  I did to pull out of this? Several things

1) acceptance – I am an addict. Life changed  no happy hour. It is what it is

2) Go to meetings. When I was new,  I did 90/90  meeting a day for 3 months. Then, several meetings a week.

3) find a sponsor— I cannot begin to tell you how important this is. They have pulled my ass out of many trenches before! Start with one, you can get another one when you learn personalities.

4) work the 12 steps- start #1 it’s  so important.

Step One. “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol— that our lives had become unmanageable.” I wear this on a bracelet my daughter gave me always reminding me to give thanks

5)  clean my side of the street. In other words, quit blaming others. Find my part in situations

I could not do any of this without God. I wouldn’t be sober if it weren’t  for Him?

At the end of the day when I put my head on my pillow in the darkness of the night, i watch the silhouette of the trees on my wall.  The trees sway to the moons commands. Serenity I am reminded and I am also reminded of who I am…the daughter of the King!! (Psalm 45:9)

Good night and love  y’all,

Connie

Be Still

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on April 29, 2012 by Her Broken Wing

Sometimes… it’s about being still in the midst of Choas… (Psalm 46:10)

 

Love,

Connie

A Better Version Of Me

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on February 26, 2012 by Her Broken Wing

I believe in the small talk, in 2nd, 3rd and 4th chances, forgiving those in my past and missing the cracks in the pavement (or “you break your mother’s back,” I sang as a kid). I strive for obedience when it does not make sense — denoting a sense of submission.

And when the world of good and evil collide, I might smile that crooked smile revealing my fragile life. I realize how easily my broken and shattered place of being has come to. I sense the vulnerably delicate existence of my heart.

I daydream of a better time, where my soul whispers truth and dedication of Someone’s love. Be still my beating heart and listen. (Psalm 46:10) Once again, conformity and submission take their place in my life calling out my name. I hear her. But I don’t always answer. Shame. Guilt. Even so, my mind takes a stand. But God…you gave me this desire, did you not? And the raging internal war goes on. Why can’t I be more like Jesus? Why can’t I overcome each time? Satan makes out a new buffet of sin every day.

I can choose to order off the menu or the buffet. Some days the buffet looks inviting. Satan is smart and cunning. He is powerful. (Sounds like the disease of addiction)

I bite.

Then there is the long conviction of worthlessness that builds her walls around my heart.  The very thing I desire, I fight back against. Does my world of panic-stricken emotions and uncertainty mask this lonely spirit? Or tear down the very walls built to coddle my wounds.

Easy to forgive others. Not so easy to forgive myself.

But…

For God went right for the jugular when He sent His own Son.” (Romans 8:3, the message) so the least I can do is work on the whole forgiveness thing…

And I pray for a better version of me.

Love,

Connie