Turning Criticism To Praise.

I used to live in the city.  Blocks from where prostitutes walked. Sights. Sounds. Different from here in the country.

And though the silence breathes through the holes that I have found. Sometimes. Yes, sometimes, the chaos all around.  Fills me, until I cannot go on.

Waking. Overwhelmed by the thoughts taking ground.  Of our foster child, just leaving. Pretending she was choking.  Trying to jump out of the car while moving.  And cutting herself with plastic.  Heartbreaking.

She was five.

Thoughts chase me, regarding our small group that’s about One Thousand Gifts. Or the kids that tug at my heart.  Or a non-profit that God is birthing through a friend most close to my heart.

I get overwhelmed.  So much so, that this city girl, has to put on her husband’s cowboy boots and stroll outside.  To breath.  Untie.  Cut the cords weighing me down in this life.

I walk to fields whose silence drowns the noise.  Air.  So faithful.  It blows across my mind…making me clean again.

And though I feel like a teenage, skipping school.  A parent, throwing off all the needs too’s.  As laundry tumbles.  Dishes stack. Socks lay in the basket, unmatched.

There is a time, a day, a need to be.  Just me. Just me.  Nothing more. And God.

The grass is moist. The blades much too long.  And my tangled spirit just wants to criticize.

…..But I keep walking.

And sometimes when lies shoot at you like angry darts.  Unseen.  On the darkest nights.  Sometimes the best thing to do.  Is just keep walking.

I see the feathers lay.  From the chickens we lost. Chickens once free range.  Recently killed from coyotes.

And we are learning, out here in the country.  That when night comes.  It is vital, that all doors are shut.  All livestock stay safe.  Because the things unguarded.  Wandering alone.  Are easy prey.  For the prowling ones looking.

And I see the little oak.  The same height as me.  Once fractured.  Once split in two. We got it real cheap at the nursery when we moved here.

And strange as it is.  I am learning…my husband and I just love bringing in.  Things broken.  Things needing fixing:  Like houses.  And children.  And oaks, bandaged tight.  Needing mending.

But, I notice the wound between the tree is nearly healed.  The oak is growing.  Almost unrecognizable to the frail, split, injured tree we carried carefully to our field.

And I recall God’s promise.  We are to be, like righteous oak trees: Strong.  Growing.  Unhindered.

I keep walking.  And the long strands of grass I once criticized….now entice me. They breeze as if whispering….

“All of heaven rejoices.”

They move. Right and left.  Like hands lifted, giving praise to Him.  Freely.

And the light breeze across my face, washes away.  The thought of.  All the things. I was supposed to do.

And it is home bound that I remember.  It’s not about duty.  It’s not about stacking clean clothes.  Or carefully, going through our five week Bible Study…

What it’s really about is lifting hands.  Wholeheartedly.  Lifting hands like the grass reaching in the wind.  And praising….

Praising the one who brings girls from the city.  Where gunfire and police and prostitutes are surrounding….

To this place. This place where God whispers.  In the silence.

It’s about praising….The One capable of mending.  Broken trees.  Hurting foster children.  Mom’s so full, their minds cannot stop spinning.

I come inside.  Yet take with me, the reminder, to close open doors when night
comes.  When darkness tries creeping around this peace that is found in the grass uncut.  The oak growing up.  The tassels of praise, the earth declares to the skies.  The trees.  The flying ones listening.

And how I want to praise too.  I want to praise.  Not complain.  Praise, not get drown in the laundry.  And schedules. And people waiting to pull apart my joy….

Still I remember….

He is here.  He is always here. Waiting.  Waiting to meet us.  Whether in the field.  Or the streets of the city.  Or dishes stacked high with worry.

There is no son or daughter that cannot be that oak, unmended.  For where He is.  There is praise. Where He is….all the earth sees His goodnesss.  Where He is….His stillness finds a way to free us….from ourselves.

If we will be, uncut. Earnestly seeking Him.

He can be found….

(Linking with Tracy, Proverbs 31, Thriving)