Learn more about the artists of Casting Crowns Here.
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Author Archives: joseph elon lillie
Evening Meditation 11-18-19
Lord, you are the God who saves me;
day and night I cry out to you.
2 May my prayer come before you;
turn your ear to my cry.
3 I am overwhelmed with troubles
and my life draws near to death.
4 I am counted among those who go down to the pit;
I am like one without strength.
5 I am set apart with the dead,
like the slain who lie in the grave,
whom you remember no more,
who are cut off from your care. Psalm 88: 1-5
What are some things that keep you from crying out to God?
Magnification Mondays 11-18-19
Learn more about the artists of We the Kingdom Here.
The Romans 12 Cycle: Servant
I stir lemonade,
Sigh and wipe my weary brow.
I wax thankful then
As summer solicits for
The seasons’ warrant.
Rake the leaves. I’ll burn
This body to dust, if that
Is what it takes. I’ll
Do it gladly. My heart is
Woven in the mountain skies.
I am winter’s snow.
You will find me in the work.
No matter how dark it
Gets, I will be the finger
Which pulls the thread no one sees.
In Secret Spring’s green
I snip the weak threads. I break
The mirror. I sweep
The pieces into place. Glimpse
Reality’s tapestry.
I am not the year
Nor a season, month or day.
I am but minutes
Who work the threads leading
To the finished work, God’s hand.
A Photo A Week Challenge: Stylish
Here is a challenge I have not participated in for a while!
Nancy hosts A PHOTO A WEEK CHALLENGE AND THIS WEEK’S CHALLENGE IS THE WORD STYLISH.
You can click on the link above to discover how Nancy’s other contributors interpreted the challenge.
Here is my take.
Styling for another generation.
Morning Direction From Scripture 11-17-19
As they make music they will sing,
“All my fountains are in you.” Psalm 87:7
What are your fountains?
Sacred Sundays 11-17-19
The Romans 12 Cycle: Prophet
A hot summer day,
Once again I read someone
Else’s mail. Sipping
Lemonade as I crochet
Edges of reality.
The leaves fall. As I
Count the dry bones, I breathe forth
The silence of death
Woven from mountains and skies
Which hem in the Beloved.
My breath twines with snow
Yet to come. They rebuke me
For seeing the dark,
But what choice was I given?
The winter is my needle.
Spring’s my thread of green.
New like the shards of broken
Mirrors. Pieces placed
Like manifold wisdom, glimpse
Reality’s tapestry
I am not the year
Nor a season, month or day.
I am but minutes
Who count the threads leading
To the finished work, God’s hand.
Shoutin’ Saturdays 11-16-19
Learn more about Skillet Here.
Six Word Saturdays 11-16-19
Nostalgia lives in the autumn fire .
