Here are some thoughts of mine. I don't claim to be a poet or a writer of any sort, so don't expect much. :) Just click on one that sounds interesting and enjoy!
| This Day | Directions | You are Here | Artist | |
| Rollercoaster | Hardwood Floors | Everyday Graces | Sequel to the Lorax | |
| A Poem | Two Birds |
10-21-04
I grew up in an old, turn of the century house. To me, it was always beautiful because it was home. It’s where I grew up since the age of 8. I don’t really remember another “home” so well…just faint memories that come and go. I could find my way around that house blind folded…I knew where to step on the steps late at night so as to not wake mom and dad…and I knew what was underneath the wallpaper and paint of the various rooms. When we moved into that house, it was not so beautiful to the average person. The kitchen was full of cabinets from floor to ceiling on 2 walls that were not in the best of shape. My room was baby pink and white. The kitchen was checkered yellow and white. The basement was unfinished and rather scary to step foot in. Dad did so much work on that house to make it the beauty it was when we left it. I remember when we pulled up all the dark brown carpet in the house. Underneath was a hard wood floor that was in pretty rough shape, but not beyond hope. My parents saw the beauty in it and my dad went to work. First he had to sand it down to get rid of the yucky stuff and the rough places. Then he had to go over it with a varnish to make it beautiful. I remember how picky he was about that floor…when we moved couches or anything really it was as the world would end it a single scratch was put into the floor. I remember one day I was moving something and I put a deep gash in the floor. I was a little nervous of what my dad would say…not afraid…but nervous. He had put so much work into that floor and I had ruined that little area. So as all children do, I went to mom and told her, hoping that she would soften him up as usual. Well, I know he was not happy with me when he saw it later on. I don’t recall what he said…but he was saddened that I had been so careless and gashed the beautiful floor. The floor that he had pulled the cover off of, that he had sanded down to smooth it out, and that he had varnished to make beautiful. Everytime I walked over that area of the living room, I saw the gash and too was sad at what I had done to it. Chances are, he doesn’t even remember it. But I do. I could go in that house to this day and point it out to you.
Often times, I feel like that floor. God has come along and uncovered me and has seen the beauty in me and has sanded me down to smooth me out and then put a coat of varnish on me to make me shine. But I have been careless over the years and have acquired several small scratches and some major gashes. When someone stands at the front door looking at the house, they don’t see these things…but when someone walks in and starts peering at the beauty, they find the scratches…and the gashes. Until recently, I haven’t been willing to let anyone touch those areas, for if they did, like that floor, I would have to be redone…completely…not just that area. However, just like that floor, there is something beneath me, holding me up…there are supports in place that are strong…that will not fail. And lately it seems as if God has stripped me down to the very supports that I have. He has shown me that He is my foundation and that to be built on anything less would surely fail miserably.
Some may question that God would strip us down that far, but I do believe He will. Just like that gash that I put into the living room floor, Dad would have had to redone the whole floor unless he just didn’t care if it didn’t match perfectly or if it was a little uneven. But I know my dad, he is a perfectionist to an extent…and he would have redone that whole floor had time allowed just to get that one gash out. I feel like our Heavenly Father will do that as well. The gashes in my life are mixed in with all the good stuff in my life…my love and dependence on Him…all of that. But in order to get the gashes out, He has to strip me down and then put a coat of varnish on again…and then, when someone comes in, they will not see something with a huge gash in it that just takes away from the beauty of the floor…but instead they will see something beautiful…the work of a true Artist.
And if he has to continuously strip me to that point, I pray that He will, that I may know Him and love Him more.
I grew up in an old, turn of the century house. To me, it was always beautiful because it was home. It’s where I grew up since the age of 8. I don’t really remember another “home” so well…just faint memories that come and go. I could find my way around that house blind folded…I knew where to step on the steps late at night so as to not wake mom and dad…and I knew what was underneath the wallpaper and paint of the various rooms. When we moved into that house, it was not so beautiful to the average person. The kitchen was full of cabinets from floor to ceiling on 2 walls that were not in the best of shape. My room was baby pink and white. The kitchen was checkered yellow and white. The basement was unfinished and rather scary to step foot in. Dad did so much work on that house to make it the beauty it was when we left it. I remember when we pulled up all the dark brown carpet in the house. Underneath was a hard wood floor that was in pretty rough shape, but not beyond hope. My parents saw the beauty in it and my dad went to work. First he had to sand it down to get rid of the yucky stuff and the rough places. Then he had to go over it with a varnish to make it beautiful. I remember how picky he was about that floor…when we moved couches or anything really it was as the world would end it a single scratch was put into the floor. I remember one day I was moving something and I put a deep gash in the floor. I was a little nervous of what my dad would say…not afraid…but nervous. He had put so much work into that floor and I had ruined that little area. So as all children do, I went to mom and told her, hoping that she would soften him up as usual. Well, I know he was not happy with me when he saw it later on. I don’t recall what he said…but he was saddened that I had been so careless and gashed the beautiful floor. The floor that he had pulled the cover off of, that he had sanded down to smooth it out, and that he had varnished to make beautiful. Everytime I walked over that area of the living room, I saw the gash and too was sad at what I had done to it. Chances are, he doesn’t even remember it. But I do. I could go in that house to this day and point it out to you.
Often times, I feel like that floor. God has come along and uncovered me and has seen the beauty in me and has sanded me down to smooth me out and then put a coat of varnish on me to make me shine. But I have been careless over the years and have acquired several small scratches and some major gashes. When someone stands at the front door looking at the house, they don’t see these things…but when someone walks in and starts peering at the beauty, they find the scratches…and the gashes. Until recently, I haven’t been willing to let anyone touch those areas, for if they did, like that floor, I would have to be redone…completely…not just that area. However, just like that floor, there is something beneath me, holding me up…there are supports in place that are strong…that will not fail. And lately it seems as if God has stripped me down to the very supports that I have. He has shown me that He is my foundation and that to be built on anything less would surely fail miserably.
Some may question that God would strip us down that far, but I do believe He will. Just like that gash that I put into the living room floor, Dad would have had to redone the whole floor unless he just didn’t care if it didn’t match perfectly or if it was a little uneven. But I know my dad, he is a perfectionist to an extent…and he would have redone that whole floor had time allowed just to get that one gash out. I feel like our Heavenly Father will do that as well. The gashes in my life are mixed in with all the good stuff in my life…my love and dependence on Him…all of that. But in order to get the gashes out, He has to strip me down and then put a coat of varnish on again…and then, when someone comes in, they will not see something with a huge gash in it that just takes away from the beauty of the floor…but instead they will see something beautiful…the work of a true Artist.
And if he has to continuously strip me to that point, I pray that He will, that I may know Him and love Him more.