healing

Why Momma Cries | Beauty From Pain

Posted on by Donna Stone

butterflywtext

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she asks me why I am crying, I can not speak. I send her away with the words all mommas use so often it’s second nature.

“In a minute.”

She has come upon me unexpected, caught me in the grip of a journey’s end emotion.

I redirect her, unable to untangle my thoughts and feelings.

“Don’t you need to get ready for dance?”

She looks at me sideways, then nods. She knows me well and gives me the small moment of peace I need. I know her, too. She will be back in two heartbeats. I breathe.

When she returns, I am ready and not ready.

I start out OK. I tell her how proud I am of her. Half a sentence into the conversation, words have trouble squeezing past my heart. They come out wobbly but march on.

Baby Girl has had hard, hard times. Life is harsh to our young. No one grows up without a heavy dose of pain.

If I had one real come-true wish I would make the world gentle for her, but I can’t. The enemy is often invisible, but the battle scars are there, plain to see. When she lets me.

On this day she is going to rehearse a dance she choreographed to Beauty From Pain. One she will dance on stage in front of the whole world and everyone who is watching. She will dance with all the grace she can muster. She will dance with all she has, speak with movement and make the song sing a new way.

I tell her, “I know what the dance means—I know what this cost you.”

We can’t look at each other in the eye because now is not the time to puddle up.

Instead, I wrap my arms around her and she rests, enveloped. Her hair is in my face. It should be pony tailed or bunned. She needs to get ready. I don’t release her yet. I tell her to make sure she takes a water bottle. An experienced dancer, she does not need this advice at all.

She nods and I let her go.

 

 

Linked up at

Mama Moments Monday, Good Morning Mondays, Monday’s Musings, Meetup Monday, Motivate and Rejuvenate Monday, Titus 2 Tuesday, Tuesday Talk, Waiting On Wednesday, SHINE, Thought Provoking Thursday, After My Coffee, Friday Flash Blog 

Let Me Hide| A Prayer

Posted on by Donna Stone

rockwtextRock of Ages cleft for me, let me hide the shame of what was done to me and the shame of what’s become of me. Hide the tears and the wounds I’ve suffered, and those I have inflicted. Let the water and the blood cover me. Hide my anguish at the sin perpetrated upon me and the sins that I have embraced.

Rock of Ages cleft for me, let me hide.

Let not the labor of my hands deceive me, no restitution is found there. Only hiding in You will save me. I have nothing to give you, only my barren soul. To Your promise I will cling until at last I see You, my heart still singing, Rock of Ages cleft for me, let me hide.

 

This post is part of the Five Minute Friday link-up. Bloggers from all over respond to the week’s prompt by writing for five minutes.  The prompt of Hide for this week’s Five Minute Friday made me sing, cry, and pray.

Want to add your voice? Pop on over to Kate’s site. There’s room.

Linked up at

#Fellowship Fridays @ Equipping Godly Women, Grace & Truth, Fellowship Fridays, Titus 2 Tuesdays

Did this post encourage or touch you? Leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you.

In My Father’s House

Posted on by Donna Stone

Last night I had a dream.

I was at an event, a gathering full of noise and laughter, but I left it behind to enter a side room through a set of French doors. Here was a sun room, narrow and comfortable, furnished with brown chairs and pleasant decor that reflected the light. There were a few plants and a rug. Everything had a muted aura, a wash of coloring that was not quite sepia, but more of a golden hazy glow reminding me of a movie effect to put viewers in mind of memories or what-ifs.

My dad was there, and in his right mind. I was bringing him a plate of food. I handed it to him and he asked me to sit a while, so I did.

It was him, but without baggage, and we talked with the ease of old friends. After what seemed a long time, he let out a deep sigh that came from the very soles of his feet. He set his unfinished plate on the wooden side table.

“I know this is your party,” he nodded toward the door that led to the large room, “But would you do something for me?”

“What is it?” I asked.

“My birthday is not for months,” he said. “I want to celebrate early.” His hands rested on his knees. Hands I knew, but didn’t know. He squinted up at me through his glasses. “Will you come?”

I grinned with a child’s delight. “Of course I will.”

He opened his arms to me and I went to him. Our arms wrapped around each other and nothing else took up the spaces between us. I could feel his frame, but not the sharpness of his bones. Then I let him go.

It was a beautiful dream.