"The most important of life's battles is the one we fight daily in the silent chambers of the soul."

Monday, July 18, 2016

Shy Girl

For thou art my hope, O Lord GOD: thou art my trust from my youth.


Psalm 71:5


The shell must break before the bird can fly. - Tennyson





She stands where I once stood,


Doing the very best she could.


At times it seems like she doesn't stand a chance,


Never given a second glance.





Always chosen last when game time arrives,


Never sure if she will be let to thrive.


Alone she stands on the playground,


No friends to play with can be found.





Each time I look at her I remember long ago,


There was this boy I use to know.


Something about her reminds me of him,


Could it be all the little things I did back then?





As she chews on fingers, standing to the side,


So afraid to be noticed she runs and hides.


Into her shell shy girl retreats,


Terrified of others that she meets.





So much wanting to help her overcome all,


I continuously beat my head against the wall.


My stomach in knots when she stands up to play,


She ignores the ball and looks the other way.





Oh, how I wish I could help her become outgoing like me,


But God I've forgotten the boy I used to be.


Those frightening moments I didn't know what to do,


As my coach would yell,"Wake up, you!"





The old pain stirs and beats against the scar,


Have I really come that far?


The girl out there standing on the basketball court was once me,


Dear God, why do you make me see?





With a lump in my throat and tears swelling in my eyes,


I cringe each time that she tries.


My heart pounding as my nerves jump,


God let this be just for her a temporary bump.





For each parent sees a part of them in each child,


Even the weaknesses we've all compiled.


But sweet Father this is my curse,


Don't let my faults make her life worse.





She loves you so much and her heart is so pure,


God help me, to help her, not feel so insecure.


Help me with the feeble words that I speak,


Christ build in her the confidence for which I seek.


by


Lance Gargus

Thursday, July 07, 2016

For You, Son, I'm Praying




Rahel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not.
Thus saith the LORD; Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the LORD; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy.
And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy children shall come again to their own border.

Jeremiah 31:16, 17

I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me.
Abraham Lincoln

"For you, son, I'm praying." I didn't have time for those words. At the age of 17, I was wild and wanted to do my own thing. So I hit the bottle and did my own thing. "I'll do what I dang well please," I thought to myself. I had a car, and I had a job. My senior year in high school had come and the weekend was mine. Driving fast and being wreckless with my car and my life. Burning down life's highway at full throttle with everything zooming by me. The more she tried to get through to me, the more I resisted. So Mama spent her nights burning a candle on her knees for her wayward son.

One night I came in half sober. Trying to sneak in and hide it from her. Stumbling in as quietly as I could I saw her light on. Mama was softly talking, kneeling beside her bed. Tears fell from her face to her folded hands. As I listened, she and Jesus talked it over. I knew right at that moment my restless days were coming to an end.

Mama prayed so many countless nights for God to watch over me throughout the years. Her bed left with the imprint of her elbows on it.

Even though she's just barely over 5 foot tall, her prayers carried the weight of a giant. When she prayed good things happened and life's were changed. Always in the back of my mind was her voice praying. Whereever I traveled, whatever I did, God carried that prayer to pull at or reassure my heart. As I stepped on her heart strings with grief, she played back the melody of a Mother's prayer.

It seems the fervent prayers of a Mama can crumble mountains big and small. God has a special fondness for Mama's tender prayers of love, I believe. You see, He had a Mama, too.
by
Lance Gargus

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