Belonging

Passing by...born in one place move to another, roots left behind along with loves and oceans and palm trees.

One life grafted into another.

I'm not here nor there -always in between.
More so, as I grow older the more I long to be where I truly belong, not where I was born but where my reborn soul is meant to be -heaven. 

Not pushing the piece of my life into the wrong puzzle, nor ever feeling displaced, a stranger no more -truly home sweet home -forever. 

  

Peace For a Day

Philippians 4:6-7

O Happy Day...

Sometimes its impossible to be sad or anxious or worried

due to this mystery called the peace that passes all understanding.

This morning, as worry and fear and anxiety rushed to my chest like an enormous avalanche, a force even greater blocked it, much like Gandalf arrested the dragon on the bridge  with his command 

"You shall not pass"!

My avalanche never passed either. 

As God held the mudslide, I felt even happy, put on a pretty dress, red shoes, wore lipstick and out I went looking at the pile of debris held by Dad 

Truly I felt as if He was saying  "go on love, no need to worry, I got this"

And I did...

The Quilt

Adriana my daughter once made a remark of my inability to finish what I started over a fail attempt to complete a little quilt I half made for her.  Back then life was not good -it seems we were all gasping for air (not to make excuses) and quilting was certainly not my craft and so, with uneven stitches, patches and squares, the project was never finalized.

For years living in a closet the quilt never failed to remind me of things more bitter than sweet.

So old and soft (almost a rag by now), the stitches tell the story of my desperate attempts to create happiness for my daughter when happiness was impossible. The colors matching those she was born loving, bright yellows and greens, patches of blue fabric with little fishes to remind her of the land we came from. The pattern itself a simple square with triangles creating stars -like the beautiful star she has become, despite my failures at quilting and most important mothering. 
Truly, life has been the hardest patchwork ever -this time around I only hope to finish better than when I started and never stop stitching love into my daughter's life, those will never come undone, will always hold, will last forever.

The imperfect unfinished quilt never to be found again.

Mud -Lodo in Spanish

Mud...that smears and makes me uncomfortable. Never did like muddy messes but one day, when blinded by hopelessness, my Father's solution was sludge. I guess in life there are problems only solved by mud, mud made with Christ's spittle and applied with His hands.
In Him and of Him even a slimy substance can bring clarity, heal soul and body, wounds, failures and deepest aches.
Another one of the many paradoxes of God's kingdom -there is hope after mud.

--------------------

Lodo...sucio, que incomoda, embarra.  Nunca me gustaron los lodazales o jugar con tierra pero un dia rogandole a Dios por claridad su respuesta fue lodo. Asumo que hay problemas en la vida que solo un embarre de tierra mojada puede resolver. Lodo hecho con tierra y saliva de Cristo Jesus untado por sus manos.

Por El y de El  una amalgama nos puede traer luz, sanacion de cuerpo, alma y cura para las heridas y dolores mas profundos.

Otra de las paradojas del reino de Dios -despues del lodo hay esperanza...