...and the words come tumbling...
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The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.
And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, Look what I found!
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - not enough rain or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating, he sat next to my side
He placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,
It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful too.
That’s why I picked it. Here, it’s for you.
The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors of orange, yellow, or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower and replied, Just what I need.
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it in midair without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the first time
That weed-toting boy could not see; he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
You’re welcome, he smiled, and ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world, the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that’s mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life, of an unsuspecting old man.
The Bible describes the Word as a “mirror” to the Self and a “sword” against the Devil - not a mirror and a sword against other Christians. Please, you’re not Perseus, and they’re not Medusa.
Everyone you meet comes with baggage. Find someone who loves you enough to help you unpack.
(via latenightfashion)
If the problems in your life have grown beyond what you’ve ever imagined, your sense of amazement & wonder should too - cuz God is always bigger than your problems; if your problems are this huge, how behemothic God must be!
We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;
To be under pressure is inescapable. Pressure takes place through all the world: war, siege, the worries of state. We all know men who grumble under these pressures, and complain. They are cowards. They lack splendor. But there is another sort of man who is under the same pressure l, but who does not complain. For it is the friction which polishes him. It is the pressure which refines and makes him noble.
If each of us hires people who are smaller than we are, we shall become a company of dwarfs. But if each of us hires people who are bigger than we are, we shall become a company of Giants.
