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1/31/2020 0 Comments About: A Song For David Thirty years ago, in a quiet cemetery on the outskirts of Houston, Texas, we buried the body of a late-term aborted baby boy with curly black hair. His head had been torn from his shoulders and one arm had been brutally pulled from its socket by the tugging and ripping of the scissor-like forceps firmly clenched in the abortionist’s hand. A surgical incision gaped gruesomely from his small back exposing the removal of tiny organs and his crushed head revealed that his brain matter had been extracted and sold as well. David’s connectedness to humankind didn’t end on the abortionist’s table. Rather, a long line of profiteers would benefit from his death because David, like every other unborn child, was human, like us.
Yet, years before David’s death, God knew a baby boy would be aborted on a cold and rainy day in December in a cold and foreboding office in Houston, Texas because too many hearts had grown cold and indifferent to the plight of the unborn. God knew and He singled this child out to be a voice to the nation. Years before he was slain, God would bring individual people with supernatural assignments together to give this unborn baby boy a purpose, a song, and a name. In the telling of the story behind his discovery and my own awakening, I hope to give David a voice and encourage yet another generation to keep fighting until life is considered precious, again. The same God who attends a sparrows funeral, attends the death of every unborn boy and girl we throw away for the sake of convenience and God weeps. A Song for David is my story. It is David’s story. And it is Alex’s story. It is the story of how God supernaturally awakened me and charged me with the greatest assignment and adventure of my life. It is the story of David, the unmourned, unloved, and unwanted baby boy who died on December 8, 1988. And it is the story of Alex, the broken, dysfunctional man who saw himself in this brutalized, dehumanized, and discarded child. Most importantly, A Song for David is our story. It is the story of every true believer in this nation for the day will come when we will all answer the question asked in David’s song. One way or another, we will all give an account for what we did while babies died.
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1/31/2020 0 Comments About: A Peace In Progress In recent years, I have discovered that grief is an oft misunderstood infirmity that only the suffering can absorb. Like other afflictions, sympathy can be offered, but no other soul can carry our sorrow for us. Even then, solitude can serve as both friend and foe to the bereaved. One moment, the passion of sweet memories wraps its arms around us like a comforting blanket, while the sharpness of loss pierces our consolation the next. Through it all, there is little our loved ones can do except try to keep us warm, remind us to eat, and prompt us to believe that we will survive this agony.
A Peace in Progress is a personal journal written during the first year of my passage through the foggy gloom of grief after my husband’s death in the Fall of 2005. Though there was no escaping the waves that crashed over me, I found that I could move from the throbbing ache of unbearable sadness to the viable and familiar process of living by surrendering my thoughts to the hope that endures even through the pain of death. In the years since, it has become my desire to share my journey with the anticipation that others will find some comfort in its pages. As others pursue the cessation of their own, personal, and individual inner conflict, I pray that they will be able to reconcile the shadows filled with the silhouettes of times past and move from melancholy to hope to confidence. Somewhere along the way, I pray that each and every traveler will come to experience the peace that grows brighter with each step they take into the joy of living, again. 12/28/2018 0 Comments The Bride Who doesn’t love weddings?
On September 16th 2011 my middle daughter, Caren, was married. What an awesome day it was. Words can't describe the joy that radiated from her countenance as she walked up the aisle in her bridal gown. It was enough to make a mother cry. Caren has endured more than her share of scars, yet she freely shares her testimony with those who desire to hear. It is one of tragedy and triumph; battles fought, wars won, casualties and victories... So, it was that on her special day, she took a break in the war to celebrate, not the beginning of perfect bliss, but the foretaste of something yet to come. And I couldn't help but compare the glory of her wedding to the glory of another or the beauty of this bride to the splendor of the Bride to be. As this New Year begins, I lift my glass to all the brides who are anticipating a new beginning as they join their hearts in matrimony; two becoming one. But especially, on this day, I honor His Bride. Christ’s Beloved Church. You… believer and intimate friend of God. As you continue to prepare yourself for that great and glorious day, I proclaim this jubilant declaration over the year to come, "L'Chayyim... to Life!" The Bride Bodies dot the landscape Like mounds of broken clay Plumes of smoke rise gracefully Masking death's decay Soldiers weak and weary Search for shelter from the fight But the woman rises slowly And surveys the ravaged sight Her gaze is racked with pain Though hesitantly she stands Her garments torn and bloodied Are stained by wars demands Parched lips part in a whisper A silent, desperate cry As she looks to the horizon For the Son is in her eyes Faltering, stumbling, climbing She winds her way among the dead Her footprints bathed in tears She is strengthened with each tread Advancing, pressing forward Nothing slows her steady stride Her wedding day is dawning For the Son is in her eyes Nothing turns her attention Not the failures of the past Not the scent of other lovers Or death's impending blast Face fixed on her Beloved She moves boldly to His side Held captive by His beauty For the Son is in her eyes There they stand in perfect union Father, Spirit, Son and Bride As her blemished gown transforms Into purest, snowy white And all of time and space explode “To Life!” as they arise To celebrate this glorious dawn For the Son is in her eyes |
