Freedom for the Oppressed

I found a verse today in the Psalms. Chapter 9, actually, for the 9th of April. Psalms 9:9-10, it says: "The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. And those who know Your name put their trust in You, for You, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek You."

How often do we forget that God is always there for us; we find ourselves believing that He is too far to hear or help when we are distressed, in trouble; sad, or lonely. He is my refuge, my Protector, my Provider, my Emmanuel, my Jehovah Jireh, my Savior, my Redeemer, my truest and closest Friend. The One I can always count on, always lean on, always trust. Why do I not go to Him then, when He is the ultimate source of all my help? He says He is a "stronghold for the oppressed," and He is a refuge in times of trouble, an ever-present companion and shelter in every storm of life. It has been said that God will either calm you or calm your storm, and somehow I believe that God calms me more than be calms my storms. He wants me to grow and mature and become more and more dependent and surrendered to Him, and if we never had need of Him, it would never happen.

So once again, all things work together for good to those who love God and have been called according to His purposes.

Evening Noises

Mournfully and sweetly, so very low and gentle, the cooing of the mourning dove echoes through the early evening light. I watch the light sink low, I hear the faint notes of a wind chime as a silent breeze floats past and then slowly fades away. If I listen to those sweet, low notes I feel the tension fade away, as I listen to the soft noises and forget all the days. And then those old sweet memories, of days gone by so long ago, of a little girl with frizzy curls, soft brown eyes, and cooing doves. I remember that little frame sitting in the evening light, swinging on the swings, as high as she could go, to see the birds keep flying, to see the sun sink low. I remember the cool grass between her toes, and the smell of freshly-turned earth inside her nose. In those days there were daisies, and little golden flowers, there were cool breezes and crickets too. Oh the memories, those sweet days in which her young mind knew no pain. All was sunshine-filled days, every moment happiness to the child-mind. And now I keep reaching back, back into that almost unknown, I reach my fingers out to grasp, but like the sunshine, it slips through my fingers, too intangible to grasp.

Tears Down My Cheeks

Oh peaceful day
Where have you gone
I’ve gotten older
And you’ve left me alone.
The flocks have flown
The sparrows came and went
The cool air seeps into my lungs
But all I feel is older,
Older, and undone.
I used to listen to the sparrows
The morning doves and crickets too
I used to scan the skies for rainbows
And listen the rain fall on the roof.
I used to keep snails and frogs and snakes
And I used to listen to the leaves dancing upon the wind
I used to draw on the driveway with colored chalks,
And I used to shoot hoops, jump rope, ride my bike, and go on walks.
What do I have left but a busy day,
Countless heartaches and the memories of past mistakes?
When beauty has been tainted by darkness and sin
You tend to not see the beauty still around you because deep inside you feel that, like you, someday it will end.
I long to be back inside that little girl;
The one innocent to the world,
The one unscarred by violence
And unbroken by the loss of love.
I long to reach my arm up and trace the paneled lines of ceiling in my grammamma’s house in the mountains, hear the roar of the semi on the highway;
I long to dip my feet in the big river and fish with my papa of long ago.
I’m tired of the pain of life; I long to stay a little girl; curled up in the sleeping bag of dancing deer,
And dream of princes riding over mountain peaks.
I long to tuck my feet under me upon the window seat in that little cabin on the hill, and stay there till the sun sinks low.
I’ve slowly forgotten the child-dreams,
Forgotten the innocence of youth.
How I wish to return inside that little body, even with the rumpled braid and wild curls.
Where the pressure of life was not even a thought, and the joy of life was never-ending.
Maybe in my dreams tonight
I can be that little girl,
Because some days it’s too hard
To live in the wide, and lonely world.