"May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world." Galatians 6:14
Behold the Man upon a cross
My guilt upon His shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished.
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no powers, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection.
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom.
*Happy Birthday to the King of Rock-n-Roll
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
My Tiny Rock
My husband fondly admired a brunette with long dark limbs on the familiar white sand of St. John. She wore aviator Raybans and her perfectly sculpted cheeks were kissed with just the right amount of sun. Her ringlets fell just past her bare shoulders and a white and tan polka-dotted silk tank clung to her body. Her shorts hit her tan legs mid thigh and moved with her every stride.
He complimented her. Really complimented her, like she was the one that got away. And 15 years later, she still looked as good and made him feel the same. She tilted her head with every flirtatious response.
She did look good. Great rather...and the stunning image before me was a flash from my past.
I stood on our beach blanket in turquoise Capri pants. The button had fallen off on our last warm weather trip and I hadn't had time to sew it back on. The waistband sagged, exposing my pasty white skin. I just watched.
They stood on the water's edge. He had his back to me.
"You really have kept it together," He swooned.
"I mean, so full of life. You, wow, you haven't changed."
She just kicked the soft coral with her bare feet as the breeze blew her hair and drew her top even closer, outlining two handfuls of soft breasts. The wind gave me a chill and I grabbed my cover up.
She shook the gold bangles on her delicate wrist. They seemed to catch a ray of sunshine that flickered on her face.
She was the furthest thing from cold.
Just wait until she has two of his children. I thought.
But girls like that never do. They hunt. And don't waste time building a den.
They still hitch rides on sailing yachts, sunning on the bow in their sequined bikinis, letting butter drip from their chins, throwing their heads back in laughter.
They are the simple ones.
Champagne and flowing skirts are their bills.
Flip-flops at the door and two wine glasses in their cupboard.
A Jeep that barely runs.
A career full of bar tabs and dinner specials.
But they are content.
Content in the greatest definition... to plunge into the cerulean Caribbean Sea without abandon letting the salty, silky water wash over them. And cleanse them of worry or want.
Settling down with the right guy, buying the perfect house, educating their children at acclaimed schools weren't even on their radar.
They share a gypsy spirit, a fighting sense of adventure, life filled with wonder, and the world at their fingertips chasing the horizon and soaking up the next best fun.
And here she was on this five mile island, putting down a tap root and being adored presently by my man.
He complimented her. Really complimented her, like she was the one that got away. And 15 years later, she still looked as good and made him feel the same. She tilted her head with every flirtatious response.
She did look good. Great rather...and the stunning image before me was a flash from my past.
I stood on our beach blanket in turquoise Capri pants. The button had fallen off on our last warm weather trip and I hadn't had time to sew it back on. The waistband sagged, exposing my pasty white skin. I just watched.
They stood on the water's edge. He had his back to me.
"You really have kept it together," He swooned.
"I mean, so full of life. You, wow, you haven't changed."
She just kicked the soft coral with her bare feet as the breeze blew her hair and drew her top even closer, outlining two handfuls of soft breasts. The wind gave me a chill and I grabbed my cover up.
She shook the gold bangles on her delicate wrist. They seemed to catch a ray of sunshine that flickered on her face.
She was the furthest thing from cold.
Just wait until she has two of his children. I thought.
But girls like that never do. They hunt. And don't waste time building a den.
They still hitch rides on sailing yachts, sunning on the bow in their sequined bikinis, letting butter drip from their chins, throwing their heads back in laughter.
They are the simple ones.
Champagne and flowing skirts are their bills.
Flip-flops at the door and two wine glasses in their cupboard.
A Jeep that barely runs.
A career full of bar tabs and dinner specials.
But they are content.
Content in the greatest definition... to plunge into the cerulean Caribbean Sea without abandon letting the salty, silky water wash over them. And cleanse them of worry or want.
Settling down with the right guy, buying the perfect house, educating their children at acclaimed schools weren't even on their radar.
They share a gypsy spirit, a fighting sense of adventure, life filled with wonder, and the world at their fingertips chasing the horizon and soaking up the next best fun.
And here she was on this five mile island, putting down a tap root and being adored presently by my man.
Days Of Our Lives
I lie in bed this morning listening to the rant of a man whose drug trip has gone so wrong. He's running back and forth beneath my window violently screaming in an unclear language. He has been since five this morning. Since the sun came up, every now and then he points to his head and says, "Leave Me Alone." The NYPD can't be bothered, so the entire neighborhood is.
I just pray he falls asleep soon. And his head hits something softer than the frozen ground.
***
So Mariska didn't want to say a line. Two writers on set brainstormed how to modify the script. They threw out ideas. She shook her head. I offered up my word choice. She took it.
Harry Connick and I talked Saints-Falcons football, magic tricks, and his gorgeous wife. He made an absolute outstanding first impression with crew proving that it doesn't take much to shake a hand and learn a name no matter who you are.
Ice called out with the stomach flu.
And my sweet Kelli gave me a music filled ride to my doorstep.
As Ice Cube would say...Today was a good day.
I just pray he falls asleep soon. And his head hits something softer than the frozen ground.
***
So Mariska didn't want to say a line. Two writers on set brainstormed how to modify the script. They threw out ideas. She shook her head. I offered up my word choice. She took it.
Harry Connick and I talked Saints-Falcons football, magic tricks, and his gorgeous wife. He made an absolute outstanding first impression with crew proving that it doesn't take much to shake a hand and learn a name no matter who you are.
Ice called out with the stomach flu.
And my sweet Kelli gave me a music filled ride to my doorstep.
As Ice Cube would say...Today was a good day.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Dreams Vs Reality
Here's a list of items I said I couldn't wait to accomplish while on hiatus from the show.
Yoga
Swim
Outline Novel
See Movies
Sleep In
Finish Short Story
Run in Central Park
Now back to the grind...Here is the list of items I say I would be doing if I wasn't at work.
Swimming
Running in Central Park
Finishing Short Story
Sleeping In
Yoga
Seeing Movies
Outlining Novel
As West Indians would say Wh'apen?
As West Indians would say Wh'apen?
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
It's All Too Much
"The purpose in a man's heart is like deep water, but a man of understanding will draw it out." Proverbs 20:5
Contrary to popular belief (Or unpopular.... some of my best posts have never been read) and proof on this never quite found a way to end blog, I am off to quite an impressive start to the New Year in my writing venture.
Day 5 of My Morning Papers. That's three free hand written pages of stream of consciousness upon rising for my eyes only.
Before the bathroom.
And yes, before coffee.
I'm clearing the clutter in what I didn't realize was a hoarders mind. Dangerous. And not so pretty....
Worse, I'm extremely defensive towards every last item that spills out onto the paper.
My mission....to find my mission.
Or wait on the Lord to reveal it.
How's everyone else's new year pursuits?
Contrary to popular belief (Or unpopular.... some of my best posts have never been read) and proof on this never quite found a way to end blog, I am off to quite an impressive start to the New Year in my writing venture.
Day 5 of My Morning Papers. That's three free hand written pages of stream of consciousness upon rising for my eyes only.
Before the bathroom.
And yes, before coffee.
I'm clearing the clutter in what I didn't realize was a hoarders mind. Dangerous. And not so pretty....
Worse, I'm extremely defensive towards every last item that spills out onto the paper.
My mission....to find my mission.
Or wait on the Lord to reveal it.
How's everyone else's new year pursuits?
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Feelin' Alright
The New York tradition continues, an epic New Years Eve Gov't Mule Jam at the Beacon Theater.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
