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My Pic

Welcome to my little Corner

I am Barbara.

An introvert masquerading as an extrovert, a backyard gardener with a farmer's heart, a nurse by day and a dreamer by night. I am passionate about Jesus, spicy food, puppy dogs, words, compost and the aroma of desert rain. Music is chocolate to my soul but solitude feeds the deepest part of me.

And you need to know:

I have been rescued.

Several times actually. Right out of the mud and mire. My writing began as whispers between me and my God and it will always be rooted in that soil. So the plan is simple: I write. Out of the overflow of my heart, the place He has so generously chosen to dwell.

Though I am all grown up, I feel as if the handsome Prince has finally found me and the glass slipper fits. And a living breathing fairy tale has ensued.

So pull up a chair and "sit a spell", as we would say from my West Virginia roots. I hope you find His Footprints here.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Truth Tales

He appeared so small in that chair, raging against the Lord of the Universe, as if he could make an impact.  “I don’t believe in fairy tales”, he blurted out with brow scowled and head shaking defiantly.  “It’s all superstition.”

I had not initiated this conversation about faith with my atheist patient.  His vulnerability set it in motion.  The fear brimmed over with profanity, laced with the name of the One he raged against.  He wore his anger like a neon jacket - loud and attention drawing. But by his own adamant proclamation, he acknowledged the very existence of the One he denied.   Terror shone in his eyes.

And I saw the arrogance of a drowning man who insisted he could save himself in the midst of an undertow. 

I wonder when the hardening was born.  What wound failed to heal and began spreading its toxins throughout his soul.  At what point did he relinquish all hope? His words were loud but an inner cry of emptiness, fear and sadness were the main characters in this drama.  I so desperately wanted him to know the Good News.  That there IS a fairy tale and I am living it.  And the hero in this story is Jesus, the One whose name he called out so carelessly.  And no, it doesn’t make any sense from our earthly perspective but it is magnificently true and real and wonderful.  Though our minds cannot wrap themselves around God’s ways, no protest will silence His Kingdom.

But my words provided no comfort as the chains that bound him held fast.  Ironically, while he flailed himself to assuage his own pain and attempted to thwart God’s reputation, the One he railed against still loved him. 
For even a crown of thorns and nail pierced hands did not weaken His resolve to save the world.

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