we’re sail-a-brating
our
anniversary
using that
system
of counting daze
oceans of memories between us
how can we count
the waves?
that have washed through
our story
written in the sand
beach ya we can
make more
walking hand in hand
endless ditties
won’t express my
true emotions
words won’t
so I’ll stop versing now love
to see you
and hold this moment
11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11
New International Version (NIV)
H)eaven knows how encouraged I am.
O)nly You Lord know every plan.
P)rosperous in all ways.
E)very day I praise Your name.
I am unworthy,
but I have the keys to the kingdom on my key ring.
It would be sad if I grew old
and forgot what they were for.
I am unworthy,
He must increase and I must decrease.
What’s that sound?
He’s at the door.
I am unworthy.
Washed in the blood.
Seeking revelation of my sin.
It is true, if in my flesh I have lost,
in the atonement of grace, I have won.
Most days when I wake up
and begin the routine,
bleary eyes taking in
a familiar scene,
I start the ball rolling
just the way I should
but life isn’t as smooth
as I think it
could
be.
A lot of days are bigger than me,
I admit.
Okay, most,
okay, all.
I need a little of me,
but much more of Him,
because Jesus is there to catch me
when I fall.
Did you ever wake up feeling like
the loser of a bet?
It’s only the beginning of the day
but you feel like a horse
put away wet.
I’ve never been much
for the sound of retired.
When I’m done being tired,
I’ll have had enough of that.
I need energy to live
through this world to beyond
where I’ll get to sing the rest of the song
and know
all of its meaning.
But that doesn’t come without dropping
the idea my strength is enough.
I’m good with knowing
on You
Lord,
I’ll be leaning.
Oven-tually
you have to come out
from where it’s
toasty
and warm,
and life’s
mishaps
can break you and leave you a mess,
just like after a storm.
But whether you’re
upper, middle, or even lower
crust,
no matter how life has tossed you,
pick yourself up you must.
© Joel Tipple
WordPress is very sentimental. It sent me a little notice that we had been together for two years! Now, I’ve only been posting consistently for the last 250 some odd days (some of them very odd, and all in a row, don’t you know). Since I’m sentimental too, I thought I’d say thanks to WordPress for this remarkable platform we bloggers get to use. But will there be cake?
It’s just a half hour to twelve
and on the need to post my post I dwell
What subject should I tackle?
How about that ramshackle
run down house.
You know the one…
that you drive by several times a week
thinking that someday you should peek
in the pane-less window
of what might have been the living room.
A wisp of a curtain still blows in the wind.
Roses still bloom in front,
where someone tenderly cared for them,
not knowing they would be strong enough to
outlast
everyone
who ever lived there.
© Joel Tipple
Almighty God,
please
give me the wisdom
to know that I am not wise.
I tend to slip that mask on,
thinking it a clever guise.
But I am typical of the youngest,
and though I crow and jest,
my insecurities show through,
even through my best.
Can I give myself as a canvas?
Would you take the brush?
I believed I was so artful,
but my colors were muddied
and rushed.
I’d rather the master
paint me,
and Your signature on me be found.
Your name will then be spoken,
and I will delight in the sound.
© Joel Tipple
Help me Lord,
to forbear
your chastening,
knowing my place is to listen,
to work out those
rough spots of
rebelliousness
and pride.
So soon after forgiveness
I run headlong into
a new misadventure or error,
all the while taking credit
for my redeemed character.
When You hold a mirror before me, Lord,
with the other hand give me strength
to really see what it reflects,
and not color it unduly
with my own interpretation.
These lessons are best learned
sooner…
This memory could really go along with yesterday’s post, and is probably a familiar one to most of you, those moments when the power goes out.
I have a vivid memory of riding home from the little store. The little store was just that, little. It was a very small gas station with a tiny grocery store attached to a home. I suppose at one time there were many more “little stores” in the United States. Corner grocery stores. Actually, we live down the street from my in-laws, and on their block there was once a little store, too. Their dog would ask to go by himself to get a treat there. They would open their front door and he would go to the store by himself, collect a small Tootsie Roll from the proprietor, gobble it up, and go back home.
Okay, back to the ride home. It’s funny that I would make much of the ride. It only amounted to a few blocks. A few blocks in a small town, I might add. The wind reminded me of the wind Dorothy experiences on her way back into her house, before she gets the bump on her head, falls back into her bed and flies off to Oz. As I tacked my faux Sting Ray bike into the wind, already bits of debris, such as asphalt roofing, were slapping across the road. Shortly after I got home, the power went out. The next day, something like half the barns in our county were down, at least all the barns that were were due to go down, if you know what I mean. The point of my story, though, was not the little store, or even the storm. It was more the quiet after the power went out. Candles, food heated on the Franklin Stove, board games, no TV, talking. A good memory created when a minor inconvenience became a night of reliving a simpler time.
Write here, Joel. 