It wasn't until I slowed to the day that I noticed the old hearts still hanging. Drooping and barely hanging on. Maybe because they'd been up for so long or been hung on or been blown down.The sick children, the busy at his job husband and the laundry and the sick Mama, the dishes and the homework and the...
it all left the hearts still hanging. Hanging by a nail, hanging all alone, hanging left to the side. Forgotten.
I saw the ashes and counted the days... 46. Only 46 days until I let the truth of what happened the day He rose settle in my heart. I've got hearts left behind still dragging from yesterday and it's time to look ahead to what comes after the hearts have been hung. We bake the rolls and we meet the early sun to remember the one Son who never left us forgotten. He hung the heart of each of us, of me. Hanging there by a nail...His heart for mine. I wonder why I waited so long to just...lay my heart down.
It's so very easy to let the things in front of me, decide what is going to happen inside of me. I let the sick kids, busy husband, mountains of laundry, and the daily grimes linger in my heart longer then I let Him linger. When I put my heart up there, it was my stake in the ground of life that I intended to live from that place. And when my place blew in with an everyday storm of a mess...I walked away and left my heart hanging by itself.
Solo hearts never weather very long by themselves. Suddenly they are broken, bitter, battered pieces that need swept up and pieced back together. I'm better to lay my heart down first...first thing when I wake, first thing when I break bread, first thing when we come and when we go. First things always lead the way. Lead a life.
I took my droopy, dusty hearts from last month down yesterday. I knew I had left more then the felt red pieces hanging by themselves for too long. The days get messy here. The life is beautiful, but it's got enough in it to leave a heart hanging solo. I took those old crimson hearts down and headed to the Truth. I had lived through a small storm in the season of storms and more than once I went in solo. In 46 days I am reminded that solo is something I was never intended to do. Forgotten is anything but who I am.
When I leave my heart hanging to the side, by itself, forgotten for who it was created...I don't see the ashes. I don't feel the grace like rain, that always comes down during a storm. I don't know the song to which my heart can sing. I can't touch what I won't look at.
Too often forgotten, but never too late...I'm laying my heart down today. Again. First things first.