He has sent me to bind up
the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty {give them bouquets of roses MSG}
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.
to proclaim freedom for the captives,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty {give them bouquets of roses MSG}
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.
Isaiah 61:1-3
I have a confession to make. I have a habit. A book habit. I
have a queue of books that lie in wait on my home office shelves for my eyes to
dig in. I get giddy with excitement thinking of which paperback I will choose
next when the pages of my current manuscript have been digested. In this new
life, this new bed of roses I wish I could clone myself to get the bathing,
kitchen cleaning, and tucking in finished with enough time and energy to
consume pages before falling out in exhaustion.
My latest read: One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. The lines penned,
numbered gifts, have given me a fresh lens from which to view life. What
happens when we count the blessings? Give thanks for the simple dailies?
Eucharisteo happens. In the original language eucharisteo means “to give thanks”. In the greek the root charis means “grace” and chara means “joy”. Is it possible in
counting the gifts we are transformed? We give thanks, we comprehend God’s
grace, and only then can we count it all joy!
Since beginning the “Gifts”
journey in early summer. I've had eyes for the gifts. Enjoyed molding words in
new-Vaskamp fashion , penning the gifts. Numbered the gifts? I have not. The
gifts are scattered some quickly typed in to my phone and some published on my
social media timeline. Wanting to number and count the new found blessings,
realizing I need to gather the pieces.
Gather the pieces....Then I'm struck. He struck. My eucharisteo, the thanksgiving, is the Father has gathered the shards of heart, the river of tears, the dreams broken and put the puzzle of life back together. Different, stretched, band-aid over heart. Eucharisteo because He has helped cleanse the deep gashing wound and the broken hearted has been bandaged. Sure the ache of laying young husband in ground will always throb. Ache fills chest for my orphaned children longing for forehead kissing and singing of their song at days end. Eucharisteo has given me pause to revel in the man of God, friend, businessman, husband and father he was. Eyes to see how he left thumbprints on this world, built a legacy that counts, and ministries because of him keep on impacting.
Eucharisteo has returned peace to a once pounding, panicky heart and quieted veins once coursing with adrenalin . Eucharisteo leads to trust. Trust to peace. Peace to confidence; God confidence. This thirty- one proverbs can now be uttered with honest lips: I "laugh at the days to come" not because of what the days hold but because I know the one who holds the days.
For now I really see; scales fallen from Saul-blinded eyes, I see. Eucharisteo precedes the miracle . My miracle! My miracle is the pieces of me have been anointed with the oil of joy and fused me back together. And now my portion of mourning and eucharisteo can be poured out to reach others in their pain. The grief journey long, reward is great if better is chosen over bitter. Eucharisteo paves the way for the miracle, creating true beauty out of ashes. Then blooms the sweet aroma of a new bed of roses.
Gather the pieces....Then I'm struck. He struck. My eucharisteo, the thanksgiving, is the Father has gathered the shards of heart, the river of tears, the dreams broken and put the puzzle of life back together. Different, stretched, band-aid over heart. Eucharisteo because He has helped cleanse the deep gashing wound and the broken hearted has been bandaged. Sure the ache of laying young husband in ground will always throb. Ache fills chest for my orphaned children longing for forehead kissing and singing of their song at days end. Eucharisteo has given me pause to revel in the man of God, friend, businessman, husband and father he was. Eyes to see how he left thumbprints on this world, built a legacy that counts, and ministries because of him keep on impacting.
Eucharisteo has returned peace to a once pounding, panicky heart and quieted veins once coursing with adrenalin . Eucharisteo leads to trust. Trust to peace. Peace to confidence; God confidence. This thirty- one proverbs can now be uttered with honest lips: I "laugh at the days to come" not because of what the days hold but because I know the one who holds the days.
For now I really see; scales fallen from Saul-blinded eyes, I see. Eucharisteo precedes the miracle . My miracle! My miracle is the pieces of me have been anointed with the oil of joy and fused me back together. And now my portion of mourning and eucharisteo can be poured out to reach others in their pain. The grief journey long, reward is great if better is chosen over bitter. Eucharisteo paves the way for the miracle, creating true beauty out of ashes. Then blooms the sweet aroma of a new bed of roses.
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