Wounded Bride, Tethers, and A Love Letter

That Spiritual twine which tethers me to His body has you on my mind, family in Christ. The corners of world separate by physical address but not so, reaching across aisles, miles and distance be found in Him.

I am nothing more than a poured out offering longing for a Glory not my own. And pain ripples the line of my heart, the reverberations of so many others.

His heart for His people bruised by the world, bruise my thoughts.

I don't want dullness that slumbering beast. So I let yours be mine and grope for His heart and I want to cry "My God, my God, speak to your people. Heal their wounds." But seasons endure their allotted time before giving way to cycle the next.

I've known how healing comes, but only after the wound. So I wait for the bandage of mercy and grace, His Love to balm the gap. Stretching the fathom, all I have is Holy Spirit and His prayer to minister the hearts there.

Deeper go roots stressed by the elements, the tree established by His waters. I want nothing of stunting growth by fleshy words my own or the sting of flaming tongues, the power to scorch fruit. Pierced for Beloved Bride aches this heart and it's all I want to know.

The address postmarked in each of His by eternity's linking Spirit, places you near me. For I am but a selfish creature born first in flesh but have entered the Spiritual womb rebirthed spirit by Spirit. Natural blood no longer binds where together we're bond by Blood. This is where He pulsates pain, beating it from above.

My heart full and at times heavy for His beloved Bride. Sensing the rippled waves of change those disturbed waters creased by hard-surfaced rocks. Yet Hope eternal fills the bank of rocky shores and I only a clay mold cheering you on.

Disdain would cast off sentiment, a talk of Love and mush and pain, driving the callous away. Or embarrassed by extravagance of a Betrothed and turn away shy but secretly wanting more. I've known them well for I lived them many years long, though a time ago. But deeper than courses the vein, His tenderness toward you is true. And it's high and deep and mushy more than can be conveyed here.

Thoughts rippled like the waters stirred by His Hand is all I have to give. And Him in you and this clay cheering you onward the prize, Love's Letter to the full which no thinly veiled lines of page impart, only that Comforter who tethers to Christ.



"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows." 2 Corinthians 1:3-5

More Than Ears--Of all the ways

Black and white

flowed by Life,

especially words in red

He's writting these upon my heart

Spirit teaching me....

Like ocean waters wave,

meadows growing tall

stir up under windy's roll

blows His breath on me.....

Light in two by day the bright

and lesser one in night

above it hangs so I may see

His shining love for me...

Dusty souls of skin and bones

on my way they greet
journey close in fellowship sweet
He speaks through them to me...

Melodies my ears delight
praise upon the air
soar my heart to greater heights
in song I meet Him there.....

'Though earthly ways are heard by sound

many more there are

of ways He speaks to me be found

as many as the stars.

--Tammy

I shared this at "Imperfect Prose Thursday" and "Jam With Me Thursday". Click either one to go and visit for either some lovely prose or "How Am I Hearing From God?". And since it's a poem, by golly, I'll do a belated link at "One Shot Wednesday", click there for more ryhmy words.

those Dark Minutes Of Night

"For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe. I long to dwell in your tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of your wings. Selah." Psalm 61:3 and 4 (NIV)

Danger has a way of catching us unawares as was this weekend. In dark isolation that drives us to shelter storms, nothing within control, all to do was pray.

Tucked away in small mountain ranges of southern Oklahoma we roughed in tents. My two boys and their friends with only Mommas and sons to experience nature up close.

Real close.

Rain came suddenly but we weren't surprised. Dried in tents with layers of tarp and rain shields, ponchos, rubber boots, and umbrellas were just a few of our wet-weather equipping. Boy Scout camping with several counties worth of Moms and sons started at the sun's rising Saturday morning.

When sky opened needed rain, its outpouring was strong and loud with its deafening drum of drops. Long dry summer months pent up in clouds now washed this side of earth, giving drink to all things thirsty in that wooded life. A torrent of another kind: Moms leaving in drenching droves, and us few, sheltered under open pavilions waiting for it all to pass.

Abated rain stilled for a while at the now mostly emptied campground with only small numbers left for the night. Lightening and thunder claps would announce more rain and so it'd go back and forth between the storms. Leaving seemed harder, so we and those with us stayed.

Curling under sleeping bags in the late night highlighted day's volatile weather. All seemed behind us.

But middle of night bright flashes and rain spattering meant more was here and I remembering the Boy Scout camp in Iowa struck down by tornado but a short while back. Closer than all others before, the fury of this storm raged with close lightening strikes and shelter was only a measly tent between trees. Seperated by our tents and storm's rage, we were cocooned in dark and rain. Prayer became my only equipping tool. It didn't seem enough but it was all I had.

My oldest son awoke scared and I silently praying beside him told him to pray too. I wondered does it take storms to get me to all I have, a place with nothing of my own resource but a prayer and weeble trust. Those weeble toys that roll around but not fall down, like my trust rolling and knocked for so many minutes of storm's dark passing.

We safely survived and light of morning made any nightly fear seem ever so slight. We left shortly before lunch and two hours later were home. Only to have more storms at home, with their rotating winds and clouds of tornadoes. But armed with resources in way of car, house, internet, cell phone and escape at my disposal, I realize safety isn't always my best shelter.

Perhaps weebled prayers aren't such a feeble place but an open door to enter our only sure Shelter. And who could not give thanks to that?



#137 All the dry minutes, hours, of archery, crafts, bridges, creek beds, and meandering woods.

#138 Protecting friends (in close proximity) from the falling tree limb-logs that fell on their tents in middle of night hours.


#139 Sticking through the storms and coming out not only safe, but with a peculiar enjoyment of having shared it with my boys and friends.

#140 Seeing my boy's maturing and me wanting to develop not only their intellect but also their spirit and soul.

#141 Thankful for God's grace to guide me and correct me in His ways because all of His are better than any best I think I have to offer.

#142 Thankful for God's faithfulness even when I'm weak.


#143 Safety from lightening strikes, tornadoes, and hail both during camping and afterwards at home.

#144 For His Presence even when all seems dark and raging, He never leaves us nor forsakes us.

#145 Being reminded of dwelling in His tent forever and give thanks for things temporary because these will pass away in light of eternity.

For more gratitude journeys, visit Ann's place.

Day is On End--And meeting it there

Throbbing, dull ache fused in weary tired haze

and all that's sun and blue sky overhead

a canopy for tired bones.

Stripping bare nakedness, trees

slowly undress

clothing ground in what was once

cover for stick and limb

now resting on floor around them.

'Though way down low energy perks

with only eyes the spark to see

I rest this day

for tomorrow comes

as passes on it's way.

Being here alive

these moment live

cycle regardless of condition I'm in.

Even while weary-type, this globe of earth

marvels in beauty, the cascading color fall

from day's end that slips off it's edge.

Gleaming, glimmer reds and orange

burn the sky in hue

and tired I meet the setting here.

Still in awe though muted still

by body waning out 

heart singing within
the sight behold before my eyes
my Maker's caressing light.


I shared this at Emily's "Imperfect Prose"..for other reads, click over and find her delightful place.

Condemnation & Conviction--separating blurry lines

Do you know?

Focus of self that'd count my worth only a lowly servant in my Father's house, was all I imagined the sum of my prodigal years. Condemnation hidden in my heart where I lived and breathed it. And I didn't know.

Do you know?

Me? Betrothed to the Lamb, the Lion of Judah, the King of kings and Lord of lords? Me. A most beloved inclusion into Heaven's royalty, little girl dreams, and my faith like a child so I could "see" the unseen promise. Conviction turned me here and I knew.

I knew deeper. Conviction, the blessed upturning to Him; condemnation the self-worth value amounting to little.

Do you know?

Conviction's prick quickly returns us to Him from repentantive hearts and then evaporates under ministering Holy Spirit?

Do you know how we're dissolved like Lot's wife, in lingering long our look behind sins destructive ruins left thereof? Fixing eyes on rubble versus deliverance, the Deliverer? Condemnation loves to salt the wound.

Do you know?

Of things seemingly opposite condemnation, the self-appointed high value though lifted up is condemned with pride. I'm sure you know.

A firmed cornerstone in Christ is the only solid structure and it's He who builds it. Cinders like Sodom and Gomorrah or a torn veil when "It is finished" sometimes means entirely changing believe systems. Ones built by man.

Truth's absolute sustenance may send earth quaking waves to ripple my world, your world, shaking any artificial foundation, but it's a safe place to be because He's sure to rebuild, and better.

Do you know?

Untangling two "c"s, condemnation and conviction, must be thrown to the wash. Agitated by the Word and cleansed pure by Holy Spirit's rinsing, laying down how we think this and that, coming as babes to cycle truth with Truth.

By giving ourselves permission to be wrong, we give Him permission to be right. 

When we think we need no correction we grow stale and proud. When we think we're no better than dirt's lowly depths, we become diminished and unworthy. Both are condemned in Christ.

It's by focusing on His worth which allows us to really see ours. We need only fix on Him.

False value systems built by world and through earthly hands is a well practiced process we've acquired from the Garden. But victory is within reach.

Do you know it?

You, in Christ, were meant for more. More of Him a daily increase of knowing worth's value, your true value, measured in light of a King, in light of a Bride, in light of Royalty and Priesthood.

Yes, condemnation counts us worthless but conviction is the application of Holy Spirit workings. And us never thinking we're above the two. Because either the one will quietly slip on the chains, or lacking the other will plant us in highly pious positions.  Either pit or lofty heights will require great lengths to return to the source of value.

May we know:

That to flee condemnation is freedom from bondage and to never tire of conviction is to remain free in Christ.

Leave behind the filthy rags because our value is one and the same. It's Christ, Him crucified, and risen. Resurrected from the bowels of condemnation, or condemned from the heights of pride, both separated by blessed conviction. Conviction is the sure footing of bringing us to His feet which either rescues from the pit or topples the heights.

We are made whole and wholly desperate by "I AM". May Truth, from end to beginning, light our paths and impart discernment for the soul. And may Holy Spirit abide and breath life for eyes to see difference in the two. And above all, no matter which direction we arrive whether from above or below, that we may know the measure of worth's true source and embrace it fully. 

"For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him, that we may also be glorified together." Romans 8:15-17 (NKJ)

This is for Bridget's "One Word Carnival" on Condemnation. Join her and read others or leave some thoughts of your own at her place.

Looking For Worship in the Daily Grind

Teetering the balance between wholly abandonment at the feet like Mary and task performing duties of Martha is a delicate dance. If I completely neglect the one, then I negate them both.

I've been entrusted with husband,  kids, a home and tending to this side of Heaven is good stewardship of not only the blessing but also of Christ's serving example. Sometimes being about my Father's business is doing the mundane, the regular earthy needs which seem to remove us from the Feet.

But it's only after washing dishes, cooking meals, and managing my stewardship well, can I truly appreciate the times of worshipful Presence.

So, I'm teetering this weekend. Trying to find times hidden in Christ between the fray of daily life and it's demands. We are temporary. And will I not look back and wish to have these days again? To not only live Christ, but to be His Hands, His Feet, His Words...

...to those nearest, the family under roof.

I first want to show Him here, in the hidden places. Where praise is unseen except my Lord alone. Finding it between raisin spattered floors, meal planning or lack of it, strategically timing errands, and all the minutes in between.

I've not arrived.

I'm a practicing clay creature in the Potter's Hands. The kiln of life tests the spirit for fruit.

Maybe the earthen pot isn't meant to balance, just to be pliable in the Master's hold.



"But now, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and You our potter;  and all we are the work of Your hand." Isaiah 64:8

Seeing Him in The Holes, Sky and Bridges Alight

It's not a bridge, the picture, the vision that's been on my heart this week. But I don't think I could find one that would match it anyhow. Where could I go to snap a burning bridge? A blazing glory crossing from one crevice to another. Deep canyon bottoms with not just one bridge, but many of them ablaze in their straddling of depths.

Besides, how would I explain the bridges are God's people? A people afire for other's crossing to God's depth, a calling out by the Holy Spirit's burning desire for you, me, to know Him more. Is there such as more? He who has no bounds and I get lost in a blissful seeking of it. May we never tire of this more.

Instead, I have a hole in the sky. It's the picture I saw coming as I stood under it and knew when sun and clouds met, it was gonna be camera worthy. And why now? It didn't really match my heart, or did it?

The bright sun shone down on us throughout day time activities and though it was appreciated, it wasn't uncommon. Blue sky, sun, cool breezes and us enjoying God's turning seasons.

But it's when we let our cloudy self's be splayed open in sky for other's to see, does Son's gleaming brightness capture us. Him alone is glorious, but Him poking through others, makes us stop in awesome worship of the One relationship who is able to fill us. And more, always more. There are steps beyond salvation that takes us closer and deeper into heart knowledge of this One.

As much as we long to know more, to shine bright, He longs it more than us. For since the beginning, He desires to reveal Himself, calling us to come close. Each passing moment an opportunity to go to depths, to cross the bridge, to be a fire for Love. And the holes of life, only allow more of bright Son to shine through. It's written in the skies. For creation calls out and we're completely wrapped in the created. Who can turn and not see Him?

There's a depth of soul and spirit that calls out to Deep.

He's the One who answers it and burns glory plum through us. We only need see the hole and let Him fill it.

" For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body." Romans 8:20-23 NKJ

I shared this at Ann's "Walk With Him Wednesday" on how we see.

Also shared at Emily's "Imperfect Prose". Step over and read more.

How Long Do We Starve Flesh So Our Spirit Hungers?

I'm listening and straining for quiet places. I'm turning off world so I can tune in the Word. I come here so I can process, chew, swallow the morsels that feed my spirit.

In the quiet, I've noticed an appetite is found. Solitude growls from the bowels of spirit to praise, seek, and satiate. Brokenness has brought me to a garden to eat. Little did I know how the noise of world distracts our appetites until they become skewed to fill us despite an absence of hunger.

I've eaten the cake of this world.

In all my supply, blessed sweetness hasn't left. So I don't want to fast a temporary denial. I want a wholly abandoned appetite for spirit to hunger for Spirit. I'm seeking to satiate with the only Living food the bread and communion of Christ.

How long before world's gluttony threatens my hunger again?

Not all good things are God things. So I starve. At least I try. Starving world from flesh, so my spirit can reign.

It was in the letting go, the turning off, the goals of being debt-less, a 'dream' home left behind and many other choices of change did I realize how much I loved the world. And oh, how I hate how much I love it.

It's that appetite which needs to starve. And die.

So I seek nutrition between quiet, songs, words, and noisy spirit cries. Ravaging the Word for morsels to feed the growling of an appetite unleashed. By laying down cake, I've found manna.

I want to wait here and not complain for quail.

My worldly flesh prefers to feed on the world's produce. But Holy Spirit longs to feed the deeper me and produce a harvest.

It's in this quiet hunger of spirit that's feeding my eyes to see.



^"So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the LORD." Deuteronomy 8:3

I also shared this at Ann's place. For more readings or to leave yours go to "Walk With Him Wednesday" .

And because this describes my imperfectly prosed week, I'm leaving this leg of my journey at Emily's place In The Hush of The Moon's "Imperfect Prose Thursdays". It's my first deposit. I so love prose, poetry and such. And discovering Emily's is just the spot for inspiring it.