Story Pieces

Today I have the honor and privilege of guest posting for my friend, Jermaine Lane.  Jermaine weaves stunning imagery through his poetry, so make sure you check out some of his art.  You will be blessed! 


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Right now we are in life limbo.  To make ends meet for our family, Ironman has been going to local auctions and re-selling items on ebay.  A few weeks ago, he came home with a medium sized box filled with boyhood treasures from one single individual  from years gone by.  The "boy" had written his name on nearly every precious piece.  They were his TREASURES... his STORY PIECES, and it moved my heart so, that I just had to let the sentiment spill into words. 


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"STORY PIECES"

In my hands I hold story pieces...

 belonging to an elderly man I never knew.   

The truth and sentiment of this has gripped my heart in a way unexpected. The story pieces I hold include an old farm game, a cardboard box filled with tattered old crayons from his second grade year- which his mother lovingly decorated his name on the top, a pencil box from later years filled with pens and pencils- his name then neatly scrolled in his own cursive penmanship… and a child's play shaving kit. 

It was the old shaving kit that did it.  It gripped my heart and caused me to fight back tears. 

STORY PIECES.

Perhaps, it's because I can so easily envision my own six year old son playing wholeheartedly with a miniature bar of soap, and a tiny tube of real toothpaste.  Maybe I wonder what this old-man-young was like.  One day, not really so very long ago, he stood in front of a mirror, lathered up his face with the mini bristly shave brush and carved off cream in streaks with his plastic razor.  He combed his hair with the comb, and dabbed on aftershave from the mini sized vial.  I'm sure his mother kissed his "clean shaven" fresh smelling face all over. Little Jerry Lee used up every bit of this shaving kit.  Still, he saved it.

STORY PIECES.

Each item used up.  Each item saved.  A broken comb.  Toothbrush.  Toothpaste.  Three teeny tiny glass jars of aftershave and cologne.  Mini shave brushes and a bar of soap.  Cardboard razors to fit in the plastic razor head.  Little Jerry Lee even cut out and colored a few cardboard razor blades of his own.  Perhaps he used the crayons from his second grade crayon box- the one which his mother so lovingly put his name. 

STORY PIECES.

Story pieces that Jerry Lee saved for 60 years.  Story pieces that meant something to him.  Story pieces that now mean something to me.  Someone, somewhere named Jerry Lee Myers cared enough to neatly save and preserve a few pieces from his childhood.  These were more than "things" to him.  He was saving memories, feelings, warmth, security, love, a piece of home.  Jerry Lee had a tender heart to want to save a precious few treasures, pieces from his childhood, pieces from his beginnings, pieces that founded the man he was.  

STORY PIECES.

TO CONTINUE READING..... CLICK HERE! 

Grateful

Today I have the absolute HONOR of guest posting for one of

             my favorite bloggers/writers.  Tamara Lunardo is one of the most honest, raw, and real people you would ever care to meet.  She hides behind no walls, cuts to the chase, speaks what the rest of us probably wish we could, and loves JESUS with every ounce of her being.  I am blessed that my blog, at least for a day, gets to cross paths with hers.  THANK YOU, Tamara, for allowing a little piece of my heart to be present in your "not so little" corner of the internet.  :)

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My post today is a poem (of sorts) based on the following scripture:



Early in the morning Jesus came again to the temple. All the people came to Him, and He sat down and taught them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst they said to Him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?” This they said to test Him, that they might have some charge to bring against Him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. And as they continued to ask Him, He stood up and said to them,  

“LET HIM WHO IS WITHOUT SIN AMONG YOU BE THE FIRST TO THROW A STONE AT HER."

And once more He bent down and wrote on the ground.  But when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus stood up and said to her,  

“WOMAN, WHERE ARE THEY?  HAS NO ONE CONDEMNED YOU?" 

She said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said,

“NEITHER DO I CONDEMN YOU... GO, AND SIN NO MORE."

John 8:1-11

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Are you a stone holder, or are you the girl caught in the entanglement of her own brokenness?  It's an honest question, because I KNOW that *I have been a holder of rocks both big and small many times in my life, and I KNOW that *I have thrown those stones more than a time or two, at least in my own heart.  The CRUX of this scripture (and let's NOT miss it) is this:

NOT A SINGLE ONE OF US IS REALLY AND TRULY DEEP DOWN IN THE BONES OF WHO WE ARE A STONE HOLDER OR THROWER...  WE ARE ALL, *EVERY* *SINGLE* *ONE* OF US, THAT BEDRAGGLED GIRL ABOUT TO DIE BY OUR OWN DOING...  WAITING... BREATHLESS... IN THE MIDST OF THE RIDICULOUS, AMAZING, WONDROUS MERCY OF THE SAND WRITER.

This is the perfect backdrop for being "GRATEFUL"....  To continue reading, please click HERE.