More of Real

Author’s note: Today’s post is a journal entry written quite some time ago. As I was sorting through the documents saved on my computer I found it hiding all by itself in a folder entitled “Mama’s Journal”. Since the description of A Mother’s Rewards blog is that of a journal, I have decided to go ahead and post the following piece.

Recently while reading another blog, I saw that a dear woman of God had shared her heart raw and real in a post. While most of her readers understood that the emotions and feelings of one, random day do not a full-blown case of depression or the crazies make, there were some, who out of their concern and compassion, reacted quite aggressively.

I do NOT want to worry any readers or cause undue concern by sharing a journal style of writing. Nor do I particularly crave the sort of comments or interventions unnecessary concerns bring along. Therefore, I am including this little note before today’s posting, just to avoid any potential confusion.

Together, all of us are real people doing real life. Every one of us have days, moments, life times where emotions and feelings betray us. There are days of pure bliss and some on the other end of the spectrum too. That is great; it is fine; it is even good. For God is with us, always. He holds us in the palm of His hand; He never lets us go. The only one/thing who can take us out of His hand is us, by purposely choosing to leave Him and His ways. Held close by Love, He has allowed each of us free to cling or flee. The choice is ours and ours alone.
Earlier this year I shared that A Mother’s Rewards would be real. Journal entry style writings are one more step in my personal journey toward “real”. I pray God shines out as my hero, my knight in shining armor, my ultimate love, and passionate friend. He is my everything; without Him I am nothing. He has covered me with His grace, and because of grace, all I have to do is be. May we all learn to be real, together. In Him, Blessed Mama

Sometime in 2011,

I’m writing. Yes, I’m still writing. Sometimes though, the writing is for a different purpose than before. It isn’t for the blog. It isn’t for the entire world to read and know. This is the most difficult type of writing. Writing that probes deep into the heart, into the places hidden to all except Him.

Only God knows those things cowering in the corners of my innermost being. The fears, the joys, selfish ambitions, religious bondages, only the Omniscient One sees, knows, and understands the uglies that hold me prisoner.

He who was, who is, and who is to come, has always known me. He made me. I am His and His alone. It’s the love affair of a lifetime, He and I. Together we have traveled many miles, forded many streams.

It is His arms that gather me close in the middle of pain raw and searing. His touch that lifts my eyes to see His heart. His gentle whisper when from love I begin to stray.

He knows that, on my own, I am not a good mother; that, by myself, I am an even worse wife. Yet He shows me how to be better. Thanks to Him I am still here, trying. Because of His love, I always will be trying.

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