Monday, November 13, 2006
"A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out." Matthew 12:20
Is there anything more frail than a bruised reed? Look at the bruised reed at hte water's edge. A once slender and tall stalk of sturdy river grass, it is now bowed and bent. Are you a bruised reed? Was it so long ago that you stood so tall, so proud? You were upright and sturdy, nourished by the waters and rooted in the riverbed of confidence. Then something happened. You were bruised...
by harsh wrods
by a friend's anger
by a spouse's betrayal
by your own failure
by religion's rigidity
And you were wounded, bent ever so slightly. Your hollow reed, once tall and straight now stooped, and hidden in the bulrush. And the smoldering wick ono the candle. Is there anything closer to death than a smoldering wick? Once aflame, now flickering and failing. Still warm from yesterday's passion, but no fire. Not yet cold but far from hot. Was it that long ago? Then came the wind...the cold win, the harsh wind. They said your ideas were foolish. They told you your dreams were to lofty. They scolded your for challenging the time-tested. The constant wind wore down upon you. Oh you stood strong for a moment (or maybe a lifetime), but ht eendless blast whipped yoru flickering flame, leaving you one pinch away from darkness.
exerpt from Max Lucado - He Still Moves Stones
Is there anything more frail than a bruised reed? Look at the bruised reed at hte water's edge. A once slender and tall stalk of sturdy river grass, it is now bowed and bent. Are you a bruised reed? Was it so long ago that you stood so tall, so proud? You were upright and sturdy, nourished by the waters and rooted in the riverbed of confidence. Then something happened. You were bruised...
by harsh wrods
by a friend's anger
by a spouse's betrayal
by your own failure
by religion's rigidity
And you were wounded, bent ever so slightly. Your hollow reed, once tall and straight now stooped, and hidden in the bulrush. And the smoldering wick ono the candle. Is there anything closer to death than a smoldering wick? Once aflame, now flickering and failing. Still warm from yesterday's passion, but no fire. Not yet cold but far from hot. Was it that long ago? Then came the wind...the cold win, the harsh wind. They said your ideas were foolish. They told you your dreams were to lofty. They scolded your for challenging the time-tested. The constant wind wore down upon you. Oh you stood strong for a moment (or maybe a lifetime), but ht eendless blast whipped yoru flickering flame, leaving you one pinch away from darkness.
exerpt from Max Lucado - He Still Moves Stones
Labels: Spiritual