scraps of thought

And He said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a secluded place and rest a while.”
Mark 6:31 NASB

breakfast with the garden’s last daffys & Mr. Lebsock

This morning, as we normally do, D and I shared breakfast, Bible Study and a few devotional writings from favorite and respected sources. When we reached the devotional part of our time he handed me a printed page and said, “this one is for you.”

This one spoke to my heart, to my soul and to my spirit. As I read it aloud the tears began to flow. By the end I was bawling!

Here is the piece:

Scribing on Scraps
by Verna Bowman

My daybreak therapy is praying with a pen, recording trials and blessings of yesterday.

King David and I have spent many quiet dawns and silent nights in the Psalms he once composed in caves and pastures. David, the shepherd-king, has been a good mentor, guiding me through the tough times of life, leading me beside still places.

As a teenage scribe, I kept a diary, logging thoughts on my “beloved of the week.”

Now I write about my Beloved of my everyday in journals filled with naked thoughts on tear crinkled pages, and I emerge strong.

There are times my journal is nothing more than a tattered scrap, recklessly scribbled at a traffic light or jots on a napkin transcribed later to my bound treasured keepsake. Mostly, it’s in the pause and ponder times when I come quietly before the Lord to write of His greatness. Then His voice fills the white space.

Some words blow away with wind, but others need to be recorded on parchment, preserved and priceless, a legacy of faith to leave to others.

For me, there is no better way to remember the amazing. We will always recall our lifemarkers, the unforgettables, but it’s the before and after that becomes technicolor when written during times we’re made to travel to the well of our soul.

Years ago, we lost our home due to extreme medical bills from my little son’s illness. The Bible study that met in our home for many years helped us build another home in the manner of an Amish barn-raising to meet a family’s need. We didn’t know how to build a home, but God provided a carpenter, plumber, electrician, and mason as part of that gathering of saints. Now, of course, I’ll never forget such an extravagant act of grace when I recall the event, but when I read my journals I almost hear a symphony of hammers pounding in obedience to what God called us to do together. Technicolor.

The special thing about journaling is you don’t have to be female. I look at John-Boy Walton, a mountain scribe who recorded the simple organics of life. It became a beloved television series with forever reruns. A family’s life preserved.

I have spilled my soul on paper that tells of a life interrupted by crisis. Memoir chapters on betrayal, divorce, critical illness, wayward children, financial hardship and more. Many stories may not have a happy ending, but all have a glorious ending because God is in each one.

There is something golden about recording mercies, the gold engraved into each story where faith grows.

Join me in the quiet; open your storybook or tattered scrap and start talking to God before the day (and circumstances) start talking to you!

“I rise before the dawning of the morning, And cry for help; I hope in Your word.” Psalm 119:147 NKJV

That’s what my Contentment Cottage is all about! Scribbling out scraps of thought, little motivational moments, morning devotions…whatever is going on right here, right now. The things written here are meant to be a blessing to others. But mostly…writing is just a blessing for me. Thank you, Abba for allowing me to be blessed to be a blessing.