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WELCOME! You have stumbled into mysterious territory; a world of rhyme and reason that has no rhyme or reason. This is SHIRLEY'S WORLD, so check your common sense at the door.

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Metamorphosis








Once I was dead.
I enjoyed all the fun with the other dead people
Doing dead people fun.
I was cocky and proud,
And I'd spit in your face
If you'd try a discussion about Jesus and grace.
I hadn't the time
For reflection or guilt.
I lived my life my way.
It was carefully built.
But, oh! What a mess in my miserable home!
And still I refused
To step down from my throne.

The stench of my deadness
Was toxic and strong.
To know its extent would have filled you with dread.
My family suffered
From all my bad choices.
My focus was me.
I did nothing for you.

But the hand of grace
Worked in me over the years.
Little changes. Some regrets.
My mother's death, and my fears.
My sin was uncomfortable,
And I wanted out
Of this life I'd created and started to doubt.
The prayers of my mother and family were strong.
I'd held out a long time.
Some would say much too long.
Then one Saturday morning
A pastor came to our home,
And with serenity and peace
I stepped down from my throne.
The changes in my life
Were miraculous and true.
To obey Him and please Him
Is all I want to do.

I was hungry for Jesus.
I poured over His word.
I devoured every sentence.
I hid in my heart all I learned.
The purging and cleansing
Refining my life was not easy.
So much to remove it felt like a knife
That was carving and shaping
And soon I could see
The person I was becoming
Was the one I always wanted to be.
God's people were helpful.
God's people were fun.
I delighted in my new life
When each day was done.
God's people were accepting
Even when they knew
What I was before Jesus.
They were faithful and true.

Over thirty years now
I have reveled in His grace.
I have good days
And bad days when I fall on my face.
I'm not perfect, but I know
That the devil is on the run.
My Redeemer paid my ransom and the victory is won.


Love's Expression




His anger used to ruin my day;
His childish pouting to shut me out.
The years have opened wide my eyes.
I no longer suffer to his manipulative way.
For years I have chosen to simply ignore
The rants of the anger he cannot contain.
The source that enables my calmness with love
Is the source he refuses. He won't open that door.
So Jesus, my source of love, showed me a way
To display how I love him by using my art.
As I draw I think lovingly, keeping him close.
Each stroke that I make is to cheer up his day.
I have chosen a subject so dear to his heart.
I am eager to love him in my motherly way.
It's enough for the moment to love an adult child
In my late evening quietness while we are far apart.