To Please My God

I awoke this morning to a busy schedule and a full heart. After lunch, my dear husband and I will be leaving for Georgia. My mother is having eye surgery, and we are going to help her out a couple of days.

I had a post almost done. But when I began to edit it to finish and publish, an inner voice said, "No, not today."

My cups runs over. God is so good! Yet, I long to know God's love more deeply and hear His voice more profoundly. It is sometimes painful to yearn for Him, but God knows the work He longs to do in our lives and has a reason for each process.

While shopping at a variety store a few days ago, I saw this small book wedged between many others. I grasped it and pulled its bright green cover toward me.

"Heart Breathings," the title read. I knew I had a find when I saw the author's name: Leonard Ravenhill.

A profoundly deep, inspiring author he is. One who mixes no words. You definitely hear the man's heart when you read his books.

This particular one is a small collection of poetry and prose. In the forward of "Heart Breathings," I even found beauty.

"These poems are the roarings and sightings and longings of the inarticulate soul trying to create a substance through which to transmit its feelings to others."

I want to share just one, simple part of Leonard Ravenhill's "inarticulate soul" with you today. I pray it will bless you, give you pause, and stir your longing for the deep waters of our Father's love.

To Please My God
I ask no bliss
But this,
To know Thy will,
And it fulfill,
In every part
So that my heart,
Without alloy,
May know the joy
By peace
Or rod
To please
My God.

If you have opportunity, please pray for our safety, and remember my mom.

Much love to each of you. I appreciate your friendships beyond words.

I pray our dear, precious heavenly Father will be with you and guide each part of your day. May He give you peace and keep you in His tender loving care. May God give you joy! A full heart of His fullness! Oh, just to know Jesus!

In Him,

Andrea

A Mother's Day Tribute

This heart, my own dear mother, bends, with love's true instinct, back to thee!

Thomas Moore

She Walks in Beauty

by Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless graceWhich waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

God forbid I let this day pass without tribute to my dear mother, whose grace gave me hope, whose hands healed my hurts, whose body knew no wear, whose heart heard my hopes, whose knees knelt in prayer, whose eyes eyed my tears; whose faith stood strong, in my father's death, in her pain, in lonely nights; whose life she spent striving each day to make our lives better, taking my brother, sister, and me to church, each Sunday; who was faithful to her job at AT&T, forty hours each week, rising early to prepare breakfast, arriving home to cook supper; who never once complained about taking me to the doctor, dentist, orthodontist, shopping, or piano lessons; who never thought of marrying again for the love her children; whose empty nest became a garden of roses; who now knows frail health; whose lips now bring me joy, each day, from miles away, with words . . . Are you ok?. . . How's Jeff?. . . Are you tired? . . . What about Steven? How's he? . . . Have you heard from Chris? . . . Are all the babies ok? . . . What did the doctor say? . . . How's the church? . . . I pray for you every day. . . . I pray for all of you. . . . I love you. . . . I'll talk to you tomorrow.

"She watches over the ways of her household, and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed . . . Give her of the fruit of her hands, And let her own works praise her in the gates" (Proverbs 31:27, 28, 31).