He Seeks Me

Sometimes in the busyness of my day I hear my name, soft and gentle, with a tinge of pain. I wonder why anyone would chase after someone who continually runs away from them. So grateful to be loved, but not knowing what to say, I go stubbornly on my way.

"Where art thou my child?" I often hear him ask. Why would HE who knows ALL, sees ALL...is ALL...ask where I hide?  Of course He knows where I am. He just doesn't want to force me out from amongst the stuff I hide. These gifts that demand so much of my time.

Instead He walks right by whispering my name and these words... 
"Seek and ye shall find."  And yet, He seeks...for me.

A King searching for my peasant heart. One poor, not pure, and plain.

"Just let me be" my actions cry. Whatever from me could such greatness gain?

He doesn't give up despite my stubborn pride. This time, like Adam in the garden, accusations fly.

"These gifts you gave me Lord, they are to blame."

And didn't you give me a job... to tend, to care, to name?"

I hear a sigh.

His eyes so full of knowing, yet so full of love. Of course I feel ashamed. For another day of life, the least I owe is praise. Do I run to him or stay? 

I should worry that one day he may stop this game of hide and seek and walk away. But busyness violently plays tug of war and I find myself again amongst my stuff...empty and drained. 

If only I would pray.

“I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.”  ~Abraham Lincoln

Pass the 'Mic' to Me Please

The daughter of an auctioneer, I grew up hearing voices

magnified from a mic. I watched old things held up

wondering why anyone would want to buy ‘that’ only to

see hands and voices strongly rise demanding to win the

bid for what another no longer wanted. “One dollar, two,

who will give me three?” Dad rolled the words so

fast I often missed the bids but knew the winning

hand by the number held high at the very end.

Mic still in hand, I’ve grown to see dad’s words

magnify across the room to reach down to the hopeless.

Many wondering why anyone would want to give ‘that’ person

another chance. One person, two, who will make it three?

Dad speaks of the one who makes old things new

and gives value to lives others thought were through. I

may never hold the mic of preacher or auctioneer but

may my voice magnify hope like that of my dad’s.  ~jdl

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*For a class assignment I had to write something about myself.  The challenge was to write two sections, eight lines each, with ten words in each line. As my dad has made such an impact on my life, of course I had to write about him.

Fun song that reminds me of my dad!

Billy Graham once said, "I don't need a successor, only willing hands to accept the torch for a new generation." May I take the 'torch' (or 'mic') of hope my dad has projected most all of my life, and make a difference in my world.