In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

….

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”

Excerpts from the book of John.

On Fridays we remind ourselves that The Word is for us and loves us and welcomes us.

Your words are safe here.

Grace

So come and write with us. Together. On one word for five minutes. And then link up your post or leave it in the comments. But remember, the one rule here is that you visit the person who linked up before you and encourage them in their writing.

That’s it. The gift of encouragement – pass it on.

All the back story and details for how to join in are over here.

Today the word is for battered Thursdays and broken Fridays and aching Saturdays.

Today the word is GLUE.

Go:

These are the cracked days. These are the dead mother and dying daughter-what-in-the-world-is-going-on-days. These are the chipped and broken nails clinging on desperate to what we love as it slips through our fingers days. These are the busted up faith days. These are the roaring dark sky days and the lightining and thunder days.

These are the cancer days and the divorce days and the daughters dieting away their lives days. These are the weeping alone for our loneliness days.

These are the broken limbs and raging waters and continents dying of Aids days. These are the blood red moonless midnight days.

These are the I-can’t-see-the-sun days.

These are the groaning, lonely, lying days.

These are the empty hands days.

These are the cracked days.

Waiting for so much glue to come and rescue them. To piece them tenderly back together. Strip by patient strip. Patient by dying patient.

These are the chips that can be soldered back into the broken heart days.

Friday cracked and wrenched and twisted wide open.

Stop.

 


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