Chubby toes, arms flailing
in awkward desperation as I cradle your
squirmy body close to nurse. I
trace your smooth face and earnestly search for
traits of your father.
Maybe it is your deep gaze that causes my soul to long
for things this world cannot offer.
Or the gentle coos of Word made flesh.
There is so much more
To you than I understood.
I am shaped in your image. And yet you grew in mine.
Your presence is truly
too substantial for me to carry and
so close I can snuggle the cheek of God.
Turning the Page on Suicide-The Best Gift this Christmas is Choosing Life
Read Romans 8 https://www.chirpapp.com/audiopost/WYKQekOKBy
You may feel surrounded by darkness. Turn the Page and discover what God is capable of doing through you.
I had never tried my hand at flash fiction, but as a poet, I realized that telling a full story in a few words was very similar. I submitted my first story to 101 words and they published Gracious Host. Are you up for the challenge?
Your bones feel picked dry of hope,
yet still,
truth echoes in the souls you touch.
Poetry Posts every Thursday at 7 pmÂ
Turning the Page on Suicide-It Takes More than a Whisper
www.lookwide.com/audiopost/BdKy6pWNwZ
I hang fragile memories
on a fragrant tree, while Silent Night
sings lullabies of human
understanding. And I
wonder–What is Christmas
like in heaven?
Does the soft glow of windowed candles
flicker for us in prayer, while carolers
harmonize glory hymns to the
Holy One? Do angelic hosts gaze down
upon star topped heavens and
praise God for creation?
God, do you laugh deeply as you watch a soul
unwrap heaven like an eager child? Their eyes wide with
wonder as they experience first sounds, vibrant colors.
and run their fingers over the texture of your love.
Are we your present, your delight?
“I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5 ESV).
The needs of others press into my soul and I want to help. Almost weekly, family, friends, and strangers reveal to me the toll suicide is taking on them. My heart breaks for so many who struggle with despair, and I desire to be present for anyone in need of comfort, a listening ear, and God’s love. But I cannot maintain, was never meant to sustain, ministry alone. I cannot be your vine.
God is a good gardener and within his care, we bear much fruit. Apart from him, we cannot do anything. Believers fall away because we attempt to MAKE fruit grow in our own skills, time frame, and energy. We count heads in the pews, facebook likes, ministries we are involved in. This is not where the fruit happens.
Fruit grows in the vine of Christ. So right now I stop trying to produce and submit to God’s pruning and cultivation. He uses scripture (currently reading Job), prayer, worship, pastors, nature, wise counsel, and music to nourish me. He is slowing me down and causing me to be more intentional in action and follow through.
Supporting, encouraging, and loving those who cross my path in their time of grief consistent connection with Jesus. He is the vine, and I am a branch. Notice Jesus doesn’t say the only branch; because many others will bear the fruit of sharing God’s love. Christ points at you in the middle of a vineyard of luscious ripe grapes and says. Abide in me, and out of that abiding comes fruitfulness. We are nourished by his will, love, strength, and compassion. But, too often we attempt to sustain ourselves and others in our own abilities and we wither.
Our model to this vine and branch relationship is Jesus and God the Father. He said his purpose was to do the will of the father (John 6:38). The son of man remained firmly planted where God placed him, even on the cross. As a believer, I am grafted into Christ and I will bear the most fruit by remaining in his will even in hard things.
Devotionals are Posted at 7 pm every TuesdayÂ
Karisa Moore www.lookwide.com/u/Karisa-Moore
Dear insecurities,
You’re the only one that’s always there
When I don’t want you to be.
Padding my soul of diffidence,
My mind of woe,
And constructing my mighty, drumming heart
Into
A fragile sketch of affection.
My direction is elusive as I
Bicker my way past your repulsive games.
You mislead me.
You blind me.
Your flames ignite as every dismal
Experience, rejection, fear, words
Assemble around your blaze
Admiring you, computing to your destruction
Tossing wood pellets into a fiery bonfire
As you would a coin in a fountain of wishes
But still, somewhere deep within me
Holds the power to extinguish your fire.
(This is © by Isabella Robbins and can only be used with her expressed permission.)
I’m Isabella Robbins—a sophomore in high school. I’ve struggled with self-esteem issues along with anxiety & depression, but have recently discovered writing is the best way I can release my feelings. Instead of holding my thoughts and emotions within my already busy mind, poetry has enabled me to write them out in a form of art. By doing this, I realize I’m not alone, and can only hope I can let others know that too.
Poetry is posted every Thursday at 7pm.
“Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away” (Matthew 24:35)
Deadlines are awesome…when they have to do with writing, but the word’s origins are steeped in death. Prisoners could not cross a “dead-line ” without being shot. By choosing hope, I have crossed the dead-line Satan attempted to draw into my life. “You can do your christian thing, but stay in your religious box and do not touch the other side.”
But on the other side, I see a neighbor who just got fired from his job, the teenager who can’t look you in the eye because they are so tangled in sex, drugs, or doubt they feel no one can forgive them. I am aware of the preacher, who feels stuck in the muck of depleted finances, a wife and two kids, and righteous sinners critical of his work, contemplating a way out. The businessman who has scrapped the way to the top and is lonely and finding success hollow and shallow, now holding onto the amber bottle of escape. And that child not given a chance from birth, whose only known pain. They are all on suicide’s doorstep.
So I cross that line. At nineteen years old God crossed the dead-line for me. He plucked me from suicide’s grave and even now when Satan thought he’d have the last laugh with my son’s death to suicide, I find abundant life in grief.
I was given a new dead-line. Cross over into despair and possibly be swallowed whole by Satan while pulling others to safety is worth the risk. Finding the words to express God’s love became my diligent work in grief. My deadline is Heaven with Jesus, and I want you there with me.
Devotionals are posted every Tuesday at 7pm
If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/