The Dreariest Days

“This journey~my journey, the one I am struggling with so, this soul draining journey, the calling on my life, this making of meals and tending to wounds and continuing on when I am tired and worn out and really don’t want to~it’s a privilege.”

My One Word Vocabulary Shift by Jennifer Schmidt courtesy of 


We have had the dreariest of days here in the south at our small wilderness place. The days of rain and fog and dreary have gone on for what seems like weeks and weeks.

The sun came up bright and warm today. I stood, looking out my window at all that was damp and wet and muddy. A pile of pumpkins, that never got carved. They sit rotting in their spots. The rust colored mum, damp and tangled roots leaking out.

The muck of mud and damp and rot, it rolled in with the news of the thing that has no end.( More new normal to sit along beside the old new normal.

For days and days, the ugly wet matched my mood. The dreariness of it as dark as the days of never ending rain. The on and on of it wearing me thin.

I had lingered through these days by the light of the lamp, the lights twinkling on the year round tree. I remembered back to words I read sometime ago “We pray for gritty stories to write, until we are called to live them.” I wish I could remember who wrote those words. I searched today through many books, as to give them their credit due.

I ran across the words of Lisa Whittle from her book, I want God…

“He is a rare collector of God stories.”

“He breathes vitality in dead spaces and offers His marvelous, illuminating light in places that are dark.”

I stood in a sliver of warm sun and surveyed it all. A butterfly dances before my eyes. Geraniums, that should have long been dead, thriving and overflowing with brilliant blazing red blooms.The broom sage on our ridge swaying in the wind, a golden hue.

Grace and treasure for my weary soul. Light illuminating my dark.

To be authentic and transparent, I have to tell you I have struggled and grappled with this new thing. The pain, it reminds of an aching tooth, roots that dig down deep.

A dear person reminds me I am stubborn and stubborn equates out to strong.

I think back to the days of running miles and miles and building endurance. Stamina that digs down deep when the feet stumble and legs grow tired. All that training, not gone to waste. I draw on it when the need begs for me to dig down deep.

At night, after we close our Bibles and share the treasures from our day, my man, he rubs me down with a cold numbing gel. Tucks me in deep under a bundle of warm covers as my teeth rattle and my body shivers.

“A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good…” Luke 6:45a~NKJV

A good man to care for me. More grace. Another treasure.

“It is the story that we allow a creator to write in our suffering that gives us the greatest opportunity to know the depths of His love, and in this way share the love with others. This is our privilege. This is our benediction. I read these words by Donald Miller and know that my story has changed me.” Anchored~Kayla Aimee

This is where I find myself every morning. Setting in the depth of His love. Through the pain, sharing His love to others.

Whatever else comes from this, that is a legacy I would hope and pray to leave.

If the weather holds dry, in just a few days, there will be the treasure of children’s precious giggles as they heave and roll and toss the decaying pumpkins out to the field.

Marshmallows roasted over the fire pit.

Me bundled in my fuzzy socks and blanket drawing in the warmth and my man’s hand next to mine.

Walking through the gritty stories, hard and messy. The treasures around each bend, priceless and more meaningful.

To live these days as privileged. As spun gold, delicately held in my hands. My heart. For such a time as this.

“Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:

His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!’

The Lord is good to those who depend on him, to those who search for him.”

Lamentations 3:21~25 NLT

Gifts of Grace

Tammy Mashburn

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