music monday// rise up

There’ve been times I silently slip into self-pity and wallow in the wilderness of worry…especially concerning my present circumstances and how my future will play out. And I know time knows nothing. Time thinks the pressing, current circumstances will always be. But I’m glad I know the Author of time who is into restoration. He restores broken dreams and shattered lives. He never forgets the sincere desires of our hearts. He knows, He cares. and He's rooting for us to rise up each time we stumble.

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I know how it can be hard to rise up from some heartache. It’s okay to grieve that pain, that disappointment that totally made your heart sink to the bottom of your toes…it’s okay to cry over the loss, those dashed expectations. It’s okay to purge your soul of the tears. But please, do not stay in that place of grief and sorrow. There is a time to grieve, and a time to rise up and move on. Way easier said than done, yeah? I know. Try and give grief the time it needs. And. let. it. go. 

rise up~ matt maher

When you see the road ahead

That you’ve been down before

When you’re halfway to nowhere

And you can’t pay the toll

You’re hanging onto mercy withered on the vine

With your feet on the ground

Your head in the clouds

And your heart on the line

Open up your eyes

You’ve got to rise up, rise up

When this life has got you down

You’ve got to look up, look up

When you search and nothing’s found

My eyes have seen the glory

Of the love that’s here and now

It’s coming down, so rise up now

When you’re told that day is over

Long after the sun goes down

And your mind, it keeps on racing

At the dreams that don’t come round

When you don’t know how to surrender

Cause your whole life’s been a fight

When the dark holds you,

And you can’t break through

Cause you haven’t seen the light

Open up your eyes…

And all the lambs roar like lions

And all the prisoners breaking their chains

And all the poor find their treasure

Cause heaven is coming this way

“many are saying of me, ‘God will not deliver him.’ but You, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high.” Psalm 3:2-3

“fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy that was set before Him He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.” Hebrews 12:2-3

“For though the righteous falls seven times, they rise again…” proverbs 24:16

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We can rise up from every burden that has weighed us down. When we draw from His strength each day, we can overcome and stand on our feet again. Forget the slanderers, the critics, the gossips, the negative people that the enemy easily uses against you. you know your heart is right with the Lord, and that is enough. you don’t have to cower in the dark. Rise. up.

xoxo, gen.

A Sandpiper To Bring You Joy

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.

She was building a sand castle or something and looked up, her eyes blue as the sea.

“Hello,” she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

“I’m building,” she said.

“I see that. What is it?” I asked, not caring.

“Oh I don’t know, I just like the feel of the sand.”

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.

“That’s a joy,” the child said.

“It’s what?” I asked, uncaring.

“It’s a joy! My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.”

The bird went glissading down the beach. “Good-bye joy,” I muttered to myself,  “Hello, pain…” and turned to walk on.  I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

“What’s your name?” She wouldn’t give up.

“Ruth,” I answered. “I’m Ruth Peterson.”

“Mine’s Wendy,… and I’m six.”

“Hi, Wendy.” I offered.

She giggled. “You’re funny,” she said.  In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on.  Her musical giggle followed me. “Come again, Mrs. P,” she called. “We’ll have another happy day.”

The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater.

“I need a sandpiper,” I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The never-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.

“Hello, Mrs. P,” she said. “Do you want to play?”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

“I don’t know. You say.”

“How about charades?” I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Then let’s just walk.” Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.  “Where do you live?” I asked.

“Over there.” She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter.

“Where do you go to school?”

“I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation.”

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. “When I left for home,” Wendy said, “it had been a happy day.”

Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.  I was in no mood greet even Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

“Look, if you don’t mind,” I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, “I’d rather be alone today.” She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

“Why?” she asked.

I turned on her and shouted, “Because my mother died!”-and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child?

“Oh,” she said quietly, “then this is a bad day.”

“Yes, and yesterday and the day before that and-oh, go away!”

“Did it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?” I was exasperated with her, with myself.

“When she died?”

“Of course it hurt!” I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.  I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there.

Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn-looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was.”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in.”

“Wendy talked of you so much. I’m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please accept my apologies.”

“Not at all-she’s a delightful child,” I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. “Where is she?”

“Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell you.”

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught.

“She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no.”

She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly….” Her voice faltered.

“She left something for you… if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?”

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman.

She handed me a smeared envelope, with MRS. P printed in bold, childish letters.  Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues-a yellow beach, a blue sea, a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY

Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten how to love opened wide.  I took Wendy’s mother in my arms.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words-one for each year of her life-that speak to me of inner harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand-who taught me the gift of love.

(Author Unknown)
Submitted by Richard

Via- www.inspirationalstories.com