Today we raided the wastebaskets to make some art out of what was thrown away.
(click for details)
For details on how I made this, or to join in on the challenge, please go to
The Small Things
33rd in the Tuesday Story Series
During the early months as I struggled with the chronic illness of ME/CFS, one of the issues before me was how much my life was being reduced, as I saw it. I was losing the ability to participate in life as I had up until that time. It was a difficult struggle for me, because I had no control over the changes which were taking place and I mourned what parts of my life I had lost. But God does not take away and leave you empty, No, He replaces with plans of His own for your life and that was a lesson I learned slowly over many month's time. I would not be an artist today, I do not think, because I never gave it any time or thought. My relationship with Christ has deepened because I had time to read and reflect. I felt free to pour out my sorrow, as David did in the words of the Psalms and God heard me, and then began to show me, slowly, His small things, His treasures for my life.
I wrote this poem after studying Zechariah 4:10 and the verse that tells us not to despise the day of small things. I did not realize it then, but God was teaching me, and starting from the inside out, in a sense remaking me, as He continues to do. Now I see the small things as gifts, and the days I am involved with my illness, bring me deep into the journey of change. So, I have learned that small can be good and satisfying.
Zechariah 4:10
Perhaps insignificant, or useless,
Something easily overlooked, or looked down upon.
Yet if judging a disease, it is the small that
Is the biggest danger.
Or is it the block, the stone,
Placed one upon another deliberately,
And requiring time as the engineer.
The small proceeds to greatness that will
Be remarked upon as large.
Perhaps it is the slivers of life,
A bird song, a floating cloud
A bud huddled amongst the leaves.
There the small becomes the priceless
Worth more than grasping dreams.
In a whisper, small itself, yet louder
Than the clamor of frustration and mortality,
I heard “despise not the day of small things”.
Small things take root from the heart of God
And will transform beyond imagination.
I did not want to be small
Or spend my days in hidden things.
Reduced to something I interpreted
As shrunkenness, of no value, empty.
I struggled against the invisible prison.
But my days are not mine,
Nor is the sum of them my understanding.
I am small in the Hand of God, this promise,
This transformation, hidden from my eyes
But leading to an immense eternity.
© Rebecca Cook 2009
(written as I struggle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome)
May your Tuesday be blessed!
Yet if judging a disease, it is the small that
Is the biggest danger.
Or is it the block, the stone,
Placed one upon another deliberately,
And requiring time as the engineer.
The small proceeds to greatness that will
Be remarked upon as large.
Perhaps it is the slivers of life,
A bird song, a floating cloud
A bud huddled amongst the leaves.
There the small becomes the priceless
Worth more than grasping dreams.
In a whisper, small itself, yet louder
Than the clamor of frustration and mortality,
I heard “despise not the day of small things”.
Small things take root from the heart of God
And will transform beyond imagination.
I did not want to be small
Or spend my days in hidden things.
Reduced to something I interpreted
As shrunkenness, of no value, empty.
I struggled against the invisible prison.
But my days are not mine,
Nor is the sum of them my understanding.
I am small in the Hand of God, this promise,
This transformation, hidden from my eyes
But leading to an immense eternity.
© Rebecca Cook 2009
(written as I struggle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome)
May your Tuesday be blessed!
