God's Strength Is Perfect When Ours Is Gone

"God does not want our deeds; God wants the love that prompts them." St. Teresa of Avila Life can be full of hardships and pain, and I have had my share the past few months. Each step of the race, each day, each hour depended upon the Lord helping me to limp through. Are you running a long, hard race right now, too? Are you exhausted by fear, sadness, or overwork? If so, I encourage you to reach out to the Lord who is there beside you. The Starter of your race is waiting to give you strength until your own strength returns. He wants to encourage you to hold on, to have faith in His bigger picture, for there is so much more to your life and the life of your child than today's struggles. Is the sun shining? Are flowers blooming? Did a friend call? Consciously look for a little blessing, no matter how small. Receive the permission to live this day the best that you can -- and know that is enough. Be assured that the storm will ebb. Your soul shall be renewed. You shall rise again, yes mother, you shall rise again. PRAYER: Dear Reader, Meet Me wherever and whenever you want. I love you. (Signed) God Before motherhood, I read the poem below as a love poem between a man and a woman. But at the moment of my son's birth, the poem became one between a mother and child. I recited it aloud as they laid my newborn in my arms right there in the labor and delivery room. This is for you and your child. Love, Theresa somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands