Lord,
I’ve had it with their jabs and diatribes
Their mocking and foot stomping and protesting
I fear I’ll come upon them
And feel the need to spew a few jagged pieces of my mind
If one could actually knock some sense into another
But You’re calling me to be a lover
Not a knocker
And anyway, it seems there’s no such thing as common sense
Only my sense versus theirs
Can we agree to disagree without derision?
I guess it’s up to me
I can only orchestrate my own behaviour
I lift them up to You
And ask for blessing
And a revelation of the truth
Yours
Not mine
And ask that you will fill my heart with love
And shut my mouth
In kindness
Amen
Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 Scroll down to the bottom of the page to follow me or sign up to receive my posts via email. Pics used within the blog content from Pixabay unless otherwise noted. Take a peek at my Redbubble store. Pollyeloquent.redbubble.com. Thank you for giving me some of your precious time!
though all of these things take place. I go on Facebook to see what’s happening in the lives of my friends. I enjoy the family pictures, the declarations of love, the documenting of birthdays, weddings and holidays, the silly stories, and the “look what my kid did and I’m so proud” moments. I’ve always been shy and when I see people in social situations that I’m friends with on Facebook, I feel a barrier to approaching them has come down, because I have, at least, a vague idea of what their lives look like. This seems less likely to occur, as personal statuses are replaced with quotes, articles, and cat and dog videos. 
You can work as a team or against each other
It’s a work of art or a piece of trash
The other day I was doing a shower for a delicate, little bird of a lady. When I shower people, I usually try to ask questions about their lives to put them at ease, because it’s such an intimate thing I do for them. As they share their stories and the warm water droplets contact and cleanse their bodies, the tension seems to drain away with the dirty water.
the bath products she brought with her. I massaged her head with oil of macadamia nuts. I scrubbed her down with raspberry shower gel. After gently patting her dry with the scratchy, white, hospital towels, I massaged a lotion called “Hawaiian Island Flowers” into her arms, legs, and back. I oohed and aahed and she giggled. I felt her happiness in this most unlikely place, enveloped in a cloud of heavenly scents. I’ve never been one to use a lot of bath products, nor have I ever really considered the virtues of aromatherapy, but in that moment, I was grateful for them and the effect they had on a delicate, little bird of a lady in a hospital shower.
Polly Eloquent 