He's in the business of repairing puppets...

Sometimes I feel like my reckless soul takes me down a path where my strings are tangled, crossed and knotted. I, my sins, created my own restraints. I'm a fugitive -and then He saves me. I think it goes something like this:


Step one: Determine the length of each broken puppet string. If you have the original packaging, it will probably tell you, but if not, you will need to measure with a ruler. Examine the puppet strings to determine the type of material used. Marionette strings can be composed of any number of materials: strong thread, fishing line or even specialized puppet strings. Again, if you have the original packaging, it should be able to tell you about the materials in detail. Otherwise, you will need to guesstimate.

Pretty accurate-painful, truth is sometimes it’s easier just to stay a jumbled mess. But, if you look at our original packaging the illustration shows me to be something very different than I am at this moment. So, I look at all my mess, and evaluate each disaster, each sin. Measure with a ruler..ouch. What I am made of? Oh…at this point Lord are you having to guesstimate?

Step Two: Check to see how the strings are attached to the puppet and to the wooden cross which manipulates it. Note exactly how and where they are attached, and note any knots which hold them in place. Untie the puppet strings you need to repair from the wooden cross.

I may be a jumbled mess—but this I know my stings are attached to that wooden cross. Thank you Lord for that Old Wooden cross-thank you for Loving this Marionette puppet, thank you for your gentle hands and great patience. I may appear to be small and insignificant to some, but when You take hold of the wooden cross, I am capable of taking steps and moving around-to give you glory.

Step Three: Purchase replacement strings of the material and color that match the damaged strings. Measure and cut the length of the replacement strings to match the damaged strings. Re-string the new strings, starting with the puppet itself and then connecting the strings to the wooden cross. Endeavor to tie the knots, connect the bolts or sew the seal as much like the original configuration as possible

He purchased me. He restrung me. He measured and cut and repaired. I am restored to the original configuration.

TIPS and WARNINGS:
A wooden stand for your marionette can prevent the strings from tangling and save you the need to repair them again in the future.

But mine packaging states: My savior died on a wooden cross-to save this Marionette He knew how tangled and messy I would be-but He still saved me. .


Read more: http://www.ehow.com/how_2246591_repair-puppet-strings.html#ixzz2ZAQvGB3C

And after the fire came a gentle whisper

Words-I think about how I prefer to be spoken too, how I prefer to speak to my own children and I know that this is how God prefers to communicate with me. Not the booming, thunderous voice but a quiet whisper. In order to hear Him communicating I have to make sure that in the midst of life-this chaotic crazy life that I am still enough to hear Him.

He whispers “I love you”, He whispers encouragements in my ear, He whispers the very plans He drew up for me before He breathed life into me, through small beautiful whispers. He asks me to serve in small gentle whispers. Sometimes in the middle of the earthquakes and the fires around me I don’t stop long enough to hear the small steady whisper. He is the whisper.

¹¹ The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by. “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. ¹² After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. ¹³ When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 1 Kings 19:11-13

I have ignored those small whispers, focusing on wind, trembling’s and fire. Inevitably greater action is needed to get through this opinionated, strong headed girl and the quiet whisper is replace with a jolting slap across the back of my head or a good kick in the pants reminding me that just because I’m not listening doesn’t make Him any less my God. God’s got a great big hand and wants to make a great big point-

It’s a great big world out there-with great big hurts and humongous needs.  If we are not listening to the small quiet promptings-than who is? Whose is helping? Who is serving? Who is wiping tears? Who is introducing other’s to His whispers?

Who am I, who am I?? That I am allowed to choose who is worthy of my time? Who is worthy of my judgment and criticism? That I am aloud to rack and stack people? Who am I to think that I could possibly understand the man holding the sign at the intersection asking for help? Who am I to judge the mother next door because her children spoke “words” forbidden to my children?  Who am I to judge the single mother of multiple children or the woman who chooses to walk away from everyone who needed her?? Who am I, if I am not heeding to the still small whisper-asking me to be His hands, His feet and His voice?

It’s not always death that claims a father. Sometimes it’s as easy as a choice.

It's personal and it's uncomfortable, but it didn’t used to be.  It’s that one day, once a year, the day we all recognize the man in our lives for working hard, for loving us, for building forts under dining room tables, visits to Yellowstone Park, riding space mountain at Disney Land over and over and over because everyone else was still too scared, sitting on massive pieces of drift wood on the beaches of California smiling as he took pictures before we climbed back into our Brady bunch station wagon to continue our cross country journey. These memories are as real as real can be.  Handing me the keys to company cars as my mother glared on, slipping cash into my pocket, quietly opening the door at night to my bedroom and I would hear “You ok Trace? Something told me to check”. Using his architect skills to help me free sketch George Washington (because he was just that good) on a report cover and having that report make it to the middle of the bulletin board. That report lives on in a box…funny, what survived and what didn’t.

The person, who initiated the beat of my heart, also had the power to stop it. I unknowingly opened my heart and let him in, and someday, maybe, I might get over him.

Until then I deal with my memories as best I can. I deal with memories like the Thanksgiving day when we all made beards and tall hats and sat out on the corner of our house and waved at cars..because he was just funny like that. In my eyes there wasn’t much he couldn’t do. That he couldn’t fix. Words didn’t come easy, but I knew that I was loved. It was understood. That day, the day we celebrate the "him" in our lives seems long ago and  was celebrated to the moon and back. We thought he hung the moon. He had no completion. Favorite foods were baked, favorite candies bought, cards labored over for just the “right” words.

We are so far away from those memories and even that man. There are so many times I would like to tell him hello, or hear him quietly say my name telling me you did good…really good as his eyes shown. He always let me get by…

It’s not always death that claims a father. Sometimes it’s as easy as a choice. Sometimes the

repercussions of that choice flow so fast, so hard and the current so strong that there is no going back or finding the relationship you once had because that person doesn't want to be found. Plain and simple.  I know he loved me, a long time ago and even now but the silence that replaced him, that replaced me, that replaced us..is deafening.

 So glad, so so very glad that my Heavenly father will never choose to walk away.  Aren’t you?

Love your people-tell them. Don’t settle for a text or voice message. Hug them. Love them.