Weak is the Strong


I pity the child who searches in vain

who strives to be strong

man’s approval to gain

who hangs on his words

her purpose and worth

and builds on his walls

to honor man’s call


I pity the child whose body is grown

but mind left behind

man’s bars of control

She built on his praise

so twisted and tough

but we are all grass

and strong’s not enough


I pity the child who misunderstood

for weak is the strong

and humility good

to work for approval

annihilates grace

and crushes the spirit

and shadows God’s face.


2 Corinthians 12:9,10

copyright Cindy Palin, October 19th, 2014


Where are the Mentors?

Now that we’ve seen something disturbing, what should we do about it?

Did the NFL offer help to Mr. Rice on previous occasions?

Is this an instance where one person’s life is going to be used as an example for others?

Where do our lives stand under the lens of our Almighty Father?

How would we handle this situation had we been the owner of the video clip?

Is there room for grace?

Has the situation already been forgiven?

We should be careful and pray for this man and his wife, lest there come a day we fall.

Where are the mentors these men are needing?

The Kind of Freedom that Chases Bitterness into Hell

I need to deviate from my spring cleaning blog-apades to talk about the saddest truth in the world.  I know – talk about jumping from the trivial to the life threatening, or should I say soul sickening?

I was reading a blog yesterday, someone said Jesus never promised us a wonderful life.  The writer’s point is only half-true.  Jesus asks we believers to pick up our cross and follow him.  Grant it, carrying a cross doesn’t necessarily sound “wonderful”.  But I can’t think of anything more hopeful and peaceful. What ever cross it turns out to be for you or for me, we don’t have to carry it alone.  And staring truth in the face makes our cross so much lighter.

At first I thought the saddest truth in the world was that everyone gets hurt.  But now I know the saddest truth in the world is that everyone at one time or another forgets Jesus hurt the most so we wouldn’t have to.

We get hurt and lose sight of everything except ourselves.  When Jesus hung on the cross he saw everyone and everything but himself.

If you’re hurting today and you’re tired of waiting around for cast to come off…

Think of the person who hurt you and do something that will make them feel better.  Run towards them like your life and their life depends on it.  Because it does.  And what ever you do, don’t second guess yourself.  Faith isn’t about second guessing.

Run towards that person and wrap your arms around them.  No buts, no justifications, no judging, no wriggling out of it, no high and mighty religious excuses.  Don’t think!

I can’t promise what they will do.  But I want to be around when I see you smile.  The kind of smile that changes the world, the kind of freedom that chases bitterness into hell.

O Promised Love

When I witness one more abandoned soul, one more broken promise , one more casualty of love, I ache inside.  I long for justice.

For one fleeting second I wonder – does God see the injustice?  Does God care?  Why isn’t He doing something?  And then I remember.

God did not reach down and yank the whip away from Christ‘s flogger.  God did not reach down and tenderly lift the crown of thorns off of his son’s head.  God did not reach down with might and fury and prevent the hammer from driving the large spikes into Christ’s flesh but he did do something.  He reached down and intervened for his son’s killers by letting his son die because God knew that only that kind of love would save us from ourselves.  The innocent for the guilty, the grace for the undeserved.

Thousands of years have fled the earth like falling stars flee the sky,

since they lashed their claws to bare the bone

And he let them – for you, O promised love whom we discard

Thousands of years have passed overhead like wisps of clouds gone by,

since they crowned his brow in broken glass

And he wore it – for you, O promised love whom we molest

Thousands of years have circled the earth as the earth chases the sun,

since they drove their teeth into his veins

And his wrists burned – for you, O promised love whom we leave for dead

Love chose our name when he poured out the seas

Love called our name when he writhed his last breath

Love carried our name in the fold of his arm, near the song of his heart

When he marched from the tomb, and he did it for me, he did it for you

O promised love – whom we adore!

We are not abandoned!

©May 4th, 2013 Cindy Palin





Curvature of the Spine “not the kind that shows on an x-ray”

Recording your thoughts is more important than you know….

I use to journal all the time in blank paged books with fancy covers that smelled like Christmas morning, my writing, nothing spectacular or prolific, no special attention to penmanship or form.  I still write today in typed font, but it has become like prayer to me, and sometimes one and the same, because both of those activities are part of our walk together.

I don’t even think about including Him, we’ve come to a place in my life where He is  everything I do.  Without Him, I wouldn’t be here.  He’s patiently worked all kinds of miraculous interventions on my behalf and I could list them for you, but I won’t.

Because, what makes me stand in awe before Him even more, is knowing there are thousands of other miracles He has worked in my life  and others’ lives, that we never see, when we’re running, or ignoring Him.  He is mercy!

I crawled out of the bath this morning, carrying my heavy thoughts, heavier than my thick brown bath towel and they wouldn’t rub off.  The process of thinking is something we all do, but for some, depending on your generational makeup, thinking can push you right over the edge.  If we rely on brains alone, to work out every detail of our lives, we are depending on our own strength.  There are books and resources to lighten our load, but no other truth and strength for this journey called “life”, than that which comes from our Creator and His Word.  Nothing’s more freeing than living totally dependent on His strength and writing it down so others can too.

My bathtub burdens took me back to a recent conversation with a friend.  She had just started a new job, and was nervous.  We sat down on the edge of my bed and while folding some laundry I encouraged her to stand tall, and speak with authority.  Why were those words, the message she needed to hear?

Both she and I share ugly past trauma.  Those realities can keep us feeling like children, not the gleeful, playful kind of image most get when they think of children, but the “bad girl, go sit in the corner,” kind of picture.  Trapped and beaten down!

I’ve been asking myself why that truth continues to bob to the surface?  Those who’ve experienced abuse believe they’ve been bad, even if we know we’re the victims and not the perpetrator.  That “feeling” can stay with us and create a curvature of the spine, one that will not show up on any x-ray, but is there none the less.  Our voices can have a constant underlying whine that resembles a whipped puppy.  As if we need to apologize for who we are 24/7?

With God’s help we can see a clear picture of who we really are, we can stand tall, and speak with authority.  We become the best we can be, leaders, recognizing the gifts He’s given us to navigate on this earth.  We are forgiven, we have a new name, we are children of the King with a message of healing, belonging and freedom!


What Every Man Deserves

the sound of abuse

has a unique timbre

not the harsh consonant of the accuser

but the high pitched whine fermented over time

of the victim

it also has a shape

rounded and hunched

trembles and jumps

at the slightest mistake

bracing for the aftermath

and it’s not a fist

but the blow comes down with a force to match

doesn’t pierce the skin

and yet there are scars

doesn’t draw blood

yet they walk around bled dry

and empty

eyes with narrow slits of light

ready to close at the first sign

of its coming

wincing in advance

and they forget to open them

when talking to friends

because they’ve forgotten

what friends do

but afraid they might see inside

and accuse them too

or ask questions, why?

Why did it take you so long to flee?

Why did it take you so long to see?

Why did it take you so long to believe,

that every man deserves to be treated with dignity?

Cindy PalinImage