Broken bread and poured out wine

Hello from Sunny Florida,
I promise its not much hotter here than in the Midwest. I would know, I traveled all Summer looking for cooler weather. So I have some thoughts to blog, much to process from the Summer... but this morning I give you this...
This is an excerpt from My Utmost For His Highest... I know the date is off, but it feels appropriate right now.

Read the whole thing if you will, but this is the part that always resonates with me.
"Our Lord never dictated to His Father, and we are not here to dictate to God; we are here to submit to His will so that He may work through us what He wants. When we realize this, He will make us broken bread and poured out wine to feed and nourish others."

May 15th.
The HABIT of RISING to the OCCASION "That ye may know what is the hope of His calling . . ." Ephesians 1:18 Remember what you are saved for -that the Son of God might be manifested in your mortal flesh. Bend the whole energy of your powers to realize your election as a child of God; rise to the occasion every time. You cannot do anything for your salvation, but you must do something to manifest it, you must work out what God has worked in. Are you working it out with your tongue, and your brain and your nerves? If you are still the same miserable crosspatch, set on your own way, then it is a lie to say that God has saved and sanctified you. God is the Master Engineer, He allows the difficulties to come in order to see if you can vault over them properly -"By my God have I leaped over a wall." God will never shield you from any of the requirements of a son or daughter of His. Peter says -"Think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you." Rise to the occasion; do the thing. It does not matter how it hurts as long as it gives God the chance to manifest Him self in your mortal flesh. May God not find the whine in us any more, but may He find us full of spiritual pluck and athleticism, ready to face anything He brings. We have to exercise ourselves in order that the Son of God may be manifested in our mortal flesh. God never has museums. The only aim of the life is that the Son of God may be manifested, and all dictation to God vanishes. Our Lord never dictated to His Father, and we are not here to dictate to God; we are here to submit to His will so that He may work through us what He wants. When we realize this, He will make us broken bread and poured out wine to feed and nourish others.

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Rainy Monday

I'm a rainy Monday when the world is new

When Christ is new in me when the old is left for dead

I'm not your grieving Father

I'm not the break in your broken home

I'm not too silent but you should be speaking

I'm the intervening distance

Oh brother where art...

I think I'm praying for my brothers at night when my heart hurts
when I finally stop aching over my own broken hearts,
when the sun burns me down so I remember more than I forget
when I'm running in the salt, wet to the knees but dry inside
when an exhausting beach is so much rest to my sore, sore fight
when my throat is parched, my heart is full & God must be moving somewhere

over-achiever

In my spare time I'm an acrobat, flipping, bending & sliding through my emotions
Usually hoping to change them, while they churn me, while I toss and turn
Another night, another dreamless wake, another stark contrast to hope
Your own mind creates a more tiring maze than anyone else made you
I'm not ashamed but I may be asleep, when you get this, when you answer
The truth may be cut up and turned into an envelope, it won't have to be sent
I won't need to be spent, won't need to tell you, you're the only one who owes me
Who owns me, who broke me, who spent me, who used me, who crushed me, who had me.
Who had me, who held me, who turned me and tried me world without end Amen
And again till death do us part, til death do us wake, till death do us... don't.
And for all the love and the being had, I don't think we ever got past what you wanted
Just like you skipped that in pre-school & other areas of early childhood development
I wish I had skipped a few of those gifted and special classes
and what intuition forced on me, on the chosen few, the smart ones, the old young ones
Who know better than what they feel, and who think better than some machines
And who endlessly, tirelessly, anxiously, methodically, addictively, analytically, passionately wish that they didn't.
Those still looking, there's hope for our lost souls, hope for the ones that took the detour right after you let your heart decide when you've always known your head was right.
There is a salve, a healing, mending, effervescent peace, but be forewarned,
It passes all understanding, so unlike you thought, the intellectuals don't always finish first