Candidly Christian

Real Women. Real Life. Real Faith.

Laura Marshall

About Laura Marshall

Laura J. Marshall works a full-time job, runs several small businesses, is an author and has been raising five sons for almost a quarter of a century. She’s tired of where she’s wandered and is coming back to the heart of Jesus. Join her here for I’m Surrounded and visit her at www.LauraJMarshall.com

The Unexpected

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I went outside seeking the sun and ended up on the ground. 

Seating myself in the comfortable chair, I balanced my herbal tea precariously. I leaned one way then the other. The sun’s angle had changed since the early summer months. 

At exactly 10am my chair used to be in direct line with its rays.

Sun or no sun, the birds were singing. Taking a sip of tea, I sat back to relax. 

“Pop!” I heard and suddenly the left side of my chair collapsed, sending me to the ground unceremoniously. A screw skittered across the floor, having come loose. 

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Hopes, Dreams, & Jesus

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Of course, Isa didn’t believe in love or the perfection of a man in any form. They were caricatures of someone who didn’t exist. They disappointed, became lame, or dull, or worse yet… addled. 

And so if she were to pursue something or someone so foolish – a figment of her imagination perhaps, she might as well dream impossible, reluctantly, and pursue it wholeheartedly.  

She would meet Cary Grant. But the conundrum was, he was gone from this world. Long ago in a far away time when films were black and white and Hollywood the golden dream.  

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Keeping the Faith When Life Gets Messy

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I traipsed down the stairs to face the first coat of my painting job from the night before. The foyer walls stared back at me indignantly.  

“Well, isn’t this a fine mess?” 

I’d just come from the bathroom and the reality in the mirror. My hair had said the same thing. You see, I was growing out a pixie cut and had been dye-free for almost a year now. Hairs stood up in silver disarray. 

My in-between walls and hair had entered the ugly stages.  

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God’s Rest For a Weary You

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Desperate.
Desperate for peace of mind.
Space … physical, emotional.
For clarity.
For a speck of softness among shattered glass.
At times, a heart so frantic that the body hums to its rhythm, vibrating.
Yet, we know that we know Jesus.
And that should change things.
It should change things … the cancer diagnosis, death of a child, kidnapping.
Desperate situations.
Desperate footsteps from pacing.
Desperate whirling thoughts.
And when finally sleep comes after the cacophony days, it is a welcome robber.

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The Oil Lamp

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Before the glitter of Christmas was put away, I sat quietly on the couch. Nearby, the dogs slept, and the cats’ long furry bodies curved into C’s around each other exclaiming their superiority at warming one another.

My gaze fell upon the blue bottles hanging outside on the porch. Their purpose, windchimes. They swayed splendidly among the snowflakes that sparkled against the dreary wet day, the shining light of white from the electrical current making them glow.

It was a perfect shot. Blue upon white. Not marred by daylight but enhanced by mist. Lore wound itself in my brain while A Christmas Carol and Scrooge skittered in the background.

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