Random Acts of Poetry

L.L. Barkat has an interesting poetry challenge this week. Go read about it here. She talks about word-collecting (which is one of my favorite things!) and using those gleanings in a poem. My collection is not yet robust enough to craft anything meaningful, so I thought I would post a silly poem for RAP this week. See if you can figure out what I’ve been up to this week…

The Vacation Bible School Blues

I threw in the towel

around about six—

My knees were all achy;

my back full of cricks;

Painting the VBS backdrop

day two

Was starting to get me downhearted

and blue.

“We’ll help you,” they said,

I replied, “There’s no need.

No VBS backdrop

will get the better of me.”

So now my garage

is a bayou—

As a tarp with a swamp

in painted on hues

rests in the place my

minivan should be parked;

Now she must sleep outside

in the dark.

My studio is quite cramped

as I start to work

in garage where lawnmower

and bicycles flirt

But, oh, never mind,

we shall overcome.

And I picked up right where I left off

on day one.

I ran out of paint

before the swamp was complete

The trees had no foliage,

I was all out of green

I decided to water

down what was left

and dig in my paint box

to mix up the rest.

While still in the house,

elbow deep in my paints,

the sky opened up

it was downpouring rain;

Desperate to save

my meager attempts

I closed the garage door

but the tarp was already damp.

No biggie, thinks I,

it will soon dry;

and I set back to work with a brush

and a sigh.

From mixing and sloshing around and

rolling row after row

I’m covered with paint

From my head to my toes.

I threw in the towel

around about six—

My knees were all achy;

my back full of cricks;

“Never again,” I said to myself

washing ibuprofen down with a beer--

Then I realized:

Isn’t that what I said last year?

ABCs of the Word “P”

“Her ways are pleasant ways, and all her paths are peace.” (Prov. 3:18)

The writer of Proverbs is speaking of the lady wisdom here, and the truth of his words rings loud in my heart. As God further refines our church, and I endeavor to lead, it has been one of my most earnest prayers—that for wisdom.

Her ways are pleasant and all her paths are peace. –Amen

Join Pam at Grey Like Snuffie for more ABCs of the Word.

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Here is my Mom is Missing from the Picture portrait for this week:

I haven’t been very faithful with this little meme…falling prey to the very thing that motivated it.

No one takes pictures of mom!

I’m always behind the camera. That is exactly what was going on the day this picture was taken. I had the camera at church, taking pictures of all of our mothers for a mother’s day slide show. Teddy took the camera from me and snapped this one.

This is a definite, “What do you think you’re doing?” face.

This is only #5 of 52! I am so behind!

Join Carin of Forever in Blue Jeans for more moms in the pictures portraits!

In Praise of Friendship

Their voices drift out to me.

I am poised for knocking but their song beats my hand to the door.

Four kids. My two and two of their best buds.

Singing.

Hand stutters in mid-air as I pause. Lean back against hall wall.

Voices lift in unison, gathering me in the rhythm.

These four have been friends all of their lives. Their beginnings almost parallel, some of these lilting voices were first heard by the others in utero--as mothers laughed and grew together.

They have only recently abandoned entertaining their parents with puppet shows and hokey commercials. Started sequestering up here in this room.

Away from the grownups.

Here they have written stories and illustrated picture books. They have created an economy of bottle caps and play money.

And tonight, apparently, they have written a song.

Okay, it’s more like a chant…but it’s catchy.

It sweeps me into its embrace.

I listen for the individual quality of each voice and my breath catches.

In this moment I hear their comfort with one another—but more. When I listen closely, I hear each one—can make out the familiar tones—and I hear how their differences collide and make something beautiful.

I am hearing the story of their friendship.

This auditory portrait makes me think of the mother of the other two.

My friend.

She is downstairs, falling asleep on my couch. She buried her father only yesterday; the culmination of a forty-four day journey.

It was forty-four days from his diagnosis to his death.

And my friend is exhausted.

Exhausted from grief.

Exhausted from watching her father suffer.

Exhausted from saying goodbye.

She needed to be with us tonight. Because she knows we love her. Needed us to hold her up for a little while.

Tonight, I stand here in this hall and give praise for friendship. Against a backdrop of precious harmonies, I give thanks.

Oh, Lord, where would I be without my friends to hold me up?

You give such good things, Father. You give such good things.

A Special Name

The following is part of an online devotional I was blessed to have published by Proverbs 31 ministries a couple of years ago. I pray His words speak...

“If I could change three things about me, they would be my hair, my freckles, and my name.”

I looked in the rear view mirror at my redheaded, freckle-faced boy named Theodore, and my heart ached.

“I love those things about you. They’re part of what makes you who you are. Why would you want to change them?”

“Because they’re different. Everybody else just looks normal, and has normal names. Not like me.”

I chose my words carefully, trying not to chastise or judge. Something in his tone reminded me of a little girl I used to know. A little girl who hated her freckles too.

“That’s what makes them so special. Believe me, sweetie, it’s not a good thing to be like everyone else. That’s boring. That’s why God made us all different. It keeps the world interesting.”

“Oh, Mom, you just don’t understand.”

Some truths are given little credence when spoken from a mother’s lips. No matter what I said, he remained unconvinced. I felt like I had failed him somehow.

My son is not the only one who struggles with feeling “different”. Countless adults battle feelings of inadequacy every day when they look in the mirror. Whether it’s that extra ten pounds, an undesired birthmark, or a secret emotional scar; we all have some mark on our being that we are sure others will revile.

Our differences can leave us feeling insecure and alone. Still, there is One who celebrates our uniqueness, One who is charmed by our oddities and loves even our scars. This One sees every part of us and still calls us beautiful. He is El Roi, the God who sees.

Yet, we, like my son, turn our ears away from our loving Parent. It’s too difficult to grasp that He loves us with all of our flaws and imperfections. We say, “Oh, Father, you just don’t understand.” But we are wrong. He understands all too well.

Scripture tells us, “…He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering…” (Isaiah 53:2b-3a NIV).

Yes, He understands how it feels to be different.

That week, I prayed for God to help me explain this truth to my son in words that he would hear. I wanted so desperately for him to understand how special he is, not just to me, but to his Heavenly Father, as well.

The Lord is faithful, and He placed Revelation 2:17 in my hands. I sat my son down and shared this scripture with him, explaining that God has a special name set aside just for him. I told him that no matter what he is called during his time here on earth, there is a name waiting for him in heaven. A name that will have nothing but love attached to it.

While we were at it, I read him Psalm 56:8, and told him that God loves him so much, He keeps track of every tear that has fallen from his eyes. Then: Luke 12:7; He knows the number of hairs on our heads. (No matter what color they are!) And He probably counts freckles for fun.

We are set apart, Dear Ones, but we are not alone. Our Heavenly Father sees us. All of us. Every secret scar and past sin. Every freckle that has ever graced a nose. Each and every red hair.

And He is “enthralled” by our beauty. (Psalm 45:11NIV)

“He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.” Revelation 2:17 (NIV)

She Goes by Many Names

I was driving home from a local theater performance of South Pacific a few nights ago; listening to public radio, when a program called The Art of Song came on. The hosts were interviewing a musical duo that I found mildly entertaining, so I stayed tuned. The young man--by name of Jonah--was describing his background when this caught my attention:

“…I eventually found my way down to New Orleans and was playing street music down there…it was during Jazz Festival and that was when I just realized how important music is…It was as if…I could see music touching people—physically—you know…people get touched by music…like color—in the same way…”

Beauty goes by different names.

Jonah was right—she reaches out and makes her presence known. The air around her changes. We open up to her…unveil these stony hearts and hold them up in vulnerability. We forget to wear our masks when Beauty is with us.

For me the Arts—music, drama, poetry—are a way to draw near to God. By spending time with this beauty, I see His Beauty more clearly. My heart aches…longs…yearns…for His holiness all the more when beauty makes herself known.

The touch that Jonah spoke of…well, I choose to believe it is His touch, reaching out to us to share His amazing gifts.

I’d like to share a gift today.

The winner of The Making of a Poem (Strand and Boland) and A Child’s Garden of Verses is A Simple Country Girl from Aspire to Lead a Quiet Life.

Congratulations!

If you’ll email me your snail I’ll drop those goodies in the post for you ASAP.

I was blessed by the many poems that crossed my inbox through this little contest. Thank you to all who participated! I hope this opens a new world of beauty for some. High Calling Blogs is an awesome poetry playground.

Blessings…and urgings to spend some time with Beauty today!

Graduation Speech

We are driving home from a graduation party for my niece. I look out the window into the blur of passing cars and I see her reflection there: a chubby-legged three year old as flower girl on my wedding day.

And I am astonished.

Once again I am astonished at this thing that turns babies into young women.

To me, time is a one-way train. I cannot go back on this ticket.

But my niece stands on the threshold of the future. She’s hopped aboard without even looking back.

I’m trying not to be too sentimental. In this day of The Last Lecture and The Sunscreen Speech, my words could add little.

But it takes my breath away.

The eagerness in her eyes.

No glance over the shoulder.

And I ask myself, was I once like that?

And if so, why did I stop?

Why did the beauty there is in hope stop touching me?

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m not one of these women who spend her days longing for the youth of yesteryear.

My life is beautiful. There is not one thing I would change about it.

Aw, but there is one thing I would change about me.

My eyes.

I would make them more eager.

I will fill them with hope.

I would open them to the beauty of each passing moment.

Why is this so hard when we wear the weight of a few extra years?

But it is.

Life presses in.

And we lose sight of where True Beauty comes from.

We move our eyes away.

I move my eyes away.

And so He puts things in my life to remind me. He gently reminds me to fix my gaze. He uses music, or stories, or art.

But lately, it’s been poetry.

What has He placed in your life lately to refocus your gaze? What beauty have you seen?

Is it the young, eager eyes of a high school graduate?

The smell of a freshly baked loaf of bread?

The feel of your infant’s skin rubbing against your cheek?

Oh, dear ones, He sends it all.

Thank Him today. And fix your gaze.

(When my boys graduate I am going to need a Xanax, or something. Will you all be here for me in a few years?)

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down form the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." (James 1:17)

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If you would like a chance to win a spectacular poetry resource, visit my last post and get involved in HCB poetry challenge. It has helped me fix my gaze.

Masking My Voice

In my quest to learn more about this poetry that leaves me breathless, takes me where heart soars and feet won’t stay on ground—I read this post by my poetry teacher. Here she talks briefly about The Making of A Poem: A Norton Anthology of Poetic Forms (Strand and Boland) and how it is impacting her daughters.

Never one to fear picking the minds of children for wisdom, I figured if the book was a good study for budding poets, then it would qualify as a necessary read for me. I promptly punched up Amazon and placed my one-click order.

Imagine my surprise when the box arrives and there is not one, but two copies of this lovely gem inside.

My error is your gain. Participate in this week’s poetry challenge (read about it here) (and read the rules here) and leave me a comment for a chance to win this amazing resource.I’ll even throw in a slightly used copy of A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson and delightfully illustrated by Tasha Tudor.

Don’t be afraid to try your hand at this poetry thing. The beauty of the process is making me a better writer, and a better seer.

I’m still muddling on, join me!

For this week’s poetry challenge, I am employing mask, “…which entails taking on the voice of something or someone”.

In this case it is a glass of water:


I am
half empty
or half full?
these lips
on my rim
cannot decide…
in the beginning
I am
cold--
the clunk
clunk
of ice
tinkling
with each dip
onto
desert tongue.
I have
this lifegiving
water…
but now
I sit
by sink
half empty
lukewarm
and
forgotten.

ABCs of the Word “N” with Grey Like Snuffie

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:18-19)

The Personal Ponzi Scheme

“I’ve decided that life is a Ponzi scheme.”

I must have looked puzzled.

“Do you know what that is?”

I knew I had heard the phrase somewhere, but--unsure of its meaning—I shook my head.

“Smoke and mirrors,” she said, smiling. “It’s like, convincing others that you have this great thing to buy into…”

I realized then where I had heard the term. Wasn’t this what Bernard Madoff had done? Bilked hundreds out of millions by convincing them to invest in his fraudulent scheme?

I sat up straighter.

My friend is getting her MBA, so she is always enlightening me—stretching my world bigger. An Occupational Therapist, her mind works in ways that amaze me. While we dine in my small office at the hospital, she educates me as to how the world is flat, given me insights about the international business world, and helped me understand the virtues of certain marketing strategies.

But a Ponzi scheme?

What in the world?

I listened to my friend expound on her theory.

She explained that she has stumbled on a new source of self-confidence.

The Ponzi scheme.

“Most people get their Ponzi schemes from their parents. As they’re growing up, they’re told they’re wonderful, or special…you know? They get this unconditional love that they build their world on and…and they totally buy into, right? So they grow up feeling good about themselves…”

I was on the edge of my seat. And then she said this:

“And since I was raised by crazy people, I didn’t get my Ponzi scheme.”

My eyes widened.

“I didn’t either!”

We talked more about developing our Ponzi schemes—how to use this concept to build our self-esteem.

I loved it.

It made sense.

Sort of a self-investment. Building myself up.

That’s good, right?

I was so impressed with our new theory that I told Jeff about it when I got home.

“Isn’t that neat? I mean, if I buy into the scheme that I am a self-confident, all together woman, and act accordingly—then…I am. I just have to buy into it and then others do too.”

Before I was finished, he was shaking his head.

What?

I don’t want to have to pretend to be something I’m not, he explains calmly. Why do you think I gave my life to God? Because I’m sick of all the Ponzi schemes. I’m sick of all the falseness in the world. I don’t want to invest in anything but the Truth.

Can you say ‘deflated’?

Still, not willing to let go, I looked up Ponzi scheme on Wikipedia and this is what I found:

”A Ponzi scheme is a fraudulent investment operation that pays returns to investors from their own money or money paid by subsequent investors rather than from any actual profit earned. The Ponzi scheme usually offers returns that other investments cannot guarantee in order to entice new investors, in the form of short-term returns that are either abnormally high or unusually consistent. The perpetuation of the returns that a Ponzi scheme advertises and pays requires an ever-increasing flow of money from investors in order to keep the scheme going.”

Reading just a bit further, these words jumped out at me:

“The system is destined to collapse (emphasis mine) because the earnings, if any, are less than the payments. Usually, the scheme is interrupted by legal authorities before it collapses because a Ponzi scheme is suspected or because the promoter is selling unregistered securities. As more investors become involved, the likelihood of the scheme coming to the attention of authorities increases.”

Destined to collapse.

Hmm.

It’s not looking so good for the personal Ponzi scheme.

Sadly, I relayed Jeff’s words to my friend at work the next day.

“He just says it’s not based on the truth…”

“But what is truth?”

She tilted her head to one side as she said it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Indeed.

What is the truth?

Truth for one person may be totally different from the next.

In fact, another friend said she thought our theory should be called the Fun House Mirror.

Because how we see ourselves is so different sometimes from how others view us. When we look in the mirror we all see different distortions.

After all our discussions about truth, we decided that whatever we call it, the goal of the personal Ponzi scheme is to create a new truth for ourselves. One that promotes success. It does not have to be fraudulent or disingenuous to do so.

Still, I can put on my Ponzi scheme, feel totally satisfied with the results, then go home and it could all collapse out from under me.

I need more.

The sad thing is, I know there is more.

There is a truth that I can cling to—one I can build my life and self-image on that will guarantee success. But I don’t live every moment of my life doing so.

The knowledge that I am loved and valued by my Lord just as I am—with all my blemishes and failures—this should be earth shattering. This truth should give me a supernatural confidence, and assurance despite earthly discouragement.

But I must invest in this truth before it can change me.

Friends, there are going to be days when I’m just not feeling it. On those days, I might have to rev up the personal Ponzi scheme.

But when all is said and done, I need more to hold on to.

In the end, I want my investments to be in the Truth.

Personal Ponzi?

I might need one sometimes.

But what I really want, what I really need is my Personal Jesus.

That’s where true confidence comes from.


Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. (John 4:16)

Jeremy Camp - Give Me Jesus

RAP: Poetry Friday

I would like to say a humble thank you to all for those precious prayers--sweet aroma to the Lord. Some of you shared stories with me that left me on my knees. Broken people. That's what we are. That's why we need Him. That is where I am. Just give me Jesus.




This week's poetry prompt for random acts of poetry became a bit complicated after I read this post by L.L. Barkat over at Seedlings in Stone.

She just keeps teaching me.

But...

I am still not brave enough to attempt the more complicated form of poetry she speaks of, so here is my free form offering this week:


The Pen

This basement room
down dark stairs
has always felt
so cold
I breathe
musty spores
into my shrinking lungs
This chill
I feel
to bone
tonight
As I come
without you
to teach
the only warmth
these walls
have ever known
Through the frame
I see it
Where you left it
Discarded
Forgotten
Clipped to notebook
Fleeting image
Of this pen
In your hand
Stops me dead
In my tracks
And it is
as if I am
seeing this room
and this pen
for the first time
Sad eyes await me
Scared, grief-stricken
Pale freckled face
Questions
Too big to ask
Where is she?
Am I not enough?
Why?
These eyes ask
I whisper His name
And wispy threads
of love
wind in and out
and over
Lifts sad eyes
to mine
The deed is done
Before I go
I reach
for notebook
And slip
Your pen
Into
My purse
You
Will not
Need it
anymore

Even Messier

The other night, I had to tell my son something that I never dreamed.

I had to tell him that our Pastor, his pastor—the one with whom he has shared waterslides and lock-ins, TCBY and bowling—has made…is making…some grave mistakes.

I had to tell him that this person we love is involved in a relationship with someone who is married, that she has contributed to the breakup of a home—a home in which children, his friends, reside—that she is choosing to continue with this adulterous relationship and leave the ministry for the time being, and that this relationship, is in fact, a homosexual one.

Not your normal bedtime conversation.

I cringe to read it all typed out here in black and white.

It seems so harsh.

And yet, these are simply the facts.

We live in a small community, and rumors have abounded the past couple weeks, poisoning the halls of our church. People have questioned and lies have been told. There have been sleepless nights and much praying.

But Sunday night we heard it directly from her. A confession not many were prepared to hear. A confession she was not required to make, but one she felt she owed.

It took courage.

But now the truth is out.

In the next couple days, the Session will be making all efforts to inform the congregation of the truth, and minimize the damage.

These are the times in the church when the naysayers seem vindicated. When the cynics are proved correct.

The church is full of hypocrites, they say.

They preach one way and act another, they say.

I believe in God—just not organized religion, they say.

And because the church is made up of fallen, broken people—many times these critics will be correct.

Humans will fail us. Some in small ways and some…well, some in rather big ways.

So I say to you what I said to a friend from our congregation recently—a young man who was brought to Christ by our (former) Pastor and who considered her his spiritual mentor. He sat in my living room and fought tears as I earnestly searched for the right words:

“People make mistakes. People change. But God is always the same. And He will never fail us.” (James 1:17)

Sometimes we put our faith in the wrong vessels.

And we let our broken hearts lead.

It’s true.

We grown-ups haven’t handled things too well. Especially yours truly.

But we have done the best we can. There is no five point outline for how to handle this.

We are feeling our way around in the dark.

Yet, there is one way the Body of Christ can prove the world wrong: that is in our reaction to these types of situations.

I did not fully comprehend the truth in this until lying beside a twelve year old boy in his bed the other night.

After explaining the situation to Teddy, I reminded him of the second greatest commandment.

“I’m not sure how I feel about all this—I feel a lot of things,” I said. “But there is one thing I do know for sure—God tells us to love each other. We have to love these people. No matter what mistakes they have made. Do you think you can do that?”

His response shamed me.

His response shook me.

Without hesitation my son replied, “Of course.”

Just like that.

Of course.

My son’s quick response made me question what true love really looks like.

And in the process, the way love looks to me is changing.

I am being stretched. The walls around my love are being broken down.

This is the way God works on us, dear friends. He confronts us with these difficult, ugly, life-changing situations…

And then He asks us to love.

Not just in word, but with actions and in truth. (1 John 3:18)

What does that look like to you?

We are still processing.

Each night, there has been a new question from my son.

I don’t have all the answers. These things are complicated. Messy.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot love as much as Jesus.

His is the example that I want to follow.

Not what my emotions say.

Not what other people say.

Only Jesus.

And He tells me to love.

Tonight I meet with the middle-schoolers at church. Please pray for me, as our former Pastor used to be my teaching partner with this group. There are sure to be questions.

Thank you, dear friends.

Thank you.

Messy

She is sitting on the bench alone when we drop into her world.

It is our regular Tuesday: Music lessons and passing time.

Teddy’s guitar lesson is first, during which Jeffrey and I pass the time. Then comes Jeffrey’s drum, while Teddy and I pass the time.

On pretty spring days like this, we like to pass the time down the street from the music shop, at the Adena Indian burial mound.

I sit on the bench below as Jeffrey runs up and down the thing, rejoicing in the power of his legs.

But today, we have company.

I sit down on the bench beside hers--Jeffrey already ascending the mound.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. Then, in a sing-songy voice, she begins to talk to herself…throwing shy smiles my way every now and then.

Suddenly, a gusty breeze rustles the trees around us and we are caught up in a shower of maple tree helicopter seeds. We both squeal in delight and she holds up her two hands to receive this gift.

I take the bait.

“What is your name?”

“Ting.”

“Ting? How do you spell that?”

“T-I-N-G.”

“Oh. Just like it sounds.”

She smiles and runs over to a flowering bush to smell the blossoms.

“How old are you?”

“Seven.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“Yes,” she gestures to the nearby street. “Above the restaurant.”

She points to the Chinese restaurant across the way. The place I love to get lo mein and perhaps a Chinese dumpling or two.

“I have a sister, three months old. She will go to China…” She puts her finger on her chin-- thinking. “Soon. And I have another, four years old, who is in China now with my grandma and grandpa.”

I ponder this. But she is not done.

“I was born in America. Then I went to China too. But I am here now.”

Then she is off, running around the brick path that encircles the flowery bushes. She pretends to fly, holding out her arms like wings, throwing smiling glances my way the whole time.

As she glides on the wind, I think about this practice—this sending of daughters to native country. My heart aches at the thought of such a separation, and I realize that only something very important could make a mother send her child away in this manner.

Something important and a lot of faith. It would take a lot of faith to carry through with such sacrifice.

But faith in what, I wonder?

They don’t want their daughters to forget their heritage. They are passing along their history. Passing on their world.

This touches me, and I am left without words.

When Jeffrey comes down, I introduce him to my new friend. She smiles at him from underneath lowered lashes. He is beguiled by this beautiful China doll.

As we say our goodbyes, he throws this her way: “We’ll be here again next Tuesday.”

I smile.

I deposit Jeffrey in drum and go upstairs to wait for Teddy’s lesson to finish. In the hallway, I sit on the cold metal chair leaning against the wall.

Music drifts under doors and floats out to me. A violin is scratching out a waltz as teacher and student move bows side by side. Next door is another guitar teacher, strumming chords along with his student. Teddy plunks out notes in another room nearby.

I close my eyes and it fills me up inside…This strange mixed-up symphony is oddly cohesive, and carries me into another world—one that I cannot understand any more than Ting’s world.

But I know that it is beautiful.

I am lifted into bold awareness of the many different worlds that live inside this place we call earth.

And I sigh as I think of another world. A world some people I love have recently entered.

The secret is fairly out.

And I don’t understand.

And I have made a mess of things once again.

Love can be that way—messy.

Much has been sacrificed already, and I wonder what heritage they will pass along.

And then I must do it again—drop the burden before Him, as I have done so many times recently.

I know what my faith is in—or Who, rather.

It buoys me.

We are all in His hands, Beloved.

I am reassured that He is holding my friends.

And I know, there is no place I would rather be.

Random Acts of Poetry

This place has been a blessing to me. Since I have found it, the world of poetry is opening up to me. In trying to share this joy, I have begun reading poetry with the boys each night. After our devotional we have been digging into some selections from Samuel Hazo’s The Song of the Horse. It is my hope that Bible reading and poetry will become intertwined for them, so that both heart and mind will be stirred by scripture.

I found Hazo's name repeatedly mentioned here, and here; and so, being a novice at this poetry thing I thought his works might be a good place to start.

I was right.

After each reading, I ask the boys, “What does that poem say to you?” And they always have the most interesting offerings. Sometimes they glean a meaning that surprises me, or opens my eyes to something intensely personal going on in their little lives.

But always it makes them think.

And me too.

It broadens our minds and makes the world less flat.

High Calling blogs hosts Random Acts of Poetry, you can read about it here and get your fill on this week’s participants while you're over there (it will leave you empty for more)

…here is my offering this week.

Burden

I stand

arms open

and receive this

weight

arms fall

under

heaviness and

it bears down

on me

but I cannot

put it down

or pass

it along

for fear

of betrayal

for sake

of love

so

I stand

under ten

thousand pounds

crushed

do not

hold on

to me

for I am

being dragged

down

under sea

drowning

in

lies.

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ABCs of the Word, “L”

“You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.” (John 8:44)

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For my self-portrait this week, I'm posting a couple pictures of my new hair cut. Join us at Forever in Blue Jeans for the "Where's mom in the picture?" challenge. It is true that usually we are the ones behind the lens. This is an attempt to leave behind some evidence that I actually exist...

Okay, so maybe the front doesn't look too different...

But, doesn't the back look interesting?