Heaven Happen

ladder to the moon (for paul and virginia)

2012-02-03T12:25:00.008-05:00

there once was a girl with stars in her eyes
and dew drops in her hair.
never said much as she walked dirt roads
and laid her very soul bare.

there once was a girl who sang to the moon
and danced 'til the morning light.
when the thunder crashed and the clouds fell down
she swam every tear that she cried.

now, whether this girl was me or not,
i'll never really know.
i can't quite find the line that divides
the two halves of this one soul.

well, the girl met boys who promised the stars
and gave her pails of sand.
they spilled her paint and broke her guitar
and left her with empty hands.

as the girl walked away from the love and the pain,
her shadow fell across a wall.
and the man standing there with a ladder and a trowel
took her hand and said, "i'm paul."

so she stayed for a moment to watch him work
and they talked of simple things.
and their shadows grew long as the sun shrank down,
and the moon came to hear them sing.

sing songs of faith! sing songs of hope!
sing love that never ends!
take time to walk dirt roads together
and dance in the light, my friends!

lay a firm foundation! raise a home that is strong!
build your life by laying it down.
search out the stars in each other's eyes
where diamonds do abound.

grasp onto grace. hold fast to truth.
shake out the ugly bits.
my heart is in your hands, you know,
i'm trusting you with it.

painter's block

2012-01-17T22:30:00.003-05:00

there are three of them:

painting boards,
18x24,
gessoed white.

like three rectangular eyeballs rolling,
scoffing from my dining room table.
and i'm supposed to paint them.

but i don't know how

to ask the colours what they mean;
to wander in fields of abstraction
and find my balance;

to trace the edges of shadows and
hold them up to the light
like a gift.

i'm a photo-realism kind of grown-up

and i've forgotten how to play.
to believe in what i cannot see
until it becomes art:

sock feet waltzing across living room rug;
wrinkled hands splashing bath tub bubbles;
voice warbling songs never before sung.

it's time to finger-paint.

wandering over to emily's place

11

2012-01-11T22:37:00.000-05:00

an eleven punctuates the space between my eyebrows...

it's a mark aging beauties consider slathering or injecting or lifting away.

but try as they may, they can't erase

this gravity

and neither can i.

so tonight, while this furious little mark etches itself

in front of a space filled with questions and exclamations,

i'll take it as a reminder that

this gravity

isn't forever.

but i am.

my beautiful friend cut her hair. you should see her now!

the worth of a soul

2011-12-17T00:08:00.016-05:00

December evenings linger long past dusk:

the streetlights have been trading their watch since before suppertime.

below them, a man pulls cars off a transport and into the dealership lot.

snow falls upon the toque his girlfriend bought him,

filters through tree house rafters across the street.

within the house, three brothers are fighting for bathtub space;

their mother has baby oil and pajamas at the ready.

over on the first concession,

a farmer stretches his toes inside a fresh pair of woollen socks,

rakes calloused hands through hair in need of a barber.

his wife's fingers undo the bow at the back of her apron

as they have every evening the same;
punch faded numbers onto a telephone keypad;

reach toward a jar of balm and the music of a daughter's voice.

it's a night just like any other in December: cold, dark, wintry.

yet each moment -- every place -- is teeming with humanity:

scarred by the day, brimming with hope for the morrow;

loving and wanting and resting and toiling,

all conflicted and radiant.

each person is writing a new story.

every person is working toward a goal.

but what does it matter if the car guy saves to buy his girlfriend a ring?

does anyone care if some farmer's daughter gets to chat with her mom?

old tree houses and fresh haircuts and warm socks and wet bathroom floors --

they don't amount to much. everything we know is so small.

(even those shiny new cars getting snowed upon.)

...carved into a hillside, long ago and far away,

stood a stable where a baby was born.

because his mother was rejected and his father was acquainted with grief,

he had no better place to lay than a feeding trough filled with hay.

yet every star in heaven held its breath as angels shrieked their amazement

at God Himself, tucked inside a poor girl's arms.

His life would show us the power of the Spirit;

His death, the depths of evil;

His resurrection, the height of glory.

but in that little hillside stable, the soul felt its worth.

this was my Christmas reading the other night... i'll bring it to emily's, too.

onward, Christian Soldier!

2011-12-12T18:46:00.011-05:00

my dear Christian Soldier,
have you ever had a doubt?
or is virtue what's guiding you
to sit, and frown, and shout?

could it be your heart's unsettled
at the things you preach?
might the pledge of "faith alone"
be a little out of reach?

our world's two thousand years removed
from Mary, James and Paul.
your friends are asking whether those folks
ever lived at all.

if that thought hurts your comfort zone,
then this one might explode it:
your neighbours haven't read the Bible;
don't even know who wrote it.

...do you?

you weren't there when Earth was formed;
never saw Christ with your eyes.
didn't help Luke write it down;
haven't seen a dead guy rise.

how DO you know your Bible is
The Book of Authority?
are you SURE Creation happened
in one week... literally?

if these questions irk you,
here's a good way to get even:
DON'T shake your head, walk away
and say, "you need prayer, heathen."

doubt is not the enemy;
it's here to challenge you!
do some research -- look around --
discover what is true!

tell me, which worldview best explains
mankind's depravity?
his conscience? need for song and art?
respect for charity?

get to know Science. he's a friend
of those who wish to know
how old the rings of Saturn are;
how peacock feathers grow.

"childlike faith" ain't mindless:
it asks until it knows.
then, once hard work yields its fruit,
you'll have a peace that shows.

now onward, Christian Soldier!
rise up and take a look.
you've quite the task ahead of you...
it's time to hit the books!

...will you?

(you've probably guessed by now... this letter is addressed to me)

there are lots more letters here.

skyscraper sigh

2011-12-06T23:02:00.011-05:00

i live in a world of smokestack elevators --
the glory of man, scraping a sky he longs to control.
borrows recklessly and lends like a villain, that ugly man does.

i live in a world of soggy stilettos and lipstick cigarettes --
the beauty of woman, cellophaned and stocked upon shelves.
consume herself to death, that poor woman will.

the voice on the line calls me "Valued Customer,"
but i can't make out her name, half a world away
and getting paid far less than is legal around here.

i'm told, "Spend Less. Live Better," then i'm phased out.
the signs say, "Shop Local" and, "Made in China,"
and, "Do Not Pay* 'til 2013!" always, an *.

i sigh. i sit.
i sit on my couch -- just over a year old, splitting at the seams.
i sit on my couch's expired warranty.

i sigh.

think i'll sit on emily's couch instead.

in the dance

2011-11-26T19:00:00.006-05:00

the poplars groaned even as they swayed;
leaves ablaze with sunset embers

and the hail fell hard upon seeds tucked deep
'neath heavy grey skies, rolling thunder

it turned my head and it grabbed my arms
and spun me 'round and 'round and 'round

it kissed me hard, the glory of
this clamour between life and death

and my steps fall weighty upon waiting earth
as i start to learn my part

in the dance

shall we dance?

three years ago

2011-11-16T22:00:00.008-05:00

i mailed my Christmas presents and
took my last Diclectin (hallelujah) and
shaved my legs and
fasted for thirteen hours (never do that) and
nearly passed out while Ms. Nurse-in-Training tried to find a vein and finally,
hugged a pillow while a big, fat needle penetrated my spine and
went numb from the transpyloric plane down.

the anesthetist surveyed her work and
the nurses counted tools and
i counted nurses (seven, but one was a guy) and
the doctors discussed decking and
then you came along,
peed on a nurse and
wouldn't shut up.

the snow started falling
and never let up.

you never let up, either, do you know that?
(you peed on your dad yesterday -- ON PURPOSE)
...do they make epidurals for moms of three-year-olds?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKDRXJshMPI

taking a break over at emily's.

here's dad's take on the incident.

oh, grate

2011-11-06T22:35:00.007-05:00

noontime sun sparkles through champagne leaves,
runs a finger across filigree letters,
giggles at the door.

the Little Inn looks marvelous today,
dressed in her sunday best
and filling up with guests who impress.

"table for two?"
"we're with the party."
"ah, yes. right this way."

we stride across polished floors
to the room at the back, which glows at its hearth
like lipstick and silk scarves and well-kept shoes.

we sit amongst bookcases and lean upon pillows,
hug eternal blondes and ageless silvers,
inhale leather and cologne and a log gently burning.

just the kind of day to lose yourself in, so i do.
an hor d'oeuvre, a chuckle...
a sinking feeling.

my shoe is stuck in the grate. jammed right in.
suddenly, i'm the center of the party
as we all band together to save my clearance-shelf pump.

the very first time i ever wear heels.

fall in.
(why won't this format to the left? oh, well.)

so cold

2011-10-21T14:30:00.009-04:00

the time came for me to run,
but i could not.
so cold.

i turned aside --
on the cement beside the mall window,
a sparrow.

i held on while it fought,
broken -- one last flutter
before stillness settled in

and all around
the very air we gasped
brought the chill of death

and beneath our breasts
the heartbeat of every broken child
thudded into silence

i realized my eyes were warm and wet.
i realized my head was wet and cold.
i said good-bye through the rain.

i turned aside.
so cold.
i ran, and ran, and ran.

it's warm at emily's.

stay

2011-10-18T11:43:00.015-04:00

people who were hurting, You helped.

people who were listening, You taught.

people who were waiting, You encouraged.

the repulsive, You touched.

the weak, You defended.

the lonely, You loved.

those self-righteous jerks who had it all wrapped up,

You yelled at

and kicked down from their sacred inordinations.

people who heard the story, glimpsed the plan,

and worked hard to be a part of it,

You stayed with.

stay with me, Lord Jesus.

stay with us a while.

my hero

2011-10-13T23:01:00.000-04:00

when the greatest problem facing me is lack-lustre floors,
my children lie tucked in their beds,
and thursday waits beside the stairs with a good-night kiss,

while all around you, the floor rises up to swallow your hope,
your child lies in her bed, sleeping and quietly trusting,
and tomorrow looms fierce and fearful and oh-so-tiring,

while we talk together of plans
and of pain, of love
and of remorse,

i don't know what to do
but pray that somehow,
i can be your hero, too.

the light

2011-10-10T22:58:00.002-04:00

promises tucked inside rounded bellies,

secretly wrought for beauty

tiny sprouts shoving through Earth itself

just to be touched, held by the sun

almond eyes fluttering focus, peeking through

dark locks for love of morning

paper-barked trees reaching, stretching white

against mud and time for a chance to grow

women standing silent by kitchen sinks,

drunken with summer pouring in

golden bees with soft apples,

kissing open-mouthed upon the grass

withered men bent under the world,

rising up to face the light

come shine.

you (for jelly bean)

2011-10-05T22:54:00.000-04:00

lashes long and thick -- like long, thick lashes.
hair so silky-soft, it's like silky-soft hair.
you've got me at a loss.

you wrap around me like a koala;
kiss my neck with rosebud lips.
it's all been said before.

artists and poets and choirs of mothers --
they've all sung the praises of their beauties.
video-taped and scrap-booked up the wazoo.

but they haven't got you;
only i do,
and i can't shut up about it.

sweet time (for jelly bean)

2011-10-05T22:27:00.002-04:00

well, you've eaten the head off your Scorpion cake;
i hope you're proud of yourself.

five years ago yesterday --
no, the day before yesterday --
my body thought it could handle you.

boy, was it wrong. and sore.

forty hours and one operation later,
a nurse handed you to your dad.

took you back, wiggled you a little,
had you cry the pink into your toes,
and handed you back.

you always do what you want.

in your own frigging sweet time.

september rain

2011-09-25T14:05:00.007-04:00

her red van pulls away from the school yard;
grass-caked sneakers dangle from booster seats

they try to recall whether they've finished their lunches;
hazel and blue watching streets trickle past

sixth-grade hoodies slosh along the sidewalk:
happy orange-yellow-green and soggy

his thoroughbred grazes along chain link fence:
lead slack and dripping silent silver

highway cars pass the church gym;
puddle spray echoes along the wall

she sees her porch reflected in driveway puddles:
gold, with plaid curtains and an open door

it rains all friday long:
a week's worth of cares slip down the gutter.

coming to emily's?

How to Reach One Hundred

2011-09-21T22:59:00.007-04:00

Tips gleaned from the life of Great Gramma Gladys.

One: Travel to the other side of the world on a huge boat filled with children, without any parents. If you can thrive there, you can thrive anywhere.

Two: Work out daily, following such regiments as the long-distance, dual water bucket relay... while expecting... each of your five children. Climb stairs every day until at least ninety-seven years of age.

Three: When each of your five children are born, and you've got cloth diapers to contend with, potty train rigorously. Like, wake-'em-up-at-midnight-to-pee-in-the-commode rigorously. Seems insane to us, but I bet it prevented them all from losing their minds.

Four: Brave the cold. It increases vitality and cuts down on heating bills. It also makes you a great mitt-knitter. (Anyone who's ever worn knitted mitts knows: there are good mitts and there are bad mitts. Great Gramma's mitts were warm. And anyone who's ever knitted mitts knows: warm mitts are hard to make.)

Five: Eat nutritious food. Always trim the fat from your steak... so that you can savour every delicious bite of it. "The fat's the best part," she always said. Never miss afternoon tea.

Six: Watch your portions. When restaurant staff pre-cuts the lemon meringue pie into sensibly-sized pieces, take note.

Seven: Be assertive. When restaurant staff pre-cuts the lemon meringue pie into sensibly-sized pieces, pick up that knife and cut your own huge slice.

Eight: Don't be shy. While cutting your own huge slice of lemon meringue pie, announce to all by-standers, “Those pieces aren't big enough.”

Nine: Go to church. Whether you find yourself riding the Sunday school bus, tuning into a televised sermon, or cheering on your great-grandchildren at a nursing home, go to church and listen up.

Ten: Indulge in simple things. Pink carnations are a good choice.

Eleven: Be content. Content in long, cold winters; content knitting mitts for five children and their kids; content with pink carnations. The key to contentedness? It's in the last two tips...

Twelve: Love much. And...

Thirteen: Trust Jesus, and talk to Him every day.

Yeah, that was thirteen tips. Great Gramma wasn't superstitious.

sharing this tribute at emily's place

trouble spelling

2011-09-12T20:35:00.009-04:00

you make me wanna
blog, baby
all true stories and shocked gasps and belly laughs --
who could resist?
you're the real deal
and you have trouble spelling

he's totally imperfect prose!

9:45

2011-09-06T22:55:00.005-04:00

he wets the bed, four year old
an evening sullied

he draws a bubble bath, his daddy
love poured warmly

i scrub the mattress cussing, his mommy
annoyance overtired

he is Christ to a four year old, his daddy
not i, tear-streaked knocked-down

i dry my porcelain face
to kiss his

be honest.

giant maple

2011-08-27T22:56:00.009-04:00

at eventide the old maple
sighed, stretching
shadow toes
across
the
cool
grass

i climbed that giant until
my own shadow
sprawled soft
among
leaves
down
below

and three dirty rascals
begged their way
to conquest:
kings
of
this
castle

whilst sunset crowned
the true champion
beneath our giant,
smiling
with
eyes
upturned

brian miller's post still has me thinking trees.
emily's been meditating about wheat.

when a tornado hits

2011-08-22T16:32:00.007-04:00

there's nothing but wind --
wind and family,
rushing to the deepest places.

hold on tight
while everything else blows away.
listen

as life returns to this town:
chopper blades and sirens,
generators and chainsaws

felling trees,
dropping our guard,
knocking down pretense.

step outside and meet the neighbours.
everybody needs
to see, to help, to know

pain and sadness,
and gladness,
as we become human again.

my sister and brother-in-law lost their apartment;
we lost our trampoline
and ate some hail.
here's the official scoop.

neighbours, gather at emily's

dream chaser

2011-08-11T17:09:00.037-04:00

if i were a dream chaser,

every year i'd see

rows of pre-planned holidays

circled red for me.

if i were a dream chaser,

from time to time i'd be

sipping an island mojito.

gulping a turquoise sea.

if i were a dream chaser,

i'd make my dreams get caught.

but here's the sad reality:

a dream chaser i'm not.

instead, i'm often close to home

with my family.

there always is a lot to do,

waiting for dreams to catch me.

they always come. never know when.

and never know quite how

my Lord will rain a dream upon

the place i'm at right now.

there's magic in this standing soft

and letting the wind blow.

the Spirit gives and takes away

until i truly know

that life and all its riches

are best shared along the way.

some dreams of mine will have to wait.

some come true every day.

waking up in a forest.

good, old-fashioned meals i didn't cook.

a four-year-old who played without toys all weekend long.

catch a dream.

our coming song (for andrea)

2011-07-27T23:12:00.000-04:00

i have no words of wisdom,
no cure to end this pain;
i only wish to be with you
and cry into the rain.

but where i stand, the earth is dry;
the sun will not relent.
i search the empty sky until
my energy is spent.

i'll cry my tears and let the wind
carry them to you;
then when the rain does come,
we'll feel heaven crying, too.

we'll share this sorrow as we make
our journey, ever long;
for present pain adds tender notes
to our coming song.

in the morning (for jessica)

2011-07-20T22:45:00.003-04:00

lands apart
neither guessing what this day will hold

oceans wide
brimming salty tears as sun makes its slow pass

clock unrelenting
seconds, once expired, now beat upon hearts

moon glowing
a memory and a promise only sisters can know

sleep quietly
and in the morning, hold her tight

a little bit of the story

come here for more stories

in your eyes

2011-07-15T20:28:00.002-04:00

when water gets
in your eyes
i hold my breath
wait to find
what your heart
needs this time
will you laugh?
will you cry?
jump in again or
hold me tight?
my world shines back
there's so much light
when water gets
in your eyes

old ollie told me to re-post this one, so here goes.

let's call the sitter

2011-07-14T00:14:00.004-04:00

soup pot emptied;

five chairs askew,

tabletop cracker-crumbled

hum-a-long sweeping songs;
billowing curtains
and rays skipping up the wall

little fists clutching
fuzzy blankets,
books and sippy cups

book bag slumped on the floor
of an empty studio;
canvas half-painted

a hankering for gelato;
silver moon taking over
the roofs of town square

let's hold hands

wave knockin'

2011-07-11T22:54:00.003-04:00

you are BIG
you are WET
you are COLD
you are teeming with all manner of FLOATIES
you are rocking and rolling and WAVING AT ME

you taunt me.

i am not afraid of you.
i will ride you like a little girl's pet pony
and i will OWN YOU.

you are MY lake.

(my lake -- not my photo.)

rural king

2011-07-11T08:14:00.000-04:00

the jingle jangle of bells

heralds our conqueror

high upon his mighty steed

polished and proud

his convoy proceeds,

parading the booty

trailer chains bouncing behind

a shiny black pick-up,

lawn tractor in tow

"it's a party!"

2011-07-09T22:50:00.000-04:00

sitting between home and highway,
thinking of you.

reflecting on coloured lights,
smiling for you.

thinking how dark this porch would be
without you
to string old christmas lights
from bike to door to cafe table,
plug them in,
and light up
as you invite me to our party.

(i put them higher, where your little brother can't reach them)

show and tell

2011-07-03T23:39:00.005-04:00

if you didn't already know,

what could i ask you?

if you didn't want to see,

how would i show you?

if you weren't up to listening,

why should i tell you?

but i want to.

i'm dying to see you.

come with us

letters from my sons

2011-06-29T21:09:00.005-04:00

dear mommy,

now that i'm six, i know that i want to run through

the waves in my spider man shoes. i don't care if

they still light up. i'm sure.

love, j.

dear mommy,

thank you for carrying me around the grocery store tonight.

four is the bestest number, but you made me feel

like your baby again. i like that.

love, b.

dear mommy,

in both my years, i've never met anyone i'd rather

look at than you. turn around! i want to kiss you!

please, mommy?

love, j.

(i wrote them to remind myself)

more love letters

highwire

2011-06-26T17:16:00.005-04:00

single-file-row-on-row-stock-straight-hanging-tight-strung-to-a-pole

light flickers on, door opens

floor creaks under heavy load

break rank

tangle

scatter

flail

fly

dive

clatter

grasp ankle

oh, alright!

you can be the one to hang my new dress.

He comes

2011-06-13T11:36:00.009-04:00

jostled awake,

wiping noses and

meeting teachers and

licking envelopes and

piling laundry and

stirring suppers and...

lonely for the girl,

rolling chalk between fingers,

i do not find the self portrait that i wanted.

i cry out,

"come to me,"

and He comes to me wrapped in

these little ones

and cries through them,

"love Me."

like sand

2011-06-07T20:02:00.011-04:00

we play

in waves

and are small

like grains of sand

under swirling tide

of noonday sun

so bright

Your light

the thoughts

You think toward us

like grains of sand

they give us life

make us warm

and we smile

we play

in waves

and are small

come play

mother's touch

2011-06-03T22:56:00.005-04:00

the cool-smooth of tile under throbbing feet

the rumble of dishwasher caressing hands that hang down

the sweet dew of brow atop cartooned pillowcases

the mumble of love, the kiss of neck

this is a mother's touch,

my love

this is my life (for dan)

2011-06-01T23:07:00.010-04:00

i hung with a librarian today;

she proctored my exam.

i took my mom out for lunch today;

i'll never stop owing her.

dialogued with the Artist of the Year; a philospher-king student-professor...

did you know modern-day medical students are taking Ritalin?

talked with a convicted felon today;

he's a pretty good guy *.

listened to a few maniacs today;

boy, do they have a lot to say.

my best buddy ** was hungry;

he ate one of the burgers my wife made.

my other best buddy feels sad;

he's borrowing my bike for the night.

cleaned an apartment with, golfed the links with,

fell asleep tucking in each of my boys.

kissed my wife today;

watched a movie on the couch together.

Blogger offered me three sign-in options:

"male", "female" or "other".

this is my life.

* here's another pretty good guy

** he's the convicted felon

fade to black

2011-05-30T21:22:00.007-04:00

from my bedroom window tonight

the picture changes little --

leaves hanging in a blue-gray heat-sky

that fades to black.

this weary mother's heart sighs;

tries again to un-furrow brow --

but every footstep in the night, every cry

tests what i am made of...

fade to black.

cut to the chase:

this heart so deep, so dry, so destitute --

i only want... I Only Want!

to bear a child is to sacrifice self.

cut that umbilical cord, and a woman dies.

i cry, "i never knew, i never knew..."

here in the dark, i see it's true.

yet i am more alive now than ever before.

three sons bear my names, my face.

all they know is all i've shown...

oh, God!!

set my footsteps. soothe my brow.

pull me from this bed of angst

and turn fear into holiness;

holiness into love...

as i fade to black.

come alive.

blossoms

2011-05-24T11:54:00.012-04:00

when our crab apple tree is in bloom,

its petals are soft

i pull them close,

hold their perfume inside me

see them fall,

play in spring so fleeting

as they find the wind,

they blow away

when our tree has grown,

its fruit will be firm

play with us!

get well soon

2011-05-10T23:10:00.003-04:00

my child,

a terrible part of this

is having to turn my head away,

leave your room,

wash you off my hands

my son,

the best part of this

is the bravery in your quiet words

...you feed me love

even as you hunger

knowing i'll be

turning my head away,

leaving your room,

washing you off my hands

...this is the worst part, your knowing

i come back to kiss your hair

hospital bed

2011-05-09T23:04:00.004-04:00

i held you

in a hospital bed

on a thursday, all night long

i woke you; we learned together how to feed

i didn't know your cry would sound like that

my arms grew tired from holding you close

and my eyes drooped heavy

as i learned you

your face was so soft, i couldn't feel it

i couldn't sing to you; it was all too much

i hold you

in a hospital bed

tonight, for so long

you awake, feel the tape and the tube and the hole it made in your arm

i knew you would cry like that

my arms are strong from holding you close

and my eyes love your face

because i'm learning you

your face holds a few scars; i feel it

i sing and sing and sing for you

fever

2011-05-04T21:40:00.009-04:00

your craggy breath reeks of infestation.

your hair is matted into damp tangles.

the skin of your neck is hot, and it stinks.

legs thrash, blankets twist and bed creaks.

your little arm flails out --

fingers find my face and grip hard.

thrashing stills,

breath steadies,

grip loosens.

i heave in, ready to sigh for freedom of sleep.

i heave out, but my sigh has turned to gladness for these bonds:

i get to be the Mom.

we're all family here.

Passover

2011-04-22T22:03:00.016-04:00

fathers forgotten,

nation oppressed,

they built the empire

that broke their backs.

blood spilled,

filled the river

as mothers cried,

"deliver us!"

then...

blood.

frogs.

lice.

pestilence.

hail.

locusts.

darkness.

then, the deepest horror of all.

a choice:

obey, and your sons shall live.

refuse, and they will die.

tonight.

a new ritual:

choose a lamb. nurture it, place your hands upon it...

kill it.

take it in.

innocent blood will mark your choice --

streaked across your doorposts, for all to see.

Yaweh swept through that night

as the Angel of Death.

passed over the humble,

gave grace to the repentant,

dealt misery to the hardened,

and freed all who obeyed.

all who sought refuge in the blood of the lamb.

beyond Science

2011-04-14T22:05:00.018-04:00

i keep hearing talk about Science hating God.
we've totally disproven Him -- at least had Him declawed.

nothing exists that can't be measured/tasted/smelled/heard/touched/seen
...except this very premise. that's the way it's always been.

miracles don't happen (except spontaneous life)!
we learned this fact when we decided faith in God ain't right.

we've drawn ourselves a life chart shaped like a giant tree.
one lucky little bugger gave rise to all we see!

but parallelisms! homoplasies! convergences galore!
our poor old Philogenic Tree is twisted, and what's more...

our stock is in mutations adding info to our genes.
and yet, increased complexity's a phenomenon not yet seen.

instead, we learn with Kondrashov: per person, per generation,
at least a hundred nucleotides are damaged by mutation.

we check the fossil record and find along the way
creatures more adaptable than ones living today!

but surely we have artifacts just filling our museums
displaying Evolution-Truth where everyone can see 'em?

alas, Lucy was a knuckle-walker who liked to hang from trees.
the advanced brain of Homo erectus helped him to traverse seas.

okay, we've made a few mistakes. but still, the concept's there.
just take a closer look outside -- Evolution's everywhere!!

birds evolved from dinosaurs. they now lack diaphragms.
-- how'd they breathe whilst learning flight? let's give those guys a hand!

flagellum spin as mini-motors thanks to complex coding (???).
giraffes have sponges in their brains to keep them from exploding (!!!).

bombardier beetles somehow learned to control their fiery blasts.
baby birds have an egg tooth that enables them to hatch.

sediment paraconformity. the Cambrian Explosion.
Earth's magnetic field (dwindling). the amount of salt in oceans...

soft-bodied fossils like jellyfish, polystrate tree trunks,
and seashells on mountaintops almost could debunk

all our Long-Age Theory. and who we gonna' call
to explain retrograde planets? -- comets still burning at all?

what of consciousness? charity? language? music in our souls?
Natural Selection hasn't offered answers for any of those.

perhaps we should change our model: an Orchard -- not a Tree --
planted here on this Young Earth to cause us all to see.

into the great beyond...

saturday morning (for scott)

2011-03-28T22:04:00.004-04:00

sun rising

fire raging

floor caving

-- four men down.

walls looming

darkness pressing

pain clutching

-- mayday called.

heat glowing

smoke invading

panic rising

-- seconds melt.

water pelting

sunlight piercing

stretchers creaking

-- hell empties.

read all about it

if we were like You

2011-03-26T20:46:00.008-04:00

the fatherless would be defended;

the homeless, find a place;

more parties attended; songs sung with gusto

as we reflected grace.

buildings would mean so much less;

neighbours, so much more;

family hardships, divided by

our blessings laid in store.

there'd be cold water given;

there'd be seeds, planted deep;

manly men could stand and fight,

and cuss, and pray, and weep.

women could sit down and learn,

then rise, and change the world.

their works would praise them in the gates;

no slander would be hurled.

children would feel free to ask;

adults could question, too;

pride rebuked by fruitful faith

...if we were like You

let's play Church.

redemption secured... with packing tape

2011-03-19T17:30:00.012-04:00

Castle Guard tromps past in sock feet.

he is making his rounds.

i am the Queen; he is my Guardian.

he spots an Intruder (likewise in sock feet).

toy handcuffs enforcing castle law,

Little Brother is taken captive.

plastic snaps and the Intruder escapes.

Queen Mommy is tickled to death.

Toddler-Prince flees for his life.

King Daddy scoops up plastic pieces,

proceeds toward the kitchen cupboard.

a shameful defector's death awaits.

the way is blocked.

with five-year-old hands outstretched,

the Guardian reclaims his broken toy.

picking at the end of the tape,

cutting with safety scissors,

he reflects a new image.

blue eyes beneath furrowed brow,

pink tongue between bared baby teeth,

Castle Guard transforms into Redeemer.

packing tape and a little imagination

hold swapped parts firmly in place.

mission accomplished: redemption secured.

2011-03-18T08:37:00.002-04:00

brussels sprouts

green, leafy explosions of vitamins

death to the tastebuds in a pot

peter's testimony

2011-03-13T22:01:00.021-04:00

wouldn't have left it all to follow anyone else.

i'm not like that.

you just have this way of proving yourself to me.

right -- to -- me.

you know me better than i do;

let me tag along anyway.

it means everything.

more than life.

i saw what they did to you,

knew the place where they left you.

felt so sure we all were next.

then you were gone...

that place was empty -- all of a sudden,

you're eating broiled fish, cooking us breakfast.

staring straight into me again.

you know you changed me.

listen, everyone's gonna know about this.

they don't wanna hear it, but i'm not stopping.

this kills, but i'm yours.

who can deny You now?

i'm just another disciple.

two sisters (for jeh)

2011-03-09T21:49:00.008-05:00

i have a little sister...

she likes the colour red.

this should tell all you need

to know about her head.

i don't mean her hair colour,

for that is blond enough.

i just mean the way she thinks --

her attitudes 'n' stuff.

she is ever passionate

(such a good thing when she's wise)!

she can sometimes make me cringe

and sometimes roll my eyes.

truly, i am stubborn, too

(you must know that by now.

but if you don't, you've surely seen

my art-fart side, and how

i blabber on and on in my

own narcissistic way).

i need my sis to level me.

i thank God every day

for her little lip-curl

(it means "i'm on a roll"),

and for her left eyebrow arch

(it means "you're rather droll"),

and for the way she sits

when i've got something big to say --

she's listening and knowing

all the things along our way

that led us both to where we are.

you should ask us sometime.

we'd be more than glad to tell you --

we'll even make it rhyme!

oh yes, i love my sister.

oh yes, you know it's true.

and one more thing you need to know:

we'll lick you at Taboo.

we're here!

we're illiterate!

get used of it!

(sorry -- i just had to use that old joke of ours) :P

sweet and salty (for virginia)

2011-02-28T21:51:00.010-05:00

this morning i

tore the top off the jones bottle you gave me
heard the seal break with finality

watched bubbles rise like childhood hopes
through blue, true as friendship

remembered rainbows upon window sills
rimming spring peepers and thunderstorms

raised the glass to my lips
swallowed soda, sweet like river dreams

ripped the picture off the empty bottle
read my fortune: "lady luck will soon visit"

felt a tear slide
tasted salt

toasted cheers to you, kindred spirit
to love

kindred spirits, we.

winter drought (for serge)

2011-02-27T21:04:00.005-05:00

craggy breath forms

vapour clouds that

freeze and fall, freeze and fall --

another snow storm

pale hands reach

for sun, grasp shadows,

wipe up today's mess,

flick off the light

dry eyes squint

up at this empty barrel,

down, at no more rope,

over, at the cover of my Bible

winter toes (for ruthiey)

2011-02-22T08:30:00.007-05:00

good morning, toes!

you're looking very "Temperamental" today.

(as are twenty of my thirty little piggies,

but that's our secret)

now, where are my slippers?

peek at ruthiey's raspberry toes here.

redemption's journey (for misty)

2011-02-21T20:46:00.010-05:00

my friend spoke to me

of beige places as maps --

maps tracing toddler discovery

and if so, then oh my,

my world is full,

full of maps

over the cupboards and

up the stairs and

across light switches, door knobs, khakis

each new mark

closer to the ceiling

than the last

...and of redemption's journey,

mapped out by the marks

of my struggles, and i pray:

may each new mark be

closer to the ceiling

than the last.

she spoke here.

there are many others here.

candle

2011-02-20T20:10:00.005-05:00

a wick can never drink its fill.

once set aflame, it pulls and pulls

on hot wax until

there is none left within reach.

then, when all hope is gone,

it sputters like a drunken man,

dying,

up in smoke.

other brother

2011-02-19T22:41:00.004-05:00

And going on from there

He saw two other brothers,

James the son of Zebedee

and John his brother,

in the boat with Zebedee their father,

mending their nets,

and He called them.

Immediately they left the boat

and their father

and followed Him.

- Matthew 4:21,22

i so would have tried to finish mending my net first.

i'd have gone down in history as an "other brother".

nothing more.

snow castle

2011-02-18T22:02:00.004-05:00

there's what's left of our snow castle --

that dirty pile the plow made

beside the parking lot next door.

we would bundle,

round the corner,

follow the prints out back,

find adventure.

awaken this dragon,

transform me into a princess.

every time i went up,

i worked on the stairs

so you three could follow.

on the top

we drank blue-gold sky,

hid from car lights.

every time i went down,

you took your turns

hugging me on our sled.

i don't care that it's melting.

my memories won't.

we'll build again next winter.

hurry back (for leah)

2011-02-15T19:15:00.007-05:00

together we sat

under your picture window

overlooking the highway

that turns at the lights

and winds north out of town

your son was in the laundry basket

or upside-down on the couch

or in the chair, feet on ears

my sister watched him

like it was the last time

i didn't want to touch you

or i would cry

but i'm no buddhist --

i'm going to feel this --

so i did

and i do,

and i will,

but this is getting old

this saying good-bye

this praying see you soon

your eyes brimmed with light

as my feet shuffled down your porch

the paper towel blew off

the food you gave me

i snatched it back

but i can't do that to you

faraway friends, let's meet at emily's

unfolding valentines

2011-02-14T22:30:00.009-05:00

never cared much for valentine's day.

come on -- it's just another way

to push long-stemmed roses,

pink bears with red toeses

and chocolates arrayed in a heart-shaped tray.

thirty-five years ago today,

a girl and a guy i know made their way

from the aisle at a church

to the end of their search

for a home of their own, a place to stay.

twenty-nine years later -- the twelfth of may --

their very first grandson came to play.

but when school time drew nigh,

the boy started to cry

as from rooms full of people, he shied away.

then along came the time for all to say,

"will you be mine? happy valentine's day!"

a bag of paper hearts

helped the boy to start

unfolding in friendship -- come what may.

now i sit here and type in my way.

i look at those paper hearts, and i pray,

"thank You, God, for my boy,

for our home filled with joy,

and yes, thanks especially for valentine's day!"

redemption

2011-02-05T21:27:00.004-05:00

seeking solidarity
pilfering economy
pilandering ecstasy
philosophising "immortality"

men in prison, enthroned

hovering light
creating sight
owning right
reclaiming night

God-from-stable, entombed

"come and worship,
come and worship,
worship Christ, the newborn King"

and i will

come to emily's

a confession (for james and lisa)

2011-02-02T20:40:00.008-05:00

my girlfriend,

you are sick today.

this really isn't good.

you can't even bear the thought

of eating yummy food.

my guy friend,

you stayed home today.

you took care of your wife.

your iphone rang and you went running

because she's yours for life.

my friends,

i tried to help you out,

to share with you a token

of my thanks for your friendship...

but now your shovel's broken.

how's that for "imperfect prose"?

...here's some deep stuff.

new contacts

2011-02-01T20:19:00.002-05:00

oh, look at the world!
fresh, crisp, clear.

oh, slimy little beautiful
things in my eyes.

sundays

2011-01-30T12:34:00.023-05:00

respectable outfits

friendly handshakes

budget considerations

maintenance projects

guest speakers

solid lessons

light humour

sober reminders

responsive readings

monthly ordinances

soft accompaniment

firm guidelines

unspoken questions

correct answers

untold stories

weary walkers

saved by table-talks, baby photos, bare toes and neck-kisses

i know my Redeemer lives

on a tuesday

2011-01-26T19:54:00.007-05:00

the table stands cool and clean

in the basement-dark,

chairs all around.

they are empty,

the kitchen is empty,

the pastor's study is empty.

yesterday, it was all filled and warm --

jo-ann, doug, jim, rod, dan, bethany,

louie, and the other louie --

except for the pastor's study

(he's rod, the guy in the middle).

and we were the Church.

jim plows parking lots all over town.

louie's wife is afraid to fall in the snow.

doug believes in the impossible.

we slurped coffee and soup

from a silver platter,

spilled cookie crumbs and dreams

across the table,

beneath the open doors

and a welcome sign.

we're a family,

and we were the Church

on a tuesday.

emily's got a table full. stop by!

time, in deed

2011-01-23T20:42:00.003-05:00

lately,

nightly:

vision blurry,

body slumped and

thoughts a-flurry

i need fresh air,

i need sleep --

need to try and

work to keep

up this soul which

slumbers deep

sometimes,

oft' times:

clouded sight-lines,

dreams forgot or

stabbed in fork tines

think i'll paint or

think i'll read --

know and show

that i've been freed

and this is borrowed

time, indeed

bringing a shine

2011-01-20T20:05:00.008-05:00

this afternoon,

you begged for icicles

from the school roof.

(single-storey. snowbank nearby. worth a try.)

so i leapt,

fell, laughed,

made children shuffle

and parents say, "come on, let's go."

you took those broken icicles home,

played with them,

and shone all evening long.

(i posted this so i'd remember)

bringing this to my friend Emily's place.

thanking Daniel Jay for inspiring me to change bits to second-person.

apple trees

2011-01-16T19:52:00.010-05:00

we saw your car in the parking lot,

walked into the manor,

found you handing out songbooks

i asked you to check my hair

because you know how it should look.

you said i was beautiful

you were there to sit and sing and listen.

without looking, i knew your face:

placid, taking it all in

just like every morning,

in a comfy chair

with your Bible

tossing your heart to the sky,

catching the good grain

and letting the chaff float away

i've thrown my heart to your floor

so many times -- so many tirades,

sermons i needed to preach at someone

when i inhale, look up into blue eyes,

i see that you've known all along.

however did you keep it quiet?

i wish i were more like you --

beyond the narrow hips, the shape of brow --

down to the heart.

i'm like a tree -- a great, weeping willow,

groaning and swaying and wailing,

"the wind! oh, the wind! everybody fly!!"

you're apples with peanut butter:

nothing fancy. just sweet, sustaining, and real.

my favourite.

(dedicated wholly to my mom.

and in part, to peter, for whom i wrote "face", which is his favourite word.)

the sparkling Mother

2011-01-13T14:08:00.013-05:00

what is it that makes a Mother?

it's waking up earlier than you want to wake up. every. single. morning. sometimes you get a cuddle in bed, but it never looks like the commercials -- all smiles and shiny hair and white duvets and eye-gazing talk (think about it... kids get morning breath, too). it's more likely a knee-to-bladder, elbow-to-eye-socket, boogers-on-twisted-sheets knot that ends with mom exploding out of bed, gasping for air and a bathroom.

it's finding poop before breakfast, egg-yolk hair during breakfast, and stuck-on breakfast after breakfast.

it's spending one hour in the grocery store finding ingredients for baked goods, one hour baking, one hour cleaning up from baking, ten minutes adding baked goods to lunch sacks in the morning, one minute removing uneaten baked goods from lunch sacks in the evening, and one hour in the gym working off the calories from those baked goods no one else would eat.

it's learning about anatomy in the most startling, unflattering ways. beginning with your own (you are spared details about the "P" word here -- ask your sister-in-law about her Pregnancy, if you must), right on down to the Circumcision question. high school biology had nothing on motherhood.

it's wrecking your back securing boots and mitts, wrecking your back skidding across icy driveways chasing airborne boots and mitts, and wrecking your back re-securing boots and mitts. and that's only winter. the rest of the year, there are umbrellas and yard toys to trip over, and mud slicks to -- you know, slick through.

it's after Bath Time, Laundry Time, Dishes Time -- finding there's no hot water left at Me Time.

it's waving good-bye to half of your social life as friends realize it's no fun having you and your kids to their place, and almost wishing you could wave good-bye to the other half, which entails keeping your kids from wrecking the places of friends who still have you over.

finally, it's receiving carnations every Mother's Day. i don't know why this happens. carnations require nurturing. we dig out the old vase, prepare a sugar solution, snip off the stem ends and arrange our carnations. we place them on the table and protect them from table-knocks and petal-pluckers. we do this until the carnations wilt, knowing that somewhere, another mother is more adept at keeping cut flowers fresh and has a newer, funkier vase that doesn't tip over to table-knocks. maybe a gift that doesn't require nurturing would be more appropriate for a mother. like aromatherapy socks. or a new vase.

for all this, and more, you will be rewarded with the sparkling title, "Mother". you will never know, until you own it, how much pressure it takes to create this kind of diamond.

but oh, it shines.

offering this roughly-hewn gem to Imperfect Prose for a chuckle and a nod.

Christmas hope (for Amanda)

2010-12-26T20:30:00.008-05:00

snow falls slow and cold, like death
upon the barren ground;
white, like an unwritten story;
soft, without a sound.

bells of crimson ringing hollow --
gifts cannot replace --
Christmas carols echo heartless --
feasts can't fill the space...

womb now empty; expectation
stolen in the night.
glowing-growing body, crumpled.
hope snatched out of sight.

two thousand years ago, heaven
watched with wondering eye:
only Son, earthen maiden,
broken lullabyes...

her womb had swelled with Godhead-fullness
tipped from heaven's throne.
He grew up; she looked up:
saw Him pierced and all alone.

untimely death had robbed this mother
of her first-born Son.
yet, His sacrifice had left
no good thing undone.

a mother's tears, a spilled-out cup,
unleavened wafer crumbs;
a bloodied cross, an empty grave,
veil torn top to bottom.

the emptiness of Christmas calls
to hearts broken and true:
wrap your love -- womb Him here --
let Christ be born in you.

feel the sting of death, and hope
for victory and for Home.
lean hard, dear soul, and let Him wash you
white as fallen snow.

sharing this imperfect prose with friends

over at emily's place... http://canvaschild.blogspot.com

playdoh therapy

2010-12-14T13:01:00.004-05:00

in a world where prism-puddles
and sprinklers on lawns
make children squeal in ecstasy,
there's something rather wrong
with little hands that love to open
cups of coloured dough
but fear to squish them up into
a beautiful rainbow.

see, when i was a little girl,
i was afraid to mix it --
afraid to muddy up the hues
so that i could not fix it.
i never formed a marble,
a guppy with pretty fins,
or anything else that would be doomed
to land in the garbage bin.

the other day, my three sons pulled
cups of coloured dough
from the cupboard to the floor
and stacked them in a row.
i turned from my computer screen
and sprawled out with my boys.
we opened lids and turned dough into
messy blobs of joy.

i built my four-year-old a pumpkin,
then i watched him smash it.
my five-year-old mixed red with black.
(it felt so good to mash it!)
pretty sure my jellyfish
would go as jelly goes,
i let my two-year-old subject it
to digestive throes.

well, the mess we made together
cannot possibly be
sorted back into containers.
still, it's plain to see
that coloured dough, like all such things,
is by no means eternal...
unless you use it up -- waste it! --
for memories supernal.

coming down with something

2010-12-07T21:32:00.008-05:00

with flushed face
i cheered my kindergarteners --
paddling pool water in ecstasy

with shaking hands
i held my toddler steady --
climbing plastic rungs with abandon

with heavy arms
i wrapped my sometimes-daughter in a towel --
tasting shea butter lotion like a connoisseur

flesh strangely warm,
back slightly stooped,
voice a little shaky...

shutting doors against winter's storm,
wiping and kissing rounded cheeks,
singing songs...

and they prayed for me,
those precious souls

and i longed to kiss my husband

for grasping my hand while he drove,
for feeding me slices of clementine
and rubbing my back while shepherd's pie baked

we laid on the couch
and finished a movie
(our third installment -- that's the way it is around here)

and i let the housework slide
while i felt the ache
on the outside. just the shell of me.

because
inside,
i feel great.

chicken soup for the proverbial soul: http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

children

2010-11-28T20:44:00.007-05:00

if there had been no mother
in all your childhood days,
who would you look to for the grace
of teaching you her ways?

if there had been no father,
no tender, calloused touch
upon the pictures of your life,
would you look at them much?

if no one knelt beside the tub
while on her arm you leaned
to trickle water down your hair,
would you care to be clean?

if no dad stood with open glove
to catch your first t-ball,
would you stand a sporting chance
of shaking off a fall?

if you had no mother
to stroke your face at night,
would you know how to fall asleep
under soft moonlight?

if you had no father,
would you be afraid to dream?
with no one stronger by your side
to hush your fevered screams?

if you have a mother,
please pass her loving down.
just hold a hand, the way she did
when worries made you frown.

and if you have a father,
you've got a job to do.
the world's in need of helping hands
and strength to listen, too.

(thanks, mom and dad, for loving me.)

children, gather here: http://canvaschild.blogspot.com

a meditation

2010-11-21T19:26:00.005-05:00

thirteen men going violently:
blazing sight across blind eyes,
lurching lame feet into a run.
searing feeling through leprous limbs,
terrifying funeral-goers with movement...

"...and the poor have good news preached to them."
what miracles!

"go tell john," said the Christ,
"what you hear and see."

john had been heralding a coming Kingdom:
all camel's hair and leather,
locusts and wild honey,
neither eating delicacies nor drinking wine.
it was too much.

and so, this herald had been taken by force,
would soon bleed out and fall

upon the whim of softly-dressed men in kings' houses:
reeds shaken by the wind.

"blessed is the one who is not offended by Me,"
said the Christ,
sending word to His cousin.
He surely loved this man,
surely knew his time was up.

john heralded a Kingdom he'd never seen --
had been in jail doubting -- to what end?

"we played the flute for you, and you did not dance;
we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn."

and i'm a gluttonous king
drunk on my own religiosity,
hating john for abstaining
and the Christ for eating and drinking.
"yet wisdom is justified by her deeds."

and it will be more tolerable in the Day of Judgment
for the cities of sodomy than for me:

wrapped in soft cloth and shaken by the wind,
knowing of His mighty works but not repentant

so unlike a little child:
at liberty dancing through the streets,
weeping hard at soul-death all around.
reading to know my Father's gracious will,
wondering that He has chosen me.

until i hear it:
"come to Me..."

and i feel it:
"all who labour and are heavy laden..."

and i want it:
"I will give you rest.
take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me,
for I am gentle and lowly in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls."

it's so unexpected:
"for My yoke is easy..."

and so free.
"My burden is light."

read what i'm talking about at: http://www.gnpcb.org/esv/search/?q=matthew+11

my love song

2010-11-10T20:03:00.009-05:00

i remember me,
twenty-six years ago,
so assured of Love.
on the top bunk singing and making sure
that my song was heard in Heaven.

"Jesus loves me, this i know..."

i never had alcoholic parents,
but my dad did,
and the pain drew him to girls,
and to drugs, and pride,
before it spit him out in humility at the Throne.

"for the Bible tells me so..."

and the King has been prying at the fingers
that clutched bloodied rags --
my dad's childhood attempts to wipe up the pain
that foamed up into apathy,
that rooted into bitterness.

"little ones to Him belong..."

we spent a generation,
me and my dad,
feeling hurt and keeping silence
and trying but not understanding,
yet sharing a Love so deep and so true.

"we are weak, but He is strong..."

when my dad let go --
placed my hand inside my husband's --
he started to breathe a little more freely,
and to bless our Father for grace,
and to become my friend.

"yes, Jesus loves me..."

and i, too, am reeling at this grace
that sends my own children
running back into my arms
after i've been harsh --
my dad understands this.

"yes, Jesus loves me..."

and as i grow, i am shocked by the freedom
that whirls good gifts --
food, drink, sexuality, song --
in a dance around me,
a child loved by the Father of lights.

"yes, Jesus loves me..."

and i am rocked by the responsibility
of using these gifts to love well,
of learning my Father's character --
for He is free, and in His hands,
every gift is a tool of love.

"the Bible tells me so."

and i hope that everyone --
from my dad, who makes me laugh,
to my hurting friends, earth-wrung-out,
to my children, whom i tuck into bed with this song --
will hear me singing.

we're all singing at http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

a different kind of darkness

2010-11-04T21:20:00.006-04:00

silk tie adjusted around neck
leather shoes tied snugly

crouching in hiding
under fluorescent light

mouse pointer taking aim
right hand pulling the trigger

credit card number prostituted
memory raped

it's a different kind of darkness.

ninety-dollar hoodie over cap askew
size-thirteens measuring sidewalk

pace quickening
as fluorescent lights buzz orange

right hand tossing bottle to the curb
sweat beads worsening the chill

memory molested
body shaking in fear

it's a different kind of darkness.

breathing in

2010-10-31T14:47:00.006-04:00

i think
that when i get to Dad's place
i'll get to ask
how the loon got its spots

white on eumelanin-black
dripped across barbs, barbules, barbicels

and
when i get new eyes
i'll be able to tell
what colour "dusk" is

sun hidden six degrees down
scattering prism-rays into a sky-puddle

and
when tears are wiped away
i'll be greeted by
my eldest son or daughter

broken chromosomes made whole
Father's timing understood

and
when earth's labour pains are over
thorns burned, curse lifted
work is gonna feel so good

imagination soaring, creativity forming
strength full, backs straight

and
in those days
(because you can't have Matter without Time,
and both Body and Spirit will find Home there)

and nights
(because there will be no more Night in the City,
but why shouldn't darkness be redeemed, too?)

when Aurora Borealis and martyrs
sing the song of the Lamb,

when all my questions
meet their Answer,

when faith and hope
become love's sight,

then,
like the song says,
i'll be breathing in.

http://www.downhere.com/

the bubblegum preacher

2010-10-24T19:59:00.007-04:00

missionaries came to town today,
with shells and teeth and books.
they scattered them 'cross folding tables
so we could have a look.

we asked them lots of questions and
they shared with us their hearts.
with power point and words in red,
they urged us to take part.

such a monumental task:
to reach this whole wide world,
to see the banner of the cross
from sea to sea unfurled.

and all this talk of going forth,
fields white and labourers few
left me feeling very small,
not knowing what to do.

then, as i headed for the door,
i turned in time to see
a little girl from sunday school
looking up at me.

"do you want a piece of gum?"
she asked with blue eyes grand.
she then proceeded to lavish me
with what was in her hand.

her very own treasure, paper-wrapped,
the brightest shade of blue:
three-quarters of a cubic inch
of cotton candy goo.

i popped the morsel in my mouth
and suddenly understood
the child-like faith it takes to share
a gift that's oh so good...

when you've got something wonderful,
sweetness that's true-blue,
all you need to do is ask
a friend to taste it, too.

a silly little heartfelt prayer

2010-10-22T19:47:00.004-04:00

i cut his hair,
his crazy hair,
his fuzzy einstein hair.
i sat him in the sink and snipped it --
he didn't even care.

i picked him up,
i wrapped him up,
i pajama'd him all up.
he smelled so good and looked so nice
draining his sippy cup.

i laid his head,
his fresh-trimmed head --
his fingers found his head.
he tried to grasp the hair i'd cut
while sinking into bed.

he always did,
my baby did,
hold hair is what he did.
but now his fingers slipped right off
the short locks on his lid.

"oh no!" i cried,
this mother cried,
whose baby never cried
at having lost his infant grasp
on comforts he had tried.

i squeezed my eyes,
i touched his eyes,
as prayer poured from my eyes.
then, as the blur gave way to sight,
i saw, to my surprise,

he held on tight,
to short hair tight,
to my heart oh! so tight.
my baby's little fingers held me
up with all their might.

they slipped away,
he slept away,
to dreams he tripped away.
and i thanked God for answering
the silly prayers i pray.

joy

2010-10-11T21:56:00.005-04:00

is it in the sparkle of a diamond ring?
that shimmers through vow-making,
that's appraised through vow-keeping?

joy

is it in the smell of fresh paint?
that settles upon stair creaks discovered,
that crackles along kitchen counters gravy-splattered?

joy

is it in the cry of worship choruses?
that rise and fall with sunday congregations,
that ring campfires, guitars, and fireflies flickering?

joy

tonight, there are those who bleed
and burn
in the dark
and in prison
alone
or in the presence of their enemies

who know a bit about it. joy.

tonight, there are those bruised
and used
on the streets
or in bedrooms
alone
or huddling together for warmth

who have a little of it. joy.

and tonight, there is a God
who sees
and knows
and weighs justly
and counts riches oh so differently
than i ever have

and who wants to give me joy

in abiding (John 15:1-11)
and in hoping (Proverbs 10:28, Romans 15:13)
...in His judgment (I Chronicles 16:33, Proverbs 21:15)
...in His keeping (Jude 1)
...in His return (John 16:22).

and as i praise Him for being so great
in spite of,
above,
beyond
anything,
everything

He gives me joy.

taking heart (for Jo)

2010-10-08T22:46:00.005-04:00

"be of good cheer!"
i've heard it said
from mouths of well-meaners
who patted my head

and walked away slowly
and closed their car doors
and sucked in relief
that the funeral was over.

"be of good cheer!"
i've seen it in red
on thin, crinkly pages
spread over my bed --

but those words weren't spoken
by my Lord to me
while i tossed and i turned
in dark misery

of good men gone cold.
of memories, lost.
of grace, unaccepted.
of linen, unwashed.

no, but what i do find
is Adonai, who says,
"I've no pleasure in death.
turn back from your ways!"

then, if my Master grieves,
i must be allowed, too.
i'll pound on His chest
like a small child would do.

but what of "good cheer"?
or rather, "take heart"?
throughout these pages,
it's always a part

of a word straight from Heaven
(so we know it is true):
not so much, "chin up,"
as, "I promise you."

castle news

2010-10-04T21:57:00.007-04:00

three beds topped warm with rumpled fleece and limb-flung princes,
breathing gently;
two counters toppling high with backpacks, lunch sacks and sippy cups,
drying sticky;
one hallway strung with bathing suits and little sandals,
chilled and soppy.

one cinderella in slippered feet moving among the messes -- all for those boys,
all for them;
one handsome prince pacing green, grassy lines in front of his childhood home
(yes, in the dark);
two bodies swaying tired, plodding toward the nine o' clock finish line
of today.

a mental tally:
one little pair of ice skates, wiped dry.
two pairs of school shoes, tossed to the mat.
friend's apartment, scrubbed hard.
grocery store receipt, stuffed into purse.
swimming lessons, aced.
dad's lawn, cut.
showers all around.

our losses:
one nap, missed;
one china saucer, shattered;
one yogurt tub, busted;
one punch to the face in the pharmacy aisle
(although i dealt with that one really well, so it's not actually a loss);
three small sets of teeth, unbrushed.

all in all:
one Kingdom, advancing.

nobles and peasants, we: http://canvaschild.blogspot.com

answering emily

2010-09-29T22:47:00.005-04:00

"you sounded sad.
everything okay?"
emily tapped on my heart today

and it's not that i'm sad,
but i find it strange
that traditions always take so long to change

why so many buildings
dividing our force?
why so few workers? why so many chores?

and why empty pews
every wednesday night?
why doctrinal, peripheral, preference fights?

but change is coming.
it's starting to start.
i see it in these words, straight from the heart:

"'if the Son makes you free,
you are free indeed!'"
jessica is learning to walk what she reads

"God gave me a thirst,
and i want it to grow!"
charlie will reap what leah now sows

"let's change the world.
where do we start?"
dan's friend dan is doing his part

and so many others
who know it is true
that what you believe is just what you do

i love them so much,
my dear family.
and the more we believe, the more you will see...

we're not Home yet.

learning to be Mom

2010-09-25T20:31:00.011-04:00

they say my love's not fickle.
they say my heart is true.
they say there isn't anything
i wouldn't do for you.

a mother's touch is soft, they say,
her eyes are always bright.
she'd throw away her days
to sit and watch you through the night.

it's true, i've never loved so sweet
and yes, my whole life changed
the second your lungs filled with air,
the moment you filled my gaze.

but child, you and your brothers are
a telling lot to me.
you rip apart my insides
and lay them out for us to see.

laziness here, impatience there,

selfishness all around.
so many words i've said when there
should not have been a sound.

you drop your stew. you fling your cup.
you squeeze the cat with vigour.
sometimes, when i pick you up,
you bite me on the finger.

you run to mischief. dance at midnight.
fall asleep in your supper.
you laugh at the corner i've put you in
for throwing all the Tupper-

ware and everyone who knows me
knows i'm cranky when i'm tired.
i know that this is good for me,
that this is how you're wired...

and so, i pray for mercy
as i chase you through each day:
that i'll grow up before you do,
that we'll learn to obey.

then, tiny rainboots run to me
and little hands lift up,
and as i warm them on my face,
our Father fills my cup.

going over to emily's to share a cuppa... http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

trying for greatness

2010-09-23T13:49:00.004-04:00

you shuffle down my sidewalk
cut-off joggers
and sandals with gray socks
and i love you

smoke wafts into my air
mouth full of four-letter words
heart empty of affirmation
and i love you

you stop on my lawn
child peering out from stroller
child peeking out from behind your legs
and i love you

but do i like you?

i can love you with my smiles
my time
my conversation
even some of my money

but can i like your family
with my family?

isn't there some line
in the schoolyard dirt
that separates the moms in blazers
from the moms in pajamas?

aren't there rules about
hockey/soccer/dance/voice lesson/
tropical winter vacation/summer sport camp moms
versus other moms?

and i know i'm none of those great things,
but couldn't i be,
if i tried?
should i be trying?

but as you stand on my lawn
with your stroller
you speak of what you know:
family.

and as you stand on my lawn
in your cut-off joggers
you show me what you do:
sacrifice.

and as we stand together on God's grass
with our children
becoming family
you teach me to ask:

what does it mean
to gain the whole world and lose my soul?

little things

2010-09-21T19:46:00.006-04:00

it's the little things --
fly on the picnic table,
pebble in the shoe,
dust on the dashboard
-- that get to us the most.

and it's the little things --
smell of mom's granola baking,
sound of skates on ice,
glow of buttercup under chin
-- that we remember best.

and it's even little things --
sparkle on third finger,
ink upon page,
arm around shoulder
-- that we use to testify love.

so why,
why

would we ever think ourselves
too small

to make a difference?

a few little things --
letter to politician,
hour in nursing home,
casserole for neighbour
-- could change people.

and a lot of little people --
people who pray,
prayers who love,
lovers who help
-- could change the world.

so, next time you get a paper cut,
remember,

it's all about the little things.

changing their small corner: http://canvaschild.blogspot.com

seeing light

2010-09-19T21:50:00.003-04:00

if i sinned
long enough and hard enough
to deserve nothing
-- no light, no grace, no peace --
well, it would only take a second, really.

and if i realized it
tripped upon a star in the dark
fell into light of holiness
-- revealing, stabbing, terrifying --
well, i would try to run for cover.

but if a hand
were to reach out from that star
shield my eyes graciously
-- the warmth, the scent, the almost-touch --
well, that would awaken me to love.

and i would stay
there on the edge of light and shadow
so dirty-ashamed, so peace-thirsting
-- calling, glancing, faltering --
well, just hoping against hope for the light to take me

to make me
light

and if i
were to learn that the light
had once become darkness-cursed for me
-- uncomprehended, reviled, soul-scourged --
well, that would rock me to the core.

and if only
i could believe hard enough
to accept the gift freely offered
-- light, grace, peace --
well, that would change me, wouldn't it?

make me
light

"Transgression speaks to the wicked deep in his heart;
there is no fear of God before his eyes.
For he flatters himself in his own eyes
that his iniquity cannot be found out and hated.
The words of his mouth are trouble and deceit;
he has ceased to act wisely and do good.
He plots trouble while on his bed;
he sets himself in a way that is not good;
he does not reject evil.

"Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the clouds.
Your righteousness is like the mountains of God;
Your judgments are like the great deep;
man and beast You save, O Lord.

"How precious is Your steadfast love, O God!
The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of Your wings.
They feast on the abundance of Your house,
and You give them drink from the river of Your delights.
For with You is the fountain of life;
in Your light do we see light.

"Oh, continue Your steadfast love to those who know You,
and Your righteousness to the upright of heart!
Let not the foot of arrogance come upon me,
nor the hand of the wicked drive me away.
There the evildoers lie fallen;
they are thrust down, unable to rise."

- Psalm 36

sharing some gleanings

2010-09-15T21:47:00.005-04:00

here, two days after my 30th birthday, is my least poetic offering to date.
take these tips for what they're worth.

skincare:
rub your wet face up and down with your bare hands,
and you won't need to fork out money for soapy cream with gritty bits in it ("exfoliant").

dating:
(to girls:) waiting for someone to pursue you might seem risky,
but in the end, it'll land you a man who knows how to take the lead (a good thing!).

shaving:
(also to girls:) if you shave with a fresh razor while you have goosebumps,
you'll stay smooth a day longer (i learned this from my sister).

peanut butter:
get used to the just-peanuts kind
and ditch a lotta junk from your mornings (and, if you're like me, your afternoons, evenings...)

intimacy:
saving sex for marriage makes it a big, precious, exciting deal.
but don't forget that it can also be plain ol' relaxing, too.

pregnancy:
strengthen your core like a madwoman,
and the last two trimesters won't make you wish for a walking epidural.

c-sections:
if someone tells you that she had one,
ask her, "how do you feel about that?"

sleep training:
if you enjoy cuddling your kid to sleep each night,
for pete's sake, keep doing it.

discipline:
if it doesn't hurt you more than it hurts them, you're probably doing it wrong.
it's about producing godly character, not making your life easier.

the Kingdom:
"child-like faith" does not equate to "blind faith".
from watching my kids and reading the Bible, i'm guessing it means "faith that produces action".

love,
bethany ann

p.s. get ready for some imperfect prose! http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

awakening impossibilities

2010-09-14T10:08:00.002-04:00

i just walked next door
to the building, empty on a tuesday
where sermons are spoken on sundays

i unlocked the door, went inside
found paper, a pen and two chairs
and sat down to cry

and sorrow gushed out
as questions filled paper
and silence filled the church

then the lady next to me began
to cry and to pray
and to preach

for mothers, elders, children --
lonely, tormented, abused --
needing faith, hope, love -- impossibilities.

"the world is no friend of grace," said she,
tracing the spot where she'd written the name,
"Richard Dawkins," another impossibility

and she led my heart to love
and she led my prayers to hope
and together, we asked in faith

because God has shown us
a universe, created;
Himself, wrapped in flesh

we have faith that is founded in reason
and faith is substance
and so faith began in that empty church this morning

as our prayers turned us
toward a God who delights to be asked,
freed to do the impossible

first, in us

then, with us

finding the Way

2010-09-10T19:54:00.005-04:00

we're walking with broken feet
upon a path worn deep
where tears form mud
and mud fills fingernails
that cling to the slope

like mad

and we're climbing with tired feet
into the clouds of doubt
where comforts go cold
and light and shadow blur
but the echoes still call

like crazy

dare we believe our ears?
was home really hearth left behind?

dare we believe our eyes?
is there truly no up nor down?

dare we trust our hearts?
will this all get easier as we go?

we're plodding with blistered feet
along a trail laid painfully
through ages and pages
and nails and wood
where our leader hung

like a fool

and we're following with calloused feet
toward the hope of rest
with promised wisdom to guide
and promised adversity to try
all who thirst for mercy

like the sick

the sinners
called to repentance

the self-living
called to a cross

the sons and daughters
called to ask and receive

the wanderers
called Home.

camping

2010-09-07T12:47:00.004-04:00

six filmy walls
sighing with the breeze

and here, within
is everything:

all our hopes and dreams and plans and prayers
all our deepest questions yet to be answered
the best secrets we've ever been told
the true stories we've started to learn
all we wish for this world
the best of me
the worst of me
and the small space between

oh, how our stars twinkle!

and on the other side
is everything else:

the campfire smouldering against the dark
the neighbourhood of flat lawns and boulevards
people doing whatever it is they do on labour day
all i fear is wrong with this world
all i know is right
all the adventures we will ever have
all the bullies we will ever face
and the small space between

and oh, the stars twinkle!

and our stars breathe lightly
as our six walls sway

and we sigh deep
then maybe, we'll sleep.

linking up with emily's friends tonight: http://canvaschild.blogspot.com

fostering growth

2010-09-02T21:23:00.012-04:00

high horizon dark before sunrise:

predators weighing the odds

black fur wet with dew

little life desperately calling

searching for familiar warmth,

thirsting for milk

so in need of help.

shapes taking form on the edge of earth:

ponytailed trucker bleary-eyed

steel-toed boots damp on grass

rough hands tenderly reaching

searching for the crying one,

thirsting for time

so wanting to help.

september sun climbing the sky:

daughter's mother-heart soft to the story

red van billowing dust

children hoping with abandon

searching for meaning to share,

thirsting to give drink

so humbled to help.

low horizon sinking into shade:

baby bottle making do

grandsons loving with eager hands

three weeks of life wrapped in a towel

finding warmth in human arms,

drinking to tomorrows shared

so helped, all of us.

and the ponytailed trucker smiles,

strokes his beard,

shares this meditation:

"Therefore, laying aside all malice, all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and all evil speaking,

as newborn babes, desire the pure milk of the word, that you may grow thereby,

if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is gracious."

- I Peter 2:1-3

(introducing Super-Winston Little-Einstein Snot-Muffin!

once we have nursed him to strength, we will return him

to my parents' farmhouse, where he will obtain many

cuddles and many mice, i'm sure!)

(oh, and my dad will call him "Boots".)

grow with us: http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

leaping over tall buildings

2010-08-30T19:14:00.011-04:00

we all wanna be Superman
to whip off our glasses
and rip open our shirts
and look hot in spandex

we all wanna be Superman
with x-ray vision
and super-sonic hearing
yet totally trustworthy

we all wanna be Superman
hated by bad guys
loved by good guys
and instantly knowing the difference

we all wanna be Superman
rescuing weak little snot-noses
and beautiful newspaper reporters
with muscles to spare

we all wanna be Superman
because when you're invincible
nothing's a sacrifice
you just give and give and never run out

but what's up with Superman
saving all those weaker, uglier, stupider people?
that kind of heroism doesn't jive with
a naturalistic, materialistic, humanistic, relativistic

live-for-yourself-on-this-spinning-orb type mentality

Superman keeps reminding us
of Good and Evil
and the battle between the two
that wages within us every day

maybe that's why we pulled out the Kryptonite.

and why we keep bringing Superman back to life...

...Home is calling.
(and i don't mean Krypton)

growth in brokenness

2010-08-27T22:15:00.004-04:00

sometimes,
like now-times,
i can't feel it
don't want it
won't have it

but then,
crack me open,
with a poem
or a glance in the mirror
at wet-on-skin

pain i caused myself
by hurting another,
wounds i inflicted,
pride i crushed,

the everything i'm not

by the hand of God

and i feel it
and i want it
and i have it
and i've needed it

and these eyes
look back at themselves,
and underneath
the hull of hollow
is a green of growth

and beneath the shell of hard
is a sprout of soft,
and i know
that i know,
and i'm okay.

quoting Three-year-old

2010-08-26T13:59:00.010-04:00

today we goed at a hike.
we drived over here, right?
on da road, on da road, on da road,
going going going going going,
and corn,
den we got dere!

on the rocks,
we hiked.
we walked in da woods
and we goed on a tree.

then we goed to da water.
we goed and tried and fish for fish.
we goed near da water,
and took my cwoes off.
my unnerwear, unner my pants --
i didn't take my unnerwear off.
i not sure.
i weaved dem on.
and we goed in da water!

we goed back.
we goed home, right?

...now that's what i call "imperfect prose"! http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/

i love...

2010-08-24T21:22:00.004-04:00

the way the sunrise glows ruby through
an opened grapefruit,
squeezing between each juicy little crystal,
warming the cold-from-fridge
and revealing what's been under wraps all season long.

the way the noonday sun glares down upon
the maple tree,
filling thirsty veins with chlorophyl,
shivering down through layers of jade
and encrusting my painting spot in emerald shade.

the way the sunset skips topaz across
Lake Huron,
plating swimmers in liquid gold,
forcing hands to brows
and waking tired bodies to the end of day.

the way the otherworld-shining sun finds
the moon,
smiling at silver-faced friend,
filling us with peaceful resignation
and reminding us that tomorrow is a pearl to be found.

i'm for you

2010-08-22T21:22:00.011-04:00

hey you,

whistling through the kitchen window at me in my pj's

i know that whistle

it's belonged to me for nearly a decade

hey you,

remember that weekend playing spoons and sledding

you know that wipeout

was totally on purpose and i still wanna spill with you

hey you,

slamming that basketball under the parking lot light

i know that footwork

you can't dance until you're on some kind of court

hey you,

remember those little boys you taught to hack

you know you loved it

that was one of the ways you grabbed me

hey you,

loving on your family with all your might

i know you're tired

your true self shows when you're worn and it's good

hey you,

remember that first kiss in front of, like, everyone

you know it was awkward

a lot of our love has been that way but we're learning

hey you,

i'm for you.

teaching bedtime

2010-08-20T19:35:00.006-04:00

i am
pressing down on the floor, i am
pressing my back against the wall, i am
pressing my forehead against the trim, i am
praying and waiting

and i feel the weight of this home upon my little-girl heart

i am
breathing slowly in the twilight, i am
rocking between my feet, i am
closing my eyes to listen, i am
quiet and serious.

and i remember being the little girl not quite able to keep herself in bed

i am
peeking into a darkened room, i am
hoping it will soon be over, i am
dreading it will soon be over, i am
sick with sentiment

and i learn the sting of discipline, taste the sweetness of song

i hear
the heart-call, tiny voice, i feel
the floor creak, bare toes, i see
the bright spot, blond hair, i am
stern.

and in a few minutes, i will have laid another stone upon the Foundation

and then, we will sleep.

finding Caiaphas

2010-08-18T20:38:00.007-04:00

bones -- cry out.
Caiaphas -- witness.
shake the dust and
speak the Truth.

dry, hard, dead -- enliven us,
rip off our blinders,
help us to see
history:

washed linen, filthy.
leather straps, rotten.
holy scrolls, burned.
majestic temple, destroyed.

Law fulfilled. duties overtaken. sacrifices null. veil torn.

your righteousness, inadequate.
your cover, blown.
your enemy, risen.
the grave, conquered.

bones -- speak!!

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keeping on

2010-08-17T13:27:00.007-04:00

the lunchtime visit at my mom's workplace,

that went too long,

that ended in peanut-butter-smeared, poopy-diaper-stinking

sweaty headache.

the suppertime barbecue we'd planned for all of our son's schoolmates,

that no one came to,

that ended in a hot, muggy july void of playdates and a big brother needing

some space.

the day's end decaf-coffee date for two trusting mamas,

that happened only once,

that ended in one artisan returning to city roots and another

with freezer food.

the highschool friendships of wide eyes and foolish faith talks,

that were only experiments,

that ended in, "see you later" and, "facebook me" and,

"i'll call you".

afternoon sky whooshes through the porch screens

and spills into the hall,

silhouetting a baby and a tricycle.

they fall with a bang,

and a grunt,

and he's back on top,

riding those three wheels until he knows how.

he feeds me hope, warm and fragrant, in little fingers outstretched,

as i try to unclasp some crumbs from my own fisted soul.

and this is how we will grow together...

hoping, hoping, hoping.

speechless

2010-08-16T21:09:00.005-04:00

"For God has consigned all to disobedience,

that He may have mercy on all.

Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!

How unsearchable His judgments and inscrutable His ways!"

- Romans 11:32,33

...sometimes, there's just

nothing left

for me to say.

glossy

2010-08-14T19:28:00.004-04:00

Cover Girl
you know i know you
want to be you
spend some of my time judging you
Lucky Dog
how do you do
your hair like that
your breakfast bagel from New York
All Star
i watch your moves
catch your grooves
follow your vapour trail across the sky
Mover Shaker
i'll pay your way
you make my day
when you donate to my favourite charity
Most Beautiful
skinny, wrinkle-free
poked and plumped
and never, ever good enough
Rocker Roller
riffs and rhythms
angst and pop tunes
do you still feel it like you used to?
Sweet Heart
your lovers trading
your kids waiting
your neighbours who don't need you

i just
wish i could do something
for you
don't know what to do
with you
hope you're okay