Walking through nature is like climbing into the
lap of God for story time.
When I listen, I am reborn.
Provision!
Posts Categorized: poetry
On the day that Jonathan turned 18 we attempted to release balloons, as a symbol of releasing all of our hopes and dreams for him. Maybe the bigger symbol, of what was soon to come, is that most of the balloons would not rise, because the humidity had sucked out the helium. Today again, I release my hopes and dreams for you son. I may have to do it every birthday. I miss you so, but I keep turning my pages and discover your story still encourages mine.
Jonathan and I shared in common a love for writing. We often encouraged each other through written words. I found this poem the other day. I began writing it for Jonathan’s birthday, but could never complete it. It is fitting that I share it with you today in celebration of Jonathan’s 20th birthday.
Â
Today we begin composing two books.
Character development now begins in
your handwriting.
Â
You have a good story, fraught with difficulty,
But worth sharing.
Do you see your purpose?
How your life encourages others to turn their pages?
Refer back to the gifts and talents
Revealed to you in the first chapters of life,
they are foreshadowing of things to come.
Â
As you write this new book, remember:
The hero is never invincible
He needs others to draw out his character
There will always be plot twists
You may even meet an antagonist or two
But, allow them to sharpen who you become.
Â
Your life has always been a page turner to me.
Â
. . .Sand should be squished between toes
and the ocean caught in cockle shells.
. . .Children’s laughter begs even the soberest of lips to curl into a smile.
. . .Pain digs into my heart
And I refuse to hold it in.
. . .God tickles my ears with
whispered clues to life’s mysteries.
. . .Pop-sickles melt loud summer days
into cool splashes of flavor.
. . .Treasures are found in the cracks of chairs that bring back memories we lose.
. . .I want the sugar I harvest
to sweeten someone else’s black coffee.
and the ocean caught in cockle shells.
. . .Children’s laughter begs even the soberest of lips to curl into a smile.
. . .Pain digs into my heart
And I refuse to hold it in.
. . .God tickles my ears with
whispered clues to life’s mysteries.
. . .Pop-sickles melt loud summer days
into cool splashes of flavor.
. . .Treasures are found in the cracks of chairs that bring back memories we lose.
. . .I want the sugar I harvest
to sweeten someone else’s black coffee.
If I could reach back and trace the pink face not yet
troubled and embroiled in years, stroke little fingers,
And nuzzle dependent heart, would it make a difference in your dying?
Â
No.
Â
There should be no surprise—obeying God leads to rolling the dice with men.
I carried complete power and total submission in my womb nine months.
But, even as I nursed truth, I struggled
to die to motherhood.
The cross was born of my obedience.
Â
Your heart now beats in the tender words spoken to
the desperate and despised. We fellowship with bread offered
to empty bellies.
Our hope is planted, watered, and grows in resurrected soil.
And I breathe. . . Oh, my soul breathes
deeply the fragrance of your presence with me. The cross did not
separate us, it made us one!
You live in the past, present, and future, and I find you in the gutters of obedience.
Â
Â
I’ve drowned in this ocean of odds before, hiding
who I am amongst the smoke and hollow
laughter of the other gamblers.
Bluffing my way through disaster.
You know my tell, nothing
is hidden from you.
Attempted to play by my own rules
with the hand God dealt, but I was swallowed
by a whale. The House always wins!
.
Marinated memories tenderized by time,
simmer and sizzle with laughter on the grill.
Still tender pink and moist with grief.
Yet, each bite bursting with the fresh flavor of hope.
We huddle against the odds.
Battle bruised and broken, interlocked
by purpose, cradling
each other in prayer.
Sucking in the stale air
of depression, regurgitating
regret day after day.
Throw open windows!
You broke the seal of
our tomb of circumstances.
Resurrect the fresh fragrance
of hope planted in the sunshine of our dreams.
Filter life through the curtains of our mourning soul
and invite us to
open our eyes to Spring.
I deposit poems,
like pennies, into
the bank of your soul.
Crack open when
you need to splurge on hope.
Breathe in the sweet fragrance of scripture, until
we recognize his scent on humanity.
National Suicide Hotline
If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/