A Perfect Ten

Love is blind.
Except when it isn't.

You see me:

A perfect conglomeration of
Imperfection.

I see you:

Strength and weakness
Anchored
by
Faith and trust.

Hand in hand we walk
Down garden paths and rocky trails
Sunlit meadows and bleakest caverns

Never letting go.
Never giving up.
Never fading away.

For our trust is not one to be placed
Blindly. 

Our eyes are lit by the clear reflection of each other.

And forever we continue onward:

Seeing with hearts wide open.

 • • •

Happy 10th Anniversary, Bryson.

I absolutely adore you.

(You can read "our story" here.)

Where I'm From

I am from the wind;
from cornfields and concrete.
I am from skyscrapers and forest glens;
from limestone and steel.
I am from the lilac bush, green lawns, and duck ponds.
From the twilight of the firefly's dance and
a cricket serenade.

I'm from guitar chords and piano keys,
from goggle straps and chlorine-scented hair.
I'm from Polish sausage and Italian beef,
from blue lakes and one green river
where the sauce goes on top of the pizza
(naturally.)
from sticky summers and piercing winters.
Of snow and sleet and sun and sky.

I'm from wagon wheels
and transatlantic steam.
I'm from tear-stained faith in every footstep,
from wooden doors carved in a sacred space.
I am from blue spruces and white mountains;
from popcorn popping on the apricot tree.

My father's camera sits
on a shelf beside my own.
Memories upon memories, captured through time.
I am from the photographs, an image slowly developing
carefully
with help from the Master's hand.

• • •

This post is part of a Wordfull Wednesday link-up hosted by Chocolate on my Cranium.

Where are you from?

Write a poem in the style of George Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From" and link up with us!

Eighteen Minutes

3:12 in the afternoon.

Only 18 minutes, give or take, until the "big kids" burst in the front door:
Breathless and rosy-cheeked from their sprint home from the bus stop.

18 minutes to be productive.

The kitchen is overflowing.
The carpets need cleaning.
The laundry needs folding.

*sigh*

18 minutes.

Then a knock.
And a cry.

Mamamamamama!

Naptime is ending.

I let Logan out of his room, and give him a quick kiss and a snuggle.

I attempt to set him down.

18 minutes, you know.

But it's just not happening.
Sometimes a boy just needs his mamamamamama.

So we cuddle on the couch instead.
His head on my chest, snuggling in tighter.
Soft, contented baby sighs.
(No sound sweeter.)

One small hand stroking my hair
The other holding his beloved Puppy fast.
(Puppy tail in mouth, naturally.)

18 minutes.

It's simply not enough time.

Sous la pluie

Tell me honestly...

Is there anything as lovely as the scent
of a freshly fallen rain?

the scent of earth mingled with sky--
green and blue
and bliss.

I wish I could capture its fragrance,
revel in the bouquet

preserve it,
and save it for

(ahem)

a rainy day.

for jen

they say
that night is always darkest before the dawn.

i'm certain this is true.

for your morning has come-- resplendent in its glory.

and although we must remain
in darkness
a while longer

we cannot help
but smile

for the dawn
that has broken

while you were breaking free.

counting the breaths

one

and forty-five seconds
until we arrive at

two

she inhales

he exhales
relief
for the moment... not yet gone.

in this sleepless night
there is so much
left unsaid

and yet
all we can do
is continue

to count
and
breathe.

I Hate Cancer

Please, God...
Ease her pain.

exhausted options have left us only
under the strong, encroaching grip of darkness.

We reach blindly and grasp tight
Hold on
Cling together

but we cannot coax the moments to remain.

Everything.
Slipping.
Away.

Hours, minutes, even seconds
(formerly insignificant measures)
are tenderly pressed to our soul...

and we are left
trying to fill a hole in our hearts
where hope once lived.


********************

Some of you may recall my friend Jen and her ongoing battle with brain cancer. Tragically, her mental and physical health is quickly declining, and she is very likely approaching the end of her mortal journey.

In her husband Ryan's words:
"...after some very hard decisions, we as a family have concluded that it is best to no longer continue the chemo treatments. We have reached the difficult position that has forced us to realize that our options have been exhausted. The Doctor felt that continuing a different type of therapy could possibly slow the progress of the tumor, but suggested that it would be highly unlikely to reverse the lack of quality in Jen's lifestyle. He said that in his experience we would likely be only punishing Jen, and felt that we were to the point where we would at least be justified in feeling that everything that could have been done for her has been tried."

We know that this is not the end for Jen & Ryan.
We know that life goes on.
We know that Noah will be with his mommy again.
We know that the family is eternal.

But still...
The heart breaks.

To send words of comfort to Ryan & Jen, visit their blog.

{3}

mark the path.
clear the way.

the ice is melting.

rivers of cold remorse flow
as i wipe away the past.

hands clasped,
our eyes lock.

i take a deep breath,
a tentative step

and enter into your sun-drenched world.

{2}

the bones of winter
exhale life
in its sharpness

i hear
echoes
of past abundance

whispers
of peace
and plainness

promises
of rebirth

and i revel
in the satisfaction
that each new moment
lived
is impossibly more beautiful
than each moment
past.

{1}

The winter air
lights on skin
like crystal fingers
searching,
inquiring,
penetrating...

Heads bowed ignorantly
against the cold
we hasten
to the interior warmth

Oblivious

Of the heaven
displayed above
in ribbons of clarity
and stark opulence.

Taking Pause

So much to do, so many things to get in order.
Ack!
Could we please find a way to stop the progressive advancement of the clock?
Just an hour or two?
No?
Dang.

Two days before Thanksgiving!!!
I am running around like a crazy person--
laundry to do,
floors to vacuum,
bathrooms to clean (oh the joy!),
pie to bake,
that weird green jell-o salad that Bryson adores
--as only a native Utahn could--
to prepare.

In my haste, I almost miss the tiny voice's request.

Mom, will you please help me?

Reilly.
She sits on the couch, looking up at me with that wistful smile. She taps the empty space beside her.

Mom, come please sit by me.

*Sigh* Is there really a choice here? Seriously now.

I sit-- the delight evident in her face. Her legs kick as she giggles with satisfied contentment.

Ahhhh...
There's always tomorrow... right?

I snuggle her and whisper softly
I love my Reilly.
And the whisper is returned--
I love my mom.

Change of Tune

Sunday morning, rain is falling...

That's certainly the way it feels, at any rate. And when it rains, it certainly does pour.

Exhausted.
There are no other words.
I am completely drained-- body, mind, soul-- from taxing days and sleepless nights.

And so this morning I find myself singing...
Rain, rain go away
Come again some other day

There is just so much to do.
How on Earth do we pull through?
This morning there are meetings to attend, overnight "accidents" to clean up, breakfast to serve, kids to get ready for church, nursery snacks to distribute. Deciding to tag team it, Bryson puts on a movie to occupy Reilly so he can get ready for high council meetings-- enabling me to help clean up Taylor a little more easily.

I am grumpy.

After his much-needed bath, I lead Taylor back into the family room where Reilly is watching Snow White.

"What do you do when things go wrong? ...Oh! You sing a song!" the heroine exclaims on-screen.

This poor girl has just been betrayed by the queen, survived a murder attempt, and frightened beyond all recall in the dark forest.
And what does she do?
She sings.

With a smile and a song,
Life is just like a bright sunny day
Your cares fade away, and your heart is young...
I am laughing.

It occurs to me that I am probably singing the wrong song this merry morning. There will always be storms in life, whether it be today or some other day. What matters is my response to the approaching tempest.

So I try to change my tune.
The words come quickly.

Lead kindly Light, amid th'encircling gloom
Lead thou me on!