The ground below me has liquified, And the path no longer exists. The voices of caution behind me, warn of danger outsides of this. Through the mist and wind I sense him Standing just out of reach But the ground below me has liquified And a clear path does not exist. He could have calmed the surf He could have stopped the rain He could have warned me ahead of time, But that is not his game. I’m stepping out of this sinking boat and leaving familiar behind. The ground beneath me has liquified And there are no footings close by. I feel the warmth of his hand on mine And my fears melt away. He greets me with a gentle smile That tells me it’s Okay. The safety of my boat is gone Along with the voices of danger The wind, the rain, the raging surf Threaten to take us under. But He and I walk step in step and I squeeze his hand a little tighter The ground beneath me has liquified And I am walking on water.
I’m Changing Our Rhythm
Our rhythm of life has been a syncopated mess Stealing beats and melodies That didn’t belong to us. Keeping up with time changes, Incidentals, and accidentals. Trying our best at improve But the riffs and jams were always just a little off. Our rhythm belong to no one but us. So let’s stop playing composed tunes And craft our own song. In our new rhythm, I’ll keep the beat And you bring the melodies. It will be a rhythm that allows us to breath, to create, And best of all too dance.
The world wasn’t ready, but that didn’t stop you! Fifteen weeks early YOU made your entrance. Less than two pounds of humanity, you burst forth with ease, effortlessly entering the world. It didn’t take long for the ease to turn too complicated. But we heard them say, “She’s a fighter!” and that you are. Needles, machines, and meds, PT, OT, and Green Tea, Operations, procedures, surgeries, Shunts, and seizures - All the words that have been your life. But warriors don’t quite, And SHE warriors are unstoppable. You are light, love, and laughter, Chocolates, Pokemon, and anchovy pizza. You are a wonder to behold, A force no-one should reconned with. You are Emery Rainbow Drops. And Darling, you are a SHE warrior.
A Collective Sigh
I stand in the doorway and listen.
It’s a sound that is both familiar and foreign.
We’ve been anticipating it’s arrival,
but not with great expectation.
In our world these events come with little guarantee.
The family of four around the corner,
celebrate with great delight!
Inviting the rest of us to join in their dance.
But I’m listening for something else.
I’m listening for the collective sigh
that starts at the top of the tallest tree
and trickles down to the parched earth.
A sigh that says we can live a while longer.
A sigh that says there’s a future,
and new life waiting to burst forth.
Even the rocks and shingles relax in the knowing.
Tonight the gentle rain brings relief.
It cleans the air and saturates the earth.
I listen to the sound so familiar and foreign.
It calls me to listen and dance –
with the three year old around the corner.
It gives me hope that in the months to ahead
It will be more familiar than foreign.
Who Told You You Were Naked?
And He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Genesis 3:11
In the beginning was a God, a man, and a woman. The two humans were secluded, protected, and cared for by their God. They had only to enjoy their lives. These three were in-sync. Best of all, Adam and Eve knew God’s voice, a voice of love, protection, and provision. And God knew theirs.
Enter a new voice. Up until this moment, there were no other voices. No outside influence – just these three. As the story goes, a serpent spoke to Eve. That in itself is weird and yet Eve doesn’t seem bothered by it. It’s a new voice, one that doesn’t to speak of love, protection, and acceptance. Instead, it speaks of achievement, lies, doubt, and fear.
And now, there are two voices…
When the voice of Love calls once again for His two friends, they do not respond. When they finally answer, they use new words – afraid, blame, fear, nakedness. Then the voice of Love asks, “Who told you that you were naked?”
God didn’t care about the act, He didn’t care who did what first. His concern was simply – who are you choosing to listen to?
The same applies to us, “Who told YOU that you are naked?”
Who told you that you are incapable? unacceptable? unwanted? stupid?
Who told you that you are ugly, fat, untalented, boring, unloveable?
Who told you that you are naked?
Is it possible that the real issue for Adam and Eve was who they chose to listen to? Who are you choosing to listen to? Who is telling you – you are naked?
There are many Faiths that speak with both voices. They tell of a God who loves and damns. They teach we can be forgiven but that we are also wretched sinners. They say God welcomes all but require certain ‘sins’ to be fixed to sit at their table. Love is always the filter in discerning a voice.
As we know, where there is love there is no fear, judgement, or condemnation.
This is an excerpt from, A Simple Faith in a Complicated World, expected to release in Summer of 2022.
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The Lowly Farmer on the Hill
Tonight I find myself the lowly farmer on the hill. I have the title because my youngest offspring loves to fill every crack and crevice of her life with things she can take care of. Couple this with her desire to travel and it is why – tonight, I find myself the lowly farmer on the hill.
My other-half (better-half is up for debate and incase you are wondering, I’m winning), he is laid up with the gout – oh god it’s the gout – and is currently not very useful. With wine in one hand and list in my head, I am well prepared for what is to come.
Rain is forecasted and the chick-lets need to be moved. Chick-lets are the newest arrivals that are now somewhere between cute little balls of fuzz and big fat hens. They currently live in a small caged area that won’t keep them dry, thus the relocation. One by one I grab the small feathered frenzy and gently carry them to new safety; transfer their water and food and secure the top to avoid any escape. There is so much to think about as the lowly farmer on the hill.
Now it’s time to feed the Girls. The hen house is a bit down the hill, there’s no rush tonight, so me and my half filled glass of wine enjoy the walk. Feathers, heads, beaks, and squawking greet me. I scoop and sprinkle food on the ground for them and they respond like a bunch of old ladies at the dessert end of a buffet. I leave their quaint dwelling, secure the door, and look over to see the goat and sheep, otherwise known as The Boys.
Buddy and Shaun have been working diligently on clearing the hill. There is an entire side that we’ve yet to explore because of the underbrush. New areas are coming to light every week and these two are making it happen. I set my glass down and determine which of the hoses is designed to reach their water bucket. They watch me and make their way over as soon as the water fills. I turn to quench the thirst of the olive trees planted along the path. I’m pleased and surprised to see they are surviving.
We have a guest on the hill and I figure this lowly farmer should say hello. She too is a writer, so we sit and talk about writing, and being creative, and life and death, and growing older, and it is delightful. We make plans to do it again. We say goodbye, and my empty glass escorts this lowly farmer across the driveway, past the Fairy Hole, and back home.
As I walk, the night lights have all illuminated. Their glow is a blanket of peace that hovers over us. It’s magical. It makes me wonder, how did I get so lucky to be the lowly farmer on the hill…