Reel Around the Sun {wee seedling}

“So cold a winter it’s been, friend, and I’ve

Not seen the sun so many dreary months.”

“Away w’ me, good friend! Away, away

For wild a reel around the sun!

We’ll need no drop to drink nor crumb to eat:

The stars are feast enough! A fine good ship

Of ebony made, sails of dragon’s wings

Sewn, helm of trusty-tempered steel. Off, off!

Off we fly, friend, for wild a reel around the sun!”

{inspired by Reel Around the Sun by Bill Whalen. Three very good versions I love are by Twelve Girls Band, The Gardyne Chamber Ensemble, and the original song on the Riverdance album.}

Miscellanea Item No. 2

I'm of the following opinion.

Sometimes people--friend, acquaintance, or a chance-meet--make mistakes and are very painfully aware of the enormity of the decisions' stupidity or recklessness. And they are sorry for the deed, not just the consequence.

When these people come to me--for advice, to vent, or so on, and whether or not they have done offense to me personally--I hope God gives me the perception to sense that they are indeed sorry. I pray even more for the grace and kindness of my Brother Christ Jesus to see that they have beaten themselves up enough about what they have done and that I will have the ability to take their "club" away from them--they don't need my help heaping up guilt on themselves.

Not everyone who has strayed from the right path needs a thrashing, and if they do, it's very likely not supposed to come from me.

Hugs, tea or coffee, chocolate, silent empathy, or all of the above are maybe better salves for the grieved hearts.

Gentle man

Gentle man

Learned well in the ways of his Father

Dependable man

Intruding into my despair

Yet can take “no” for an answer—

Frightening thought.

He walked ahead of his beloved,

Gave her a rose—

Thorns gone: he himself had taken them off.

Generously open and red.   

And opened the door for her.

To my Momma, on her Birthday

What will I ever know of what you are—

What in you gave up nights of rest,

What you saw about me

So worth giving up

the better for you

for the best for me?

Leisure time scratched out by

A trip to the park,

Prestige in the ER,

To be my doctor,

To write love with a feather-stroke touch

on a bruised head,
                raw knees, 

a thousand bee-stings, 

and a stabbed back.

 A chance for a manicure, a new dress,

Traded in for candy bars and toy horses,

A night at the movies

For a theatrical production of

Polly Pockets and Playdough.

When I boarded the plane for college—

A smile for me

Instead of the tears that would make me stay.

I think I recall

that you said once or so,

“I’m not beautiful,

It’s you that shines”—

I must wonder how anyone

Other than a swan

Could give the world a cygnet like me,

As you say that you have.

[This is a post long over-due. My apologies, readers. Summer pulled me along willy-nilly, and I've barely done anything on my computer other than briefly checking emails and Facebook. But I am back.]

A Moment of Thanksliving

Mine is this...my thanks to God for His gift of a humiliation.

An outstanding growth of character came from my Biology and Chemistry classes my first semester sophomore year. I've always been gifted in the area of English, words, and writing. I'm not bragging: I acknowledge it is a treasured gift from my Father. However, prior to the aforementioned semester, I esteemed my gift lightly--I had an unkind attitude towards others who weren't on the same level of understanding English as I was. I never spoke these things, but I would think, "Wow, you're stupid if you can't get this--what is wrong with you?! This is simple." During the course of that semester, I failed basically every Chem. and Bio. lab, quiz, and test--I studied, I got a tutor, and nothing worked.

I've been gifted--however, that's no free pass for me to despise others because they can't do what I can. I pray I never forget those moments of complete confusion and dismay during Chemistry and Biology, because I need them to remind and move me to compassion on those who struggle.

I am thankful for God's gift of humiliation, and I am thankful that He even gave me the ability to learn from it.

Commission

I am commissioned to paint a portrait of an artist,

A prince among men.

I would first sketch out the proportions,

the lighting

And try as I may,

every angle—such a puzzle for copying!

Shading, so delicate, too,

To balance the lights and darks so well

As he can—

It’s hard.

Drawing up the lines of his life as he did

Measure,

measure

line—

Steadier hands than mine

Should copy down the works of his hands,

Strength under control.

Oh, how clear my mind’s eye sees

The castles he architected—

Trifles, to him

But stretching to the sky to me.

It’s done.

I present it—

“Look what I made, Daddy.”

Taking it with a broad sweep of a smile,

He places it on his special shelf—

The one just for his little girl’s gifts.

{I wrote this poem for my Daddy's birthday, which is in February. His careless, procrastinating daughter, however, did not get his cards sent in the mail until earlier this week. He got them today, so now I can post it here for you to read about my darling Daddy without spoiling his surprise.}