A Beautiful Short Film for Book Lovers

Here is The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore
And I will not lie--at the last five minutes, I was bawling.

Hilf mir zu helfen, ach, mein Gott

Today I heard a story sorrowful

In my ears. Hope was hurt beyond the best

Of mortal help. I covered my head just

To give grief some scant privacy. But oh,

But hated shunning sorrow as it looked

For help in my eyes. I can watch, though long

The night, pray my words will keep greedy winds

From scattering you far away and lost

Forever. But your full remedy, sad

And wretched true, is not in me—I've searched

In vain in the long, raging nights. Ach, Gott.

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.

The One Wish Granted

My impossible made possible is that I could have a sprawling house large enough to shelter and bring up every unwanted child. All of them. That I could have enough money to educate them in whatever discipline they had a natural talent for – music, math, art, science. That I could keep, love, and mother them until they were old enough to live and thrive on their own.

I’d take them all. No questions asked of you, the parents. No judgment for why you don’t want him, why she doesn’t fit in with your schedule, why they’re mistakes you have to wipe clean, why they’re accidents or ugly mementos.

I’ll take them. You don’t have to see them ever again.

Just don’t kill them, please. Please, don't.

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.]

Paraphrase of Psalm 136: A Prayer of a Twenty-first Century Woman

Thank You, Yahweh, for being good,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
Thank You, God above all other gods,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
Thank You, my Lord above all other lords,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
To You who alone does great, wondrous things,
 because Your steadfast love endures forever.
To You who by infinite brilliance made the heavens,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
To You who spread out the earth above the waters,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
To You who made all the great, beautiful lights
(because Your steadfast love endures forever)--
the sun to rule over the day
(because Your steadfast love endures forever)
and the moon and stars to rule over the night
(because Your steadfast love endures forever).

To You who intruded on my despair,
because Your steadfast love endures forever,
and brought me out of the dark wolves' mouths,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
With a strong hand and outstretched arm,
You lifted a broken reed and nourished a dying candle-wick,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
To You who walked these sorrowful ways before me,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
To You who holds and watches over the life of my mother, a wounded sparrow,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
To You who sees my tears and feels my pain as if it were Your own,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
It is You who remembers me in my low estate,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
It is You who stays with one word the wolves lying in wait for me,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.

It is You who provides for my every need and hunger that I should not want,
because Your steadfast love endures forever.
I thank You, Yahweh, the only God of heaven...
because Your steadfast love endures forever.

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.}

A Seedling

As, To, So

New box of sharply bright crayons to a child

Meaty bone to a dog

Blood to the heart

Your smile to my eyes.