Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A desperate tread of water
the dismissal of
things I couldn't think
Keep busy I think
and I do. Fears are buried.
The storm picks up pace
and my splashing isn't
sufficient and I feel I might
drown. Water stings and my
eyes dip below and I
And now the choice must be made:
sink or swim and I choose swim.
I reach out and grasp the Holy One
whose hand is a constant stretch
and He breathes calm into me
and He rescues my drowned hope.
I gulp fresh air and rest in stable lifeboat
which is He and I feel drained and
haggard breath fills silence.
Air is honey and I call out
to the only one who gives true buoyancy.
God is ever faithful, my Savior.
"Oh Lord, My God, I will give you thanks forever." Ps. 30:12b
Joining Emily for Imperfect Prose...
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Seriously, do they have this in my size?
Or this hat?! Why don't they make adult clothes look like this? Actually, my head is so small, I could probably wear this.
I have a small obsession with birds. Not real ones. I have a friend who used to get attacked by birds while running and then when she had a bird as a pet, he liked everyone in the family except her and would peck at her! Peck, peck, peck! Plus, I still have eerie dreams about the kind of mind it takes to write something like Alfred Hitchcock's THE BIRDS. Actually, did you know that Hitchcock didn't write it? He directed it. Daphne du Maurier wrote it. She must have been a conflicted woman. This little bit of trivia does nothing to explain my slight obsession. But, still, I'm obsessed all the same.
And I've decided that it's a good thing we don't have a boy, or he'd be wearing this:
And it's just not that subtle, you know? We don't want the whole world to know that we're ninjas.
Apparently, if you sign up now, you can get a 30% off coupon in time for some Christmas shopping. AND, free shipping right now on all orders with the code: FREESHIP. I'm totally going to bookmark this site....and maybe see if I can squish into that hat!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Mud Pies call to me
And there I sit, again.
I am six and the mud oozes
And it’s not half as messy as
My smile. I am a top-notch chef,
A connoisseur of simple happiness
And I bake the mud right out of
The pastry until it’s way past time
To go in and I’ve made hundreds—
No, thousands of sloppy pies.
The taste of Imagination
is pure deliciousness
And my palate is quenched like the
Time I sat next to my lonely friend
Instead of keeping with the crowd.
I wipe mud on my pants and begin again.
The mud is mine, And I am it.
And the reverie is over and
Now I have a girl of six
And she drips,
And she clumps mud
And her smile is messy, too.
She is a top-notch chef,
A connoisseur of simple happiness
And she invites me to stay long
and bake hundreds—
No, thousands of pies and I
Agree and before I know it,
I am her playmate and my palate is quenched
Because I choose it to be, like the
Times I sit with my girls to play together,
instead of doing my grown-up thing,
to sugar-coat and entertain our
We wipe mud on
our pants, and smile. The mud is ours,
and we are it.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
"I'll keep you confany (company)." spoke the younger to the older with creased forehead the night the oldest girl had to sleep on the hallway floor beside the bathroom the same day she turned 7 and consumed way too many treats of delicious nature and sweet celebration. And then gentle-eyed sister sidled up beside her and made camp for the night.
Please join Emily as she shares beautiful prose...