Hard, stubborn callous;
How you cover the tender spots.
With your condemned skin.

How you need to be soaked;
How you need to be scraped away,
Diligently,
………….every day.

Or you become like snow the day after -
Hard packed and unbudgeable,
To all but the sharpest blade.

Yet the stubborn snow disappears,
With a soft stroke of encouragement,
When attended to swiftly.

Jonathan docked his little body at the island, his wiggles briefly anchored.

And as he munched on apple snack he briefly realized,

that body being satisfied was not enough.

And this thoughtful young man, looked up at busy mother, and

Thinking this to be his need, he commanded clearly and astutely:

“Mom, look at me and love me!”

And how this mother’s heart was arrested! So like a knife, cutting through the fog. And He was there too, burning a message into my heart.

He said “look at me and love me”
Dimple flashing out in need.
His bottom docked at island and
Wiggles briefly anchored.

And apple ceased to crunch,
Small head cocked to the side.
Silence, then commanding words:
“Mom, look at me and love me!”

Arrested was I,
With such desire,
Openly displayed
…And my busy hands were stayed.

To administer love.

And two twinkling crow’s feet were
Thrown back to gaze at delighted 4-year-old countenance,
So like a flower turning to face the sun.

And to think. His marvelous attention is arrested in like manner.

Dropping off the edge of the world
It all came into focus.
Like a smooth talker
Convincing me that the pieces would fall into place.

And they did, for awhile.

Then the hunt began,
And stamped colors jumped out at me
Like so many presents.

I brought them home.
And they made beautiful pictures for me.

I met you that Christmas when he and I were new
And heart hungered only for you.
When sun slipped under, eye would not go too
And heart watched restlessly for you.

And when you tapped him on the shoulder
He lost all sense of breath;
The rhythm of it lost, in wonder.

Then the rain began to fall.

And you saved it in a bottle,
And there was no time…
As heart gazed,
And imprinted

Your. exquisite. presence.

The substance of it remarked to my heart,
There’s another rock, over yonder.
It’s shape eluded and all precluded,
As heart dropped into the dark.

And stumbled through a craven view,
Until a pebble did find.

And heart rolled
This perfectly round circle of true,
In the dark…

And knew
That yonder lay

An invisible rock.

I think this fool will always view
A tree with eyes anew.

…thanks to this poem. And this is one reason I love poetry! The right poem paints a vivid picture of His “invisible things”, and I gasp!

Trees
by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
against the Earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

This morning was glorious! My cup was overflowing, and merry streams trickled out on children encased in silly songs and raspberries. We rowed right through morning to-do’s and floated into the schoolroom, where peace was displaced, momentarily.

“Does Mommy love you?” I asked, after love was administered.

“No!” Came vehemently, with furrowed brow, and then,

“Yes,” and his eyes found mine and he hugged me, tied tight with the strings of silly songs and raspberries…

Last night I went to bed expectantly, only to be awakened at midnight by a husband who was traumatized with leaking pipes and storage stuffing.

“I want that storage area cleaned up tomorrow.” His words echoed, perhaps a catalyst for the nightmares which assailed during the wee hours. The layers of decorations, crafts, unsorted videos, and various odds and ends was a recipe for frustration, and though inwardly daunted at this task, I clung to our family motto with tenacity.

Keep. Moving. Forward.

In the midst of school, chores, cleaning and meals, I managed to carve out nearly two hours to sort, stack, stash and chuck all the stuff that hadn’t been dealt with at the proper time. And I’m happy to report a navigable, and workable area. Yet how unnecessary has been all of this frustration? All of this stuff, just stuffed into our storage area, with mild thoughts of finding time to “deal” with it later…until one day it becomes a major stumbling block in a time of trouble. Hmmm.

I’m one of those people who will tell you I’m fine when sometimes I’m not, because I think, I’ve got it sorted, when really, it’s been stuffed away. But lately I’ve realized that an emotional release is really necessary. In fact, if it builds up for a long time, it can become quite, well, “stinky”. Emotions were not meant to be encased and set on the counter to ferment like my sourdough or kefir. Especially negative emotions.

“Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice.” Ephesians 4:31

Surely these will rot the fastest, if left to fester, like a grudge to be nursed. The word nurse means to care for in a way as to provide growth and development. How perspective illuminates! To coddle such a creature as this? Yet the human heart so often chooses the bitter way, as negative emotions are shoved to the back, where they are tasted best. With my children, I like to pretend the bad emotions are something malleable, and squash them into a ball which we then “put away” from us. What freedom!

But, hey, what about the positive emotions? Joy, love, and so on. Shout it out, right? How many times have I lacked the velocity to express loving and encouraging thoughts to others? Somehow the spark of His glory that comes with these thoughts is lost when they are saved for later. They don’t fester, they fizzle. I remember many times sitting in church, thinking, wow, that was an amazing teaching. I should really go and tell this brother how he exhorted my heart. And the rarity of such a thing has suddenly struck me! Surely such a light will be stifled under the bowl of procrastination.

The Psalmist seems to always have an exhortation containing the word “shout”. Let them shout for joy…shout unto God with the voice of triumph….let thy saints shout for joy. And when was the last time I shouted? Probably when practicing Taekwondo with the children this morning. Ki-hap! So maybe I’ll try something new tomorrow….when we kneel in our little circle, I will stop shushing everyone, and instead encourage shouting! (In praise and thanksgiving of course )

Much better to shout than to stuff. Ah, the release! Many times it is tempting to bring the “stuff” to bear on husband, coming home with his own pressures still lingering. Yet we all know that’s not a good idea! So instead, I’ve got to re-roll an old groove. You know the one….where we take those little odds and ends straight to His transporter, and exchange them for peace, before they fall on some unsuspecting innocent!

I tried to write a beautiful poem, but this rap is all that came out [wry grin]…I guess there is always next week .

Stuff it in stuff it down stuff it all around,
And one day stuffing topples you to the ground.
When expected least,
This rotten beast,
Locks eyes with the skies
Of a hovering yeast.

Take it up, take it over, take it upon,
This wrap of His, He would have us to don,
Having been made meet,
We sit at his feet,
No pain, no strain,
The rest is O So Sweet!

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

i really wanted to write a poem today. about a Thanksgiving tree. but when we tried to string the lights we discovered small branches on the bottom and big ones on top and i barreled into the present with a stomp, as branches flew out of the tree onto floor order.

abandoned by all but two stalwart tree artists, I guided the branches into a mathematically perfect tree and stretched out each arm ready to receive. then i giggled and thought perhaps the tree should have been left as it was, decorated to be a robot or some such thing. maybe next year.

then the little and the not-so-little hands placed the ornaments and this is where I must find my place to come in, in harmony, as keLi so beautifully exhorted. sometimes my heart despairs about the things that I do that have not meaning. like I want my tree to be ALIVE! and just like the substance of things unseen is the most precious thing, the things placed in these reaching arms can be precious, because it is precious to him.

We drove down Lincoln Drive on the way to Taekwondo. What met our eyes brought disappointment to me, and excitement to the kids. Lighted wreaths and candles illuminated the drab drive, while darkening my brows.

Was Thanksgiving to be ignored once again? Were we to travel at light speed from fabulous fall to Christmas with nary a turkey to gobble in between?

My daughter rescued me when she pointed out the blown-up turkey in a yard up ahead. He was large, round, colorful, and cartoonish, but O, how my eyes lingered there! As his brown body smiled and swayed in chubby contentment, I was infected, and my peevish concerns evaporated. At least for that moment.

On Monday I made the decision. Store-bought stuffing was not an option for me this year. (Nourishing decisions have become easier to make over the years.) So I began the familiar process of making bread, with one inconvenient addition: I mixed 15 cups of the flour into five cups of warmed buttermilk, and left it to soak for twelve hours. Yesterday morning, the final three cups of flour were combined with the yeast, honey, water, oil & salt and then carefully mixed in with the soaking dough. Really, it was just a matter of retraining; the soaking of the flour is only slightly more time-consuming than my prior routine.

But why? Why go to all the trouble of soaking the flour? Well, according to my research, there is something called phytic acid which is found in the hulls of nuts, seeds, and grains. Phytic acid is the principle form of storage for phosphorous. There are two problems with phytic acid. The first is that important minerals, like calcium and magnesium, adhere to phytic acid, and when they do so, they become insoluble and unable to be absorbed in the intestines. The second problem is that phytic acid is itself unable to be absorbed due to our lack of an enzyme called phytase.

This is where the soak comes in. When nuts, seeds and grains are soaked, the phytic acid is broken down, and the minerals are once more bioavailable. When they are soaked in an acidic medium, such as buttermilk, kefir or yogurt, the breakdown is much more effective. To rephrase: soaking removes the binding power of phytic acid (aka the anti-nutrient), which would suck away life-giving minerals necessary for all body-functions.

My need hit me then, square between the eyes. I needed a good soak. And certainly not in buttermilk. Songs began to flit through my mind…

“It’s beginning to ra-ai-ain, hear the voice of the Father…” and

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, like the fra-grance after the ra-ai-ain…”.

Just as the minerals needed for all body functions were bound in the phytic acid, the peace, needed to guard my mind in Christ Jesus, was bound in the peevish acid of unthankfulness. And surely there is only one solution.

Suddenly Elise’s Heavy Laden tree took on new meaning for me. There is a poem stirring here….the applause is almost deafening!

But first, the soak.