unexpected

Pink is not the sort of colour we expect in Indian Summer Days

yet the rose blooms spring like in front of the window 
in innocent defiance of the season.

And I wonder about the seasons in our life, 
these indian summer days of mine

when a wee soul alights beneath my heart for 5 short weeks

and then flits away to eternity and to God 
and to an Oma gone before.

And it is impossible to begrudge the beginnings of a soul

and the departure of a miniscule infant to go to her God

and be spared these seasons down below.

Still dreams began and  budded and blossomed

with thoughts of wee smiles, and dimpled hands. 
And thankfulness overwhelmed- 

that another child of God had been entrusted to me 
in these indian summer days, 

 unexpected.

  

But dreams pass

and tears honour the child 

and painful trust honours the Father.

indian summer

 Indian Summer creeps across the tree tops and into the gardens.

I pick a blaze of orange and place it in the window sill.

Tiny seeds drop in an endless cycle of life into dark earth
awaiting new days.
Tentatively beginning again.

July 11th

She lands softly and drinks her fill,

a rather drab specimen 

until she spreads her wings and becomes glorious.

Spread your wings and fly little butterfly!

evening light

june 24th

Because we have hope we endure,

and a man of seventy plus seven with a empty spot in his heart

and  disease in his body, but peace in his soul

folds his hands in hope

and a young woman alone, with chapters filled,

and a new page turned, professes faith with a full heart

and holds out a child named Hope.

Words of Isaiah echo through the ages,

of one who binds up the brokenhearted

and gives them everlasting joy.

(message by H. Alkema this Sunday morning)

june 22nd 2012

june 19th 2012

as May closes

Breezes blow gently through the garden. Poppies wave glorious colour as spent petals drop.  When did we enter the days of the poppies? Tulips, Red Bud Blossoms, Lilacs  have come and gone. Where did summer suddenly appear from?

Weeks passed bedside, worries pressing insides.  Watching dad writhe out words of faith.  "He who loves us.... he loves us now, present tense, right through our sufferings".  Watching familiar hands thin and become transparent.  Listening to a mind befuddled by narcotics turn circles.  Anxious moments when life is hanging in the balance, tipping one way, then another.  Exhaling relief when corners are turned but keeping optimism at bay and feeling distrustful of the next bend.  Words don't come easy and thoughts are not easily pressed onto a keyboard.  Death the last enemy hovers devouring here and there.  Disease strikes where it may.  Dear Tante Kina succumbed a few days ago but now wears a crown of glory.  Dad is in the midst of the battle.  Neighbours, others, cancer chases them too.  

And we prayed, asking a Loving Father to spare dad's life.  To spare a humble servant this suffering.  To restore this man to the work that he so loves.  And when our own words fail we rest on The Word and trust that His Will be Done.  Behind ugly we see beauty, behind death we see life, behind a cross we see a Saviour.  And time passes, petals drop, lives are lost but lives are gained in Christ.  

Eternity awaits.  

saturday's moon

may 3rd

april 28th

We return home from a week at dad's place to find the gardens full of tulips that I  had hastily planted last autumn.  Planting bulbs was one of the tasks that had been put off after a tumultuous summer.  Yet here they are blazing cheer in the beds oblivious to worries and to anxieties.

Anxieties, brown and dull, under the Father's tender love, emerge triumphant, ablaze with Light.

april 19th

Ah, these little men of mine, absorbed in  words between covers

they bring to mind my brothers, once youngsters like these,

my father and his brothers, once small lads like ours-

and the passage of time that ticks off pain and pleasure, tragedy and triumph

and turns brown heads white, smooth cheeks worn,

as it adds wisdom and knowledge to kindly hearts

that will stop beating at the appointed hour

when they are gathered home.

april 17th

And we take a deep breath

and see that life is exquisite

and oh, so precious

and hope comes in many hues,

and love in many shades.

And, all is well, very well,

because the Creator is the Father and is the Saviour

and is always with us.

april 16th

They dance wildly in the wind

these yellow symbols of dread disease,

the lovely cheerful daffodils.

Swaying with cheerful abandon-

as angst for dad sweeps into our day.

Surgery. For colon cancer.

This week.

april 15th

Slowly but surely green seeps into the brown

a splash of colour overlaying the nondescript

and renewal is at hand.

Thank you Father

for Grace, and Life.

Good Friday

away

"Happy is he who has the God of Jacob for his help.

Whose hope is in the Lord his God,

Who made heaven and earth.

The sea and all that is in them."

When we see the mind boggling versatility in design

it should bring us to our knees.

march 11th

Terminal buds sprout new life on the lilacs.

The known when the unknown looms again.

Life is in His Holy Hands.

16 degrees, march 7th

Bestriped and bedraggled and bespattered with mud.

Smiles stretched wide across the kidlets' faces as they burst outdoors.

Wee sprouts breaking from the winter's hold.

Spring comes after winter, endlessly, and yet it never ceases to amaze us.

february 29th

I'm trying to get an image of the old and brown

cradling the pure and white.

But breezes blow and images won't focus.

Breezes, it doesn't take a tempest.

Unrest blows in our hearts.

Unrest, it doesn't have to be complete despair.

But we worry, we fret, we gripe, we begrudge.

When we forget to live "thank you"

and wonder why others feel distant.

Sons and daughters who neglect to look upwards

and breathe out words of thanksgiving

and wonder why God seems beyond reach.

Beyond reach and beyond trust.

Thanksgiving brings life into focus,

and gratitude uncovers Beauty

as hearts swell with Joy.

february 27th

Balmy days call for climbing muddy embankments,

hunting wild game and crossing raging torrents.

february

Under the porch steps a kidlet discovers beauty.

Stalactite and sphere-like stalagmites.

february 22nd

For the umpteenth time it feels like spring,

and the kids and the water rush gaily over the snow

leaving imprints of cheer and promise.

february 19th

february 18th

february 16th

february 14th

february 9th

Solid hand hewn beams give way to time and elements and neglect.

Woods replaced by farms replaced by suburbs,

hunting folk by farm folk by town folk.

Above it all the moon cycles without pause

from the very beginning until the very end.

february 7th

Beneath open blues and on empty browns,

with a stick as weapon and imagination as his script

he makes his way into adventure

and returns with outside in his eyes

and the wind on his cheeks.

february 1st

Yesterday our thermometer peaked at 10 degrees. The previous day's snow quickly turned into slush and water and seeped into the soil and flowed towards ditches. Balmy weather brings everyone outside to inhale deeply and to dream of the season of renewal.

Hope springs green.

january 27th

January 25th

One wiggled into our life just a few years ago, a stray, with an attitude. When I thought I couldn't handle him anymore I gave him away. He slipped into a stranger's van. As they drove off we shed tears. The other wiggled into our life as an energetic pup, more than 13 years ago. Loyal and gentle. When it became apparent that she couldn't function anymore a vet slipped sleep into her veins. She drifted off and I shed more tears.

january 17th

Some talk of travels to far and foreign places and something inside wakens to wanderlust and dreams of wild and lonely and new. Especially wild and lonely. Domestic fences seem just too close and too familiar. Domestic chores altogether mundane. Questions bubble up from sleepy corners of the heart, "Why not me?" and "Why am I not accomplishing great things?"

And the same old question, "Is the yearning for wide and wild and lovely and lonely not God breathed?" Is adventure not knit into our hearts? The pursuit of beauty not etched into souls?

Does the Father who knit together our hearts and souls not perceive what it is that we need? The great Author of wild and lonely and lovely not long for us to be fulfilled?

And I need to be reminded that within our own fences blessings and beauty are bountiful.

And today's dreary rain creates magic and splendor and masterpieces waiting to be discovered.