Words Replace The Boot

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Words Replace The Boot

I could kick myself
Literally, not figuratively, no
If I could figure out how
To put a swift quick to the rear
A boot in the hind quarters

A kick in the pants
Would remind me
When I hurt
That I have hurt
And a tangible ache
May move into action
A sedentary bum.

I have widows as neighbors
And poor in my midst
And letters to write to Peru,
To my girl.
But sin visits me
And stays awhile
Inaction is omission
I blame Eve
It is easier that way.

The last time I checked
It stings
It stung
And it stinks.

Preachers preach
And teachers teach
And poets, wax

And weave words that go places
Visiting the sick and shut-in
Takes legs and guts and heart
A body in motion.

Oh I have words, ones that rise up
And hang
Like a cartoon-ish figure
I am a  caricature of one who cares and acts
My thought bubble floats above me
Invisible to all
Seen by no one
The hazy desire to act
Stick a pin in it and pop it
I am done

Faith without works
Is settling in.

It is time for the words that hang in the air
To walk the road that leads to the widow

And mail the note that goes to Peru

And nothing is happening
While I am figuring out
How to kick myself

There is a foul odor
And it smells like guilt

Love is a verb
And a noun
And the greatest of these

Time
To love the all of these
And float the bubble of hope

Love gets off the couch
Ouch.

Words
Replace the boot
But Grace
Replaces guilt.

The Hands

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The Hands

It is the hands. Though no body is a single piece or part. It is your hands that I always recall. A sanctuary of  tender love. Those hands. Though there were always the blues that cast a loving glance, wet often with tears. Slight movement of the heart, a word or song could cause your vision to fog and blur, misty eyed you’d cry joy more than not. Tender is your heart.

And it is your legs that trudge and travel, work and seem to never stop, doing good and doing more. Hoping planes and pacing sidewalks, roaming door to door. Knocking for a cause and giving out of love. The legs which have climbed mountains. And boarded trains.  There is a whole spinning orb that you have seen. You left a part of yourself in Haiti once or twice or more. Long and lean your legs determined to tell of Christ have crossed and crisscrossed, this Earth, in love. On the backs of elephants you have served, always filled with a holy love.

And your laugh. It comes on loud and deep and your bright smile, it flashes wide and long. The one you thought you’d take to Washington to change the world or at least some things. But you were stopped. And that was good. There were lives to touch much closer to home. When life was heavy you gave your laugh. Infused with childlike playfulness. And that saved the day more than once. It needing saving and you could turn the tide. You could turn sorrow to joy. And you did turn sadness into happiness. More than once. More than twice.

Red and beating fast, keeping you always moving, loving life and loving Christ and loving others is your heart. It is large and looming over those who count on you, to build them up, to give them hope. To help, in love. It has the capacity for love, not often seen. Out of love, you live a life of giving back. The heart of man, the heart of you is beautiful when it is loving well.

But it is your hands Daddy. The way they are always warm. Your fingers long, your grasp on mine, firm and strong. The ones that never seem to give out or  up. They grasp and hold in love, a child a woman and her children too. The way you squeeze and make me feel secure and loved. Though you have all that makes a godly man, I will never forget your two big hands. I remember, as a child. I remember your love shown through the endless generosity that flows. From your hands.

It is your hands that grab my heart and hold it still. This day in June I know you would hold mine,  walk me up or down the mountain. If I were there within your reach. You would hug me, hold me, tickle me and squeeze me. Still and always, I will be your child.

And in the years that remain, I know my eyes will see, a life continuing to be built on living well, in love.

So spilling on the page and through the screen are my three hand squeezes, you know what they mean.

Happy Father’s Day. I love you.

And  now you know how much I love your hands.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dedicated to my Daddy on Father’s Day, June 16, 2013.

(photo credit: Tumblr ( Michael Angelo’s — David)

What Happens When A Monkey Mind Writes A Blog Post?

I wish you were here.

Well not really because you’d see the laundry basket and quite frankly it would scare you. Well maybe not scare, but it might freak you out. Well not that either, but you might not want to stay long because you’d want to free me up to “Just Do It.”

And if you were here I might ask you to run a soccer shirt to one school and a phone and a volleyball jersey to another school. And I might ask you to feed the cat and dogs.

And then I’d ask you to be a good listener. So I could tell you what it felt like to sit beside a man with Parkinson’s Disease and a single mother, with another single mother two down, last night at a volleyball match. I was in the middle.

Did you read the title of this post? Ok. Do you think I should change it? I don’t either.

And I might take you with me to the window to see the HUGE, I mean two HUGE spider webs that are like goal posts outside the window. And we could talk about the God Art and how lovely the sun is on them. And whether you think they are as spectacular as I do.

Now tell me are you still here? Did I run you off yet. Sheesh, I hope not. Because I know you have a choice and you may unsubscribe or not come back or unfollow which are all your choice. And BELIEVE ME, I would understand.

Did you think I was going to tell you more about my friend with Parkinson’s Disease? I was. I am. (Do you think I am rushing today a little too much? I am.) He asked me last night if I was still working. Then I asked him the same thing. He said he’s not because of his “mind” and he then told me of his recent diagnosis. I saw his right hand quivering. He said he misses work because he misses having something to do. I gave him a lollypop. No really I did.

Did I tell you dementia runs in my family. It does. Did I tell you two people in my family have ADD. I have written about that. Did I tell you I don’t. Wait, don’t look so surprised.

Did you think there was a point to that.

Well I want to ask you to help me with the running around and the washing of clothes so I can sit and write, and do art, and make art. And write my hybrid proety, proems and such.

And write my friend in Peru, the little girl I sponsor Erlita. Because did I tell you it can take three months for her to receive my letter? For the Compassion children to receive letters. So I want to write one now.

For some reason, and I believe God put it on my heart, while I can I want to help Compassion International.

And I want to pray for my family member with Dementia and my friend with Parkinson’s Disease and my really good friend who is a single mother. And I want to figure out the best way to love my children while discipling them and encouraging them as they grown into responsible people.

It is really important  that I raise responsible children who don’t leave their phones and sports stuff at home. Because I get one chance to get it right with them. I don’t really know what that means because there is nothing left to chance to raising children. God’s got this with me. Oh yeah that other chance, like opportunity.

Did you read the title of this blog post? Do you think I should change it. Good, I don’t either.

I want to tell you more but its gotten quiet and I think some of you have left. Before you leave will you visit the Compassion Sponsorship page and pray for the kids who need sponsors. And will you join me in praying for my new friend Erlita?

I can’t wait to hear from her. I will tell you about it when the letter arrives, if any of you are still reading by then. (This is Ella and she has nothing to do with the post but I am trying not to forget to go feed three dogs).

While I can write I want to write. While I can pray I want to pray. If you all could help with the laundry, I could go write the prayer I am trying to write to pray for Compassion. Well big C compassion and little c compassion, but mostly big C.

You know if you have never left a comment, today would be a really good day to. Because my monkey mind and I are feeling like we lost all our friends with our laundry and our craziness. So saying hello would be particularly well-timed. And you can go to my facebook page (wynnegraceappears on Facebook) if you are handing out affirmation and cyber-hugs today. And if you are feeling exceptionally generous you can share this on your facebook page.

Oh, I saw you click over to Compassion and pray. That was awesome. Thank you. I know it means a lot to the children.

Linking with Jennifer today.
And with Duane at Unwrapping His Promises at Scribing The Journey dot com.

And with Mary Beth at New Life Steward dot com.

And with Ann at A Holy Experience dot com for Walk With Him Wednesdays

And also with Emily
The purple zinnia and butterfly photograph used above is a gift from my friend H.M. Miller (isn’t she talented). I love her to pieces. She sent me the picture I used for the Mother Teresa quote. Thanks Harriett.

When Your Efforts To Help Feel Anemic

Under my roof the dryer tumbles and rumbles and hums its white noise roar. And on the screen Isaac blows all blustery hues of cool blue and fire-hot red. Water droplets on the camera lense make the picture blurry, foggy, out-of-focus. But the story behind the blur screams loud and clear, even though the sound is muted.

There is suffering and there is pain. There is hurt and there is loss. Lives are being torn upside down and inside out.

Three left my home this morning for school, one for work and one remains. He leaves later to work and live, outside of this nest now. This man/child home only for a visit.

And I have a friend I mentor, she is in middle school. I don’t know how her first week of school is going. I need to call. She goes to the top of my heart to-do list, which is not as it sounds. She is precious. She is precious to me. My heart weeps to know her heart. I feel behind in my intentional relationship building, in my loving and helping her. I will ask to have lunch with her at school this week and pray God redeems the time between the times we’ve had together, in relationship.

Never have I wanted to freeze living like I do now. Stop time. It is too wonderful to go at the current speed. To savor, it needs to be reduced to slower motioned living. But God. But God in His wisdom designed it to move at this very pace and speed. Every day I mark. Every day I burn the memories in. Its the Senior year for one and the Junior year for another. For the senior, a series of lasts.

She said you are right to mark, and remember and burn in your memory and write and photograph it all. And that the fast approaching empty nest will be a glorious other chapter for the Patient One and me.

But for now I balance a wild love for family with a burning desire to serve. To do and be both and. To serve Him by serving my family well and by loving and serving others well. Those hurting deeply. The suffering souls who long for the love of Christ to be shown by the hands and feet of Christ.

And in the breath right next to the breath about savoring and marking, she and I begin to plan our Haiti Mission trip. My heart leaves them. My heart stays with them. I may miss a volleyball game or a basketball game or the joy of a red-letter day in the life of a 2012 American Teen. Or I  may miss the chance to comfort a daughter or console a son.

Monday morning, wheels rolling north down a four lane highway I stopped behind two cars stranded and stopped in the middle of traffic. One was helping the other and I made a third car stopped in the middle of the highway. He said I am trying to help her and I asked what can I do. They had not called the Highway Patrole. The potential for injury and a collision was real. So I stopped and cars honked at me. I was  inconvenient. I was in the way. I was trying to help.

She looked scared and she looked afraid. I asked her several times what can I do? Her eyes pleading for help. He was helping re-start the car. I was trying to help console her heart. I asked her if I could help. And told her I had called the Highway Patrol. I wanted to pile three strangers in my car and take them somewhere. But they were safely waiting in the grass. So I  left once, came back again and checked on her. And said God Bless. In the strange ways of crossing paths with strangers daily, I may never see her beautiful face again. Ever. Our worlds are far apart. Our lives are lived out very differently. I hope my anemic effort to love on her in passing was enough. I long for those quick decisions  made in the middle of honking annoyance to have shown compassion.

September is Blogging Month for Compassion International. I want to make a difference with my writing. I pray that God will use my words to make an impact. How does a mother with a computer and three children, a husband, three dogs and a cat use her words to change hearts.

God can use mothers at home with children. God uses mothers at home with children. And God can use me. It is not because of anything I can do, but my willingness to be obedient and to be used by Him. That is hard to say. It is humbling. While my efforts may feel anemic, His love and His power and His Desire to use each one of  us  for His purposes is supernatural.

And when I in my weakness can’t balance my roles under this roof with my desire to serve beyond my four walls, He in His power strenthens me. Helps balance me. Calls me. Nudges me lovingly. I am weak but He is strong. I have known this. I know this.

I want to go to Haiti in September instead of January. Because now with Isaac the need feels more pressing. More immediate.  I want to call and see if the Doctor heading up the trip has room next month. But unless I hear from Him, I know not to move ahead of His plans and His call.

So I have the privilege of pulling out my little calendar and marking the volleyball and soccer games. And marking the days I plan to write for Compassion. And pray that my young  friend will let me have lunch with her at the middle school.

And  I pray for courage to stop in the middle of the busy road daily to help. To serve in the now. To look in love for ways to show compassion in the now. And to savor like a wafer thin Life-Safer, these moments with my children as we so bitter sweetly move toward an empty nest.

And I pray that I will learn my new neighbor’s first name so that I can be intentional about speaking in love to him. We passed him the other day and I told The Patient One until I learn his name, his name will have to be “Morning”.

There is work to be done at home.

And there are children, like my Compassion Sponsored Child in Peru, who need the love of Jesus today. And there is a grown child waking up in the other room who still needs his mother’s love.

Both, And.

Joining Walk With Him Wednesdays, Unwrapping His Promises and God Bumps and God Incidences.