Finding Joy In Wash, Rinse, Repeat

January 22, 2013January 22, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 7 Comments

The repetition of the beautiful can feel more like repetition of the ordinary.

The let dog in let dog out days of in and out of the washer and dryer she adds a load, changes it out, and tries to mix it up.

She sees the ordinary but strains for the extraordinary of the cycles of life. The make the bed and wash a load and empty, re- load the machines that wash the things that are dirty hums its dull hum.

And the check the mail and fluff the pillows and call a friend and go to the store and wipe the counters again drills go on and on and on.

But what if she sees a nuance of change and a strain of the beautiful in the repetition of the everyday.

And what if she began to lace the duties of life and living with prayer and praise and songs.

Taking the sheets of music to the bed as she folds the sheets. And raises the window to hear the birds as they serenade the cycles of living. The daily fringed with songs of grace.

And what if the breathing of the home she holds dear begins to sound like the breathing of the family that will walk in soon in need of nurture, both of the soul and of the body.

So the wiping of the counters begins to look like a prelude to an act of love, of service.

And the mundane looks like a view through a kaleidoscope when she shifts the view, turns it slant to see, really see what’s hidden behind the veil of the daily.

And “viewing life through a lense of grace” breaks out anew from its cocoon of hiding and is reborn.

She sees the grace of life. She sees the joy in wash, rinse, repeat.

She reframes her ordinary with extravagant love and wipes the counter with a cloth of dripping wet grace, in the living, grace in the everyday.

And He does make all things new. In the moments of the everyday everyday.

So she turns it on its head until the blood rushes in and shakes and spins it round and round. And when the day gets turned right side up it’s flush with living, flush with the flow of blood all through the living breathing it.

The life has rushed back in and the life flows strong and bold through the day.

The turning, flipping bring shades of new, shades of the life-blood show, shining through. And it blushes with crimson, tinges of life-red.

The stale looks fresh, the old looks re-born and the mundane places are fired-up with the electric new.

She views life through a lense of grace.

And all the things on life’s pendulum, swing to the beat of a recalibrated heart.

And life fills her home again. And the beat goes on and on and on.

Dancing to the songs of grace.

Joining Jen and Heather today.

Scales

January 21, 2013January 21, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 16 Comments

Scales

I’d much rather take my pen and paper, my abstract mind, my struggling poetic voice over to the school of fish.

I’d find more peace, though it may be rough and smelly, navel-gazing with the fish, their coats of small shining shards of fish fashion. The blues and greens and browns sewn on like a quilt of slimy mosaic, smelling of the sea.

Like a stained glass of small cut pieces, the whole is more telling than a microcosm of the total package.

I’d rather meditate and pontificate on the scales which can hurt a girl’s hands rather than the other ones that have hurt girls’ hearts.

Not the ones that society would do well to just plain do without.

Throw the scales out with the bathwater.

Not the ones that bind and shackle, tease and taunt, tell a number, a false gauge of worth.

Not the heavy object that pulls to itself, power-grabber, as a magnet, calling out in a weighing heavy metal empty whisper, from the floor, wielding power it’s stolen from the true granter of worth and praise.

Take the scales off my eyes, that blind me when I try to see, Truth, is not a number.

Remove the scales, deadskin flaking, keeps me from true beauty.

Give me beauty, true, blues and greens on the fish that swims so free, in its coat of many colors, allowing it to blend into the beautiful, blend into the sea.

Wearing proudly the scales designed, meticulous

By the Hands of One,

Who sets the captives free.

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

Writing on the concrete helps us understand the abstract. And Amber Haines does it as well as anyone I know. She’s got a great little community of writers writing on scale today. I am there too.

Scales.

And I am joining Laura at The Wellspring.

And joining Ann at A Holy Experience, though I am quietly walking through my up and down again counting. Lord, give me a disciplined heart for seeing your gifts.

(Photo courtesy of Pam Wooten)

There Is Light In The Dark

January 18, 2013January 31, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 10 Comments

Today my words are drawn from the inspiration of my niece, Caroline, who is seen and heard in this video. As she paints to the music of Mat Kearney, Breathe in, Breathe Out, I see the beautiful. And so I write.

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

There Is Light In The Dark

You know my every breath
The shallow breathing times were the hardest
And the times I held my breath in fear, the stronghold, grip, on me
But fresh the air you gave, new the winds blew in
Restoring peace
You knew the tension, knotted, held, locked tight the lungs
You saw the rattling, ratcheted up-beat of the racing breaths
Too, many, too often
Many times you caught and captured the release in the exhale
Went deep into my lungs, with love
Air of Hope
Breath of Life
Whisper new breath into my deepest places
Make new the stale air
Form new, Your spirit in me
Freeing me to breathe deep
A life which
Hopes
All things
Through and by the very breath you give
Breath of Hope

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

Joining emily today for Imperfect Prose. Today’s prompt is Light.

(Postscript – This post was originally published on January 18, 2013. When I go back and listen to music, watch Caroline paint to the words and melody of the artist and interpret I am deeply moved. And as I re-read the poem I wrote in conjunction with Caroline’s painting and Mat’s art, I choose to submit this offering to the Imperfect Prose community today. May the light shine bright in my eyes as I look to live in love, write of grace, and make art that honors Him. The original post title was Breathe Hope. I have changed it to There is Light In The Dark.

Poetry At Work Between Friends: Adagio

January 15, 2013January 15, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 17 Comments

It is a delight to continue to partner with Holly at A Lifetime of Days for poetry. We live and breathe half-way across the country from one another, have never met in real life, but have formed a friendship and a common love for words. Most especially for poetry.

Today is the third offering of Adagio: A Poetry Project which began last year and continues to grow and fly. Our fledgling, our joint writing project is leaving the nest again. You may recall our first poem, woven and written together, was a picture of us as individual writers. The second time, Adagio involved separate poems inspired by the words of a song which Holly shared with me. It was the Christmas season and that weighed heavy on our words.

Today, January 15, 2013, is the first ever Poetry At Work Day, an idea birthed from the creative folks at Tweetspeak Poetry. Today we thread a poem together into one piece, from a distance. Holly and I write with each other, as well as in community with other writers. I am raising three children or they are raising me. One has left the nest or flown the coop. Holly is the momma of two boys whom she homeschools.

This is the work of our hands and hearts.

******************************************************************

Les Mains (French for “hands”) talks of the power, the breadth, and the warmth of God’s reach. For us, our hands can be tools and vehicles for working, for writing, for loving. We would love to hear your thoughts on the multiple roles hands play in the living out of your days.

You may write your prose, your comments, your poetry, however you feel lead. Just write in the comments here or at A Lifetime of Days and give us the link to your own writing. We long to read your words, the overflow of your heart.

Les Mains

Your hands reach back
through inky curtains
worn, frail, thin
settling our shaky human brokenness
and
smoothing the broken shards of conscience
all the while
quelling a thousand restless swirling places
and
righting rattled beats

And then, as always
You are here
the warming sun your canopy
and I must grab hold of your shadow
for fear of sinking deep into
the pools of light
left in your wake
For the day
it keeps moving,
ray upon ray

Always
You reach forward
no more fevered pitch
or furrowed brow
You are slow
and steady
All that races
finds a peaceful pace
In a twinkling
the frozen is warmed
and the darkness becomes
Light

And as with all creation
Your hands
form a holy welcome
That longed for warm embrace
enveloping all restless souls
with grace

***************************************************

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: