Dear Henry – “Letters From The Village” – Day Two

provider two mcclellanville

A letter for my future grandchild calls him to see, calling him to be, aware, alive and grateful for the beauty in his grace-filled days.

Dearest Henry,

The squid ink squirts across the night
Sky, a canvas
Blackening, a blanket for sleepy day’s cover
And you will look up while holding my hand
To soak in a heavenly sea of delight
The pin pricked sky over Jeremy Creek
Twinkles its twinkling radiant stars
Flashing and blinking and winking at you

Cast your eyes, your chin tilted skyward
Throw out your vision as shrimpers their nets
Connect the dots with your gaze make big dipper
Then squeeze tight my hand while we gaze
At the moon,together
The man in the moon is smiling at you
Sweet Henry, sweet child
He’s smiling at me, he’s grinning at us

And one night its cuticle thin like a sliver
Cut with precision, smooth as french silk
Capture the glory now in your memory
Capture it now for tomorrow brings change
Somewhere so briefly between the waxing and waning
A thin sliver hangs graceful over our dreams
Blink and it changes, sleep and its gone.

Tomorrow when sleepy day goes down for the night
You and I will walk out to the edge of the world
The edge of the water its lapping and flapping
Bobbing the shrimper’s boats like toys in the bath
And the sky will become radiant with color
We’ll stare at the pinks, the hot and the cool ones
Right before orange blazes her brush through the sky.

And off to the heavenlies the day will retreat
To sleep beside dipper and man in the moon
The day will rest up for her glorious tomorrow
And you dear Henry will sleep awhile too
For tomorrow there are treasures and glorious discoveries
To make and unwrap, to claim and collect
Tomorrow the sea will deliver her beauties right at the feet of sleepy-head you.

When The Tail Wags The Dog (Or When Things Get A Little Crazy)

Today is Day 10 and it is not your imagination that there was no Day 9. So this is 9-10 and now you know why today’s word is CRAZY.

[This post is a part of a continuing series on Wonderful Words.
The Nester is hosting this 31 Day Series. And I am joining Sarah Mae for her What I Know Now Series with this post.)

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Did I hear that a time or two. Or am I mixing metaphors. Oh, joy. And there is this. Too many balls in the air and irons in the fire and does this sound familiar? There is this indicator, you text a text for a child to a friend and question marks come back. And you back track. And you cover your tracks. And you feel for all the world that the tail is wagging the dog.

And all the crazy making feels like disobedience to you. Because haven’t you learned this lesson so many times before,to breathe. And pause. And, those wide margins. Those wide margins of white space and calm and peace and what happened to that and those.

And though the list is long of people in pain and hurt and need, don’t you know. You is me. Me is I. Sometimes we write a corrective word to self and think there may be one who knows this too.

All the eyes on the stove are on high, the flame red- hot, the flame dances high, taunting its orange red and none can be reduced to simmer.

How the list is long and day is short, but the day is not because He designed the day and His day is the perfect length.

How the balls in the air are bricks and if you drop even one the consequences are dire, dropping the other shoe would be softer and less painful, but you don’t want to drop anything.

When it all seems pressing and all feels pressing and the needs are all great and you want to say get in line take a number. But all you want to do is write. And writing soothes the soul like a balm. And writing feels obedient and after that it all may be okay. After the obedience, all will simmer down and the boiling hot places may cool off.

And the woman-child-sister-wife- mother-friend-church- volunteer-child sponsor- mother- of- college -bound -child- soccer- player- volleyball- player- grown -child -girlfriend- has- an- interview-today hat is heavy like lead. And its all good, except for the parent  in excrutiating pain. And the parent, the caregiver is struggling too.

And one more hyphen may cut you in two like a blade. And the mail needs to be opened and sorted, so the CEO of the house needs to sit at her desk. And the hyphens keep coming.

But isn’t that when the full armor of God goes on.

Isn’t that when you yoke up with Him.

Isn’t that when you breathe a little deeper and sigh. Sigh deeper, longer.

And remember what you knew all along.

That chaos isn’t of Him. And that He doesn’t spin you like a top and chase you like a hungry wolf. That He is Gentle and He is Peace-Maker.

And your church is turning upside down too. Wasn’t that suppose to be a plumb line for stability. Wasn’t that The Rock. And there is uncertainty in her future. And you will welcome on Sunday but your heart is heavy at the uncertainty. But its not. Because really, He knows. He knows.

That this was never Him and this is never how He loves. He intended the dog to wag his own tail. His plan was for order.

So this is when you lay it down and lay it aside and say no thank you to crazy, I want no part. Knock on someone else’s door. Or better yet. Leave us all alone, Crazy. Leave us all alone.

And there’s a debate or two and an election and more uncertainty. But is it really? He is Certain. He is Sure. He is Reigning.

So this is when you say, nice try Tricky One. I want no part of that.

I remember whose I am and who I am in Him and send crazy-making out the door, the back door. No place of honor through the front door. That is reserved for the King. Who is welcome anytime, on any day, to order and restore.

He is the Restorer of Order.

And thankfully, the dog can way his own tail.

And she can breathe again.

So she goes looking for the dull, the mundane, the white noise places in her life and gives Him all her balls.

After all, He has always been a better juggler than she.

He holds the universe. Juggles the planets, moon and stars.

So  she  simply holds his hand. And pets the dog who wags his  very own tail.

Joining Emily, Ann, Duane, Jennifer, Eileen , Mary Beth, Joy and The Nester

Delicate Balance – Days 6 & 7

Who has not lived that doesn’t know that dance, the one of in and out, a bob and a weave of a clumsy waltz. Like a prize fighter penned in the corner. The bob and weave in the ring of life. A punch, one two, of difficulty, pain.
Who is not part of this commonman, every man, every woman club, begun by Eve and Adam. Thank you very much.
Who does not struggle to make sense out of the hard and the rough, to soften them down and smooth them out with words and love.
Who has not found a limb or two, maybe all four tangled in a web, sticky, ensnaring our hearts our lives, in confusion and hurt.

And who has not cried out, flailing hands towards the heavens and yelled like a child in the throws of a tantrum at God and asked why?

Is there one who has not sought restoration and reconciliation from broken life, like shards of glass, shattered into pieces sharp, pieces which cut through, bleeding life drips droplets puddle.

It is all that He wants to mend the cut, and cup the chin, and wipe the tear.

It is what He longs to do for child of Eve and Adam too. To mend, restore, the balance so delicate. The delicate pieces and places, He knows.

And in the wailing and crying there is Hope. And when the relationship slips to a place where balance is lost, like life’s level and equilibrum hang in the loss of balance.

Think on these things. Rest in His arms. And look to the Restorer to re-order, rebuild and realign.

The Carpenter, Builder, The Restorer of Hope, Rebuilder of Lives,

The Delicate Restorer of Balance, He mends the lives of the broken.

What Amazing Grace, what Amazing Grace indeed.

Writing in community today with Deidra and The Nester for the continuing series of 31 Days of Wonderful Words.

This is Day 6 and Day 7 of the 31 Day Series which we are a part of at The Nester’s. There a community of bloggers is writing for 31 days in October. If you would like to back journey on this blog and read previous posts in the series please do. Previous posts have included Ordinary, Savor, Hope, The Poetic, and Dancing.

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Story: Remembering, Praying, Healing

“Life is like playing a violin solo in public and learning the intrument as one goes on.” Samuel Butler from Chapter 10 “The Life of a Storyteller” from Annette Simmons “The Story Factor.”

She cuts hair and her words cut my heart.  And I listen to the story. Someone has released a colony of bees in my insides, the buzz and sting compete with the sweet honey making in one stirring moment.

I hear the happy. But I process the other.

There is a man who has walked this earth for close to a half of a century. He just connected with his birthmother. Worlds and emotions collide. And the telling is a beautiful mix of God and man and life and living.

In a flash of living a man with a mother now has two.

Hearts and life and souls and God are on a course moving foward and the lines of grace and redemption criss cross like the tracks of zipper teeth.

A forward moving narrative.

She cuts my hair. Her words cut my heart. Because I have a child with a birth mother. And so I release the possibilities of circumstance and discovery in his life. She cuts my hair and the story cuts deep my momma heart.

And the story is being written.

There are chapters and pages and lines with hurt, in my own. Wet smears the line of the ink still wet. Dries in a blur. But dries nonetheless. And the pages stay in. There is no ripping or removal. It all stays in.

The beautiful bound spine can contain both and.

Remember,  praying, while healing.

And the violin solo, played in public only gets more beautiful with each note, with grace like resin on the squeeky bow.  With grace like resin smoothing the out of tune and the parts that sound off key, seeming beautiful in the learning of the living. Seeming beautiful in the practice done on the life stage. There is no rehearsal.

And yesterday’s story and today’s story are bound in guilded gold, saved and savored, while remembering, praying and healing.

The same salt that enhances flavor and adds to, can rub in a wound, or help make an icy road passable. Or bring a non-believer toward a Jesus Follower questionning the beautiful, questionning the story, seeking to know more.

Or in excess make us thirsty, with a thirst that feels unquenchable in the longing for wet to hit the parched, the dry, the brittle.

Releasing the thoughts of my adoptive son seeking his birth mother in a one day page of his story, and hoping that when that chapter is written on our pages, we will pray, while remembering, pray while healing, and pray in our  forward living.

And God,  tosses mercy, like coins in the velvet-lined violin case of the sidewalk city  soloist. His gentle affirmation, His constant love. He listens in love. And finds the story of the soloist, beautiful. And sings the chorus of grace.

Amazing, how sweet, it saves.

Linking with Heather and Jen and Eileen and Jennifer, Duane, and Ann. As well as Courtney

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