How You Love Me

After a very long “sabbatical” from Lisa Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday’s, I am joyously diving in today, again. And the prompt today is again. Writing for Five Minutes, with an ounce or two of grace.

snow at beech

The words regenerate my soul

They speak life and love into my deepest parts

Life springs from them, like watering seeds of need in me

Once is never enough, its like the steady stream of mountain rivulets that feed the ocean mighty strong

The repetitions of the beautiful, of love poured out

Tell me again like Jack and Jill and all the early once upon a times we read as children and to the children

Say it again, soft and low, long and sweet

There is no sameness, dull or colorless odorless in the repeating

Feed me like open-beaked bird who needs seed on seed on seed, at feeder long and wanting

Blanket me fresh, my cold and weary soul needs the warming words from your tongue

Tell me again and again and again

Just tell me how you love me.

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The Cabin in the Woods

While all the world is warring
And storms blow over,
Stop, still scarring lives,
I unwrap sweet gift of resting
Unworthy as I am
In a cabin, boxed small peace
Made in part by hands of man
The one that loves me
Still, like embers in this fire here
In the cabin in the woods
Warm like fingers of the flame
Dancing like the ballerinas in Swan Lake
So graceful draping
Over logs in gentle beauty
Warm and wild.
And still and quiet are loud and thick
Like dense gray fog if she could speak
Peace envelopes in the quiet
And comfort blankets me in love, such peace.
I tuck my heart up in this place and soak
My soul in silence.
And there is warring in my soul
Only at the time of  leaving.
But peace is carried off from here
While worlds away are hard at war
It’s tucked in memory in my pockets
For my treasured keeping.
He restores, rebuilds
Our love
We stare, we lie
In rest, repose.
Stilled, our souls by calm
And ready to return from this
Boxed gift
Sweet love in silence
Saved and savored
In the cabin in the woods.

Joining Deidra

Frost

There is a frosty blanket on those days in the South, when cotton was king and division cut hearts of men and women. A lifetime ago. No, many lifetimes and generations ago. It’s her past. And a beautiful crop has a million stories to tell, if she could talk. She’d tell of the pickers and their pain. She makes warm the world with all her woven comfort. We sleep with her, wear her. She has a history. She has a future. Plump and white and pregnant with possibility, she lays in wait for machines to gather her for market. White and winsome, covering the South and all the world. A paradox of war and pain and warmth and frosty chilled relations. She, caught between the strife of people, owning, working in her fields. Way down South on her land. The frost is gone, the chill is warmed. She breathes peace now, in her fields and looks like heaven, a sea of clouds.

And he is frosting on my life. I, plain vanilla cake and he, rich cream frosting spreads a blanket on my soul and on my very life. Last night I dreamt of Paris for our 25th, the next one, he of Italy. This life made sweeter, richer in the aging. And in the dreaming. We may sit in zipcode here and never leave but in our dreams. But love is whipped up nonetheless. No less sweeter in the staying. I am covered by his care, spread on me, a covering. And I hold his heavy on the back of my baked being. The complement of two, was planned in Garden Eden. And today its richer still. So much lovelier when two walk tandem out into the world.

He changes seasons when He speaks. He says and it is so. First frost speaks of what’s to come, the earth holds change, like brittle illusion on the field. It looks like snow. Yet when morning is broken it is gone. The frost melts away with the breaking of day. Like all illusion. It never lasts.

Joining Laura and Amber C. Haines at The Run a Muck for her concrete word prompts. There is a wonderful commuity of writers there, exploring abstract themes around the tangible things of this life.

And I am linking with Michelle.

Fear

Today is Day 16. The collective can be read here. I am joining The Nester for the remainder of October with other 31 Dayer’s .

I don’t even want for fear to have its own title, headline, place in bold, upfront in this series.

I want nothing to do with fear, for I have given enough space and time and energy to it already.

Writing about it is even painful.

But isn’t that giving in. Letting fear sap energy. Tremble knees. Shake confidence. Rattle senses. Muss up the mind.

Isn’t fear numbing and paralyzing when it gets any room in a life.

It is greedy and boorish. Demanding and a bully. It saps Joy, drains the good, pulls the plug and lets hope rush down the drain like dirty bath water filled with bubbles of maybe.

Just maybe writing of fear, restores Hope. Writing of fear and meeting it head on pushes it back, meets it head on, faces it down.

Fear has erased days and bound me up. It has named seasons. It has defined seasons of  unknowing, of infertility and waiting years to add children to a family, by birth and adoption.

It has crippled in seasons of waiting for a husband to return, after a season of separation, marked the days dark and long. Tried to wrangle all life out of the days of healing, to rename me the one whose husband left. Fear says failure and brokenness rather than Hope and Security.

Fear takes the good plans of God for redemption and restoration and leaves you frozen in unknowing, hopeless, hope dwindling and the self demanding an answer now, the self commanding and controlling outcomes.

Fear robs the days left with a child at home, when the self chooses to demand to know the future, and it demands to know it will be labeled good by the world’s standards, good by the description of the self-focused soul.

Fear teams up with frozen and frightened and steals the hours and days of a life with a power that is unbroken, but for Jesus.

When healing and His redemptive love restore a Hopeful, Trusting Heart, the fire of fear is doused and diminished. And the pile of ashes is blown anew with a Spirit of new-life and radiant restorative re-birth.

The days of waiting on children’s birth, marriages restored and even financial struggles to end are marked by a wholeness from leaning hard into Him and softening the stone-cold places that fear and trembling have made tough as a frozen tundra. Made life-less.

Anxiety and worry have fueled enough days, with OCD re-routing a life ,bound it up in chains, set the heart on a new gear worthy of a NASCAR winner. Chased me round and round,  like a pack of rapid dogs. Spun me round, dizzy, like a child on a playground whirly gig until nausea and fatigue take the weary spirit to the ground.

Fear fuels the tongue and raises the volume and chooses the words. Takes control when control feels lost. Shouts orders demands her way. Raises the blood pressure, raises the stakes, reddens the face, and raises the roof.

Who wins when fear is in charge and shouts at the top of her fearful lungs and blow her battle weary bugle – CHARGE. Who falls in line, follows? Who feels called in love to go her way. There are no winners when fear leads  the weary into the unknown places.

And slips into the night, commands the dreams and rattles the sleepy, gets you up to pace the floors at night, creaking lonely in the midnight hour, draining the life from a tomorrow. Re-naming the days to come as weary and hopeless.

Fear gets the title here. Fear gets a word in this 31 Day Series of Words, but only because Fear gives Hope an opportunity to do her best work, to come in and breathe a breath of new living and redemptions glory.

The reigns are dropped, the bridled grip on frozen frightened doubt and worry loosed, and Hope and Trust ride off on wings of eagles, bound for a life lived with glimpses of the glory of heaven.

Today I am joining the lovely Nacole at Six In The Sticks. She is writing on fear for 31 Days at The Nester. You can read more of her hope-filled writing there. And I will not let fear cripple my attempts to workout the technical glitches to guest post there. Still Hopeful. See you at Nacole’s, but still here.

Joining Eileen and Jen and Emily

Thank you for adding to the conversation by adding your beautiful words to the discussion. You bring so much more when your words are apart of this community.