Releasing The White Knuckled Grip

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Releasing The White Knuckled Grip

What would you say to a girl and her dreams
Teetering on the edges of time
Laced in every shade of hope
Fringed in simple, ordinary
Longing and love

How would you take her heart in your hand
Cup it and calm it
Fill in the cracks and crevices
Of dry rot
Questioning and doubt
Tuck in the ragged edges of fear

Where would you tell her to lay down her dream
The one that’s unraveling and
Two sizes too big

In love, I whispered this
Hold on loosely, release your hard-nosed, white knuckled grip
Unfurl your hands like a banner of peace
Let it wave and dance in the air where it’s free
Give it room to sway in May’s warm breeze
Let it linger, not languish
But let it out of your sight

On the edges of time
Time,
It will tell her
It always does

Quiet, she waits

Praying and hoping with fingers
Releasing their grip
She found it better like this
For this would not be the end of her dream

Or the death of her hoping
No matter
What they say
Ends and beginning and middles are funny that way

She chooses to hope hard, to dream big
Other and bigger and smaller and more
And less
Lead by the Spirit
Her new dreams will soar
Not because, but in spite
Of her

The sun sets and rises again and again
Set your soul dreams on new ones
Release the grip of the past
Press forth in gentleness, meekness and love

She’s been
Surprised by joy many a time
It may return, its likely it will

She heard me, I know it
For she nodded and smiled
And her spirit seemed freer
Because of release
I know that she heard me
Stubborn and headstrong
I’ve known her since birth

For
She is me and I am her
And we talk to each other
About these big things
Covered, protected
By Spirit and Truth

Wheelbarrow Of Words

orchid and sun through door slats

You single wheeled cart
She places her art inside of you
A through Z tumble out hard
Carrying all that wells up inside of her

You handle with care the words
She places there, for now
Sacred container of
Words, filled to the brim, spilling over the rim

Z through A jumbled pieces, imperfect
No home in  prose
You hold
Everything that needs a holy  home

You carry pieces of a soul
Spun with tenderness with fragile yarn
Depositing gentle at the feet

Of those
Meant to receive a gift of poetry
Not prose

Line by line the art pulls the thread
Which started in the left ventricle of her heart
Held now frozen on a page
WIthin the walls
Of this word  sanctuary called

Poetry

Penned imperfection, carried with care within a
Wheelbarrow of words
As with all that ‘s meant to fly away
She’ll  pin the Monarch wings and set them free

You may now
Dump out all her poetry
Metaphor  which carries dirt
Your services  no longer needed here

For if she is created in His image
As it says
Co-creator with her God on High
She’ll park the wheelbarrow in the shed
For now

And humbly place the winged words
On the currents of the wind
And wave goodbye to what
Was born inside of her

Grace and peace to you as you travel far or near
My heart, my art, my  poetry

Joining Laura at Playdates At The Wellspring

Releasing – The Art of Grieving and Rejoicing (A Tribute to Ella)

ella close up

The selfish wants to hold on. To grasp and grab and even hold back. Make you stay and sit here with me. Make you sacrifice so I can keep you here.

I wept and I weep at the thought of you leaving. There is nothing easy in releasing fury joy on four long spindly legs, big eyes that stared me down, laying it on thick when you wanted a hand to rub or a time to walk.

But you were made to soar. To run fast and often like a blue streak. You were the fastest many had ever seen. A blur when you were set free to fly. You smiled broad and wide when you lived your calling.

You shined bright.

You were created for those things.

But in my difficult release you will find freedom, to go and do and be the highest and best that this life has for you.

ellison

And so she was released a little bit ago,  to a family on a farm. To run and hunt. To run more often, longer, brisker, faster. To live and breath deep.

To play hard and to do that which she loves. She was born to hunt, to run headlong into the woods. It is her passion.

She has been released in weepy, crying love to go. And I mourn her company and  grieve my lost companion.

But I rejoice in her joy at  living out her passions. Though it is  away from me.

smiling me

She smiled her broadest dog smile when she did. So when I put aside my selfish longing for her, I truly rejoice in her new place of truly living. Though it is apart from me.

And  I trust that she is living her passion daily,living her dreams, living her calling. Extravagant living, into all that life has for her.

I want that for Ella. I want that for those I love. For my children, my husband, and my dearest friends.

Ella, you showed me a beautiful picture of what it looks like  to grab hold of what you loved. Yes, even a dog can show us how to live with unbridled passion for what we were made to hunger after and for.

She was joy. And she was loved.

ella

I miss you Ella, my Ellison, you are running headlong into the wind. And when I dwell on that, I smile with you.

When you were in my world, you blessed my socks off. And I am truly grateful.

ella sleeping

You were a friend and you were and are  pure delight, all white and furry, with endless energy and zest for living. You and your playful spirit brought me joy.

Go for it Ella. Go for it girl.

me and ella

ella and me header

Joining Laura for Playdates At The Wellspring and Ann at A Holy Experience dot com, quietly counting a boatload of gifts, especially Ella, Miss Ellison, Ella-Bella Marshall, our Ella Girl.

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