Bend, Bow, and Bare “Letters From The Village” – Day 3

Day Three in the series “Letters From The Village” in which I pen a poem of praise, writing as if in letter form to the bending bowing limbed beauties. The wood from which the cross was cut and hewn.oak park tree my fave

trees in oak park


trees skyward

Bend, Bow and Bare

You teach us well the lessons
How to bend and bow
To stand and lift, turn toward the sacred
Stretched skyward in tall praise.

You show us well the lessons
Of how to bare a soul, strip down to  simple naked frame
Stand stark, vulnerable, 
No covering to hide the shame or blight

You live well this life of shedding, pruning back
Of cutting back dead wood, this vital piece, the
Part that leads to vibrant verdant growing, new life
I watch you walk through seasons dignified, majestic, stark to full

Simple beauty,

I stare, eyes fixed in silent solemn  awe,

I gaze on your reverential stance displayed in vertical repose

Dear Ones who show us how to bend and sway rooted deep in soil of life
You lift up strong, your limbs in praise
And bear your radiant fruit in due time
You who holy held the son of God on wood hewn cross He bled

the sins of all were carried on His back while nailed, obedient, to you.

The pain, the nails

The perfect sacrifice.

And so we bow

and bend lower, lower still

lower day by day inside the shadow that you cast for us, recall His holy sacrifice

The bark, stump, root, limb, leaf, bud and branch

Metaphor for us,

We the people of the cross.

We bend, we bow

We break, we bare,

We look to wooden ways, the forest and the trees.

amen ,no alleluia’s at this time, stark worship on these days


The stump, the root, the cross, a final sacrifice received

Bent humbly, praising God

You teach well these lessons

Of both the  forest and the trees.

big bent tree sepiatrees, moss, bluetree cowpraying praising tree

Window Panes -Day 8

She played a game in chilhood. Two raindrops run down window pane, of car of home. She mans the race, Olympic judge of water racing.
Window pane the venue for drops that run like tears.
Eyes the weary travellers, raindrop snails,they wind their way down fogged glass, make and mark a watery zig and zag trail.
Who shall win a rainy droplet race? Which blue ribbon champion wins the rainy dual.
Winner puddles in a pile. Child’s play at the window for awhile.
And she sees the cross, a brace in pane, of wood. Horizontal setting gaze, vertical completes a frame.
Bracing life, and framing view.
Always holding, shaping, marking perimeters of a life view,
The eyes’ view, the looking out and looking past.
Stretching toward the future.
Seeing forward, looking out, a window on her world.
A perfect frame the crossed pane glass, always quartering life.
The pieces become bite-sized manageable. In fours, and eights or more the crossed-paned windows.
Her windcow on the world.

There was the childhood window, bedroom high, peering down below.
Scared of what she didn’t know.
Of monsters underneath the bed and in the closet too.
She sees a hundred stars and moons, the window frames the world.
There were the stained glass windows too.
Sunday sanctuary, art. An early primer into holy beauty.
Gazing off in wonder, with child’s eyes gazing in a trance toward glass,
In jewel toned beauty,
Blood red crimson, beauty contained, beauty framed, worship through the windows.
A gallery of art,young men, the Christ friends stand in solidarity, Peter and the rest.
Sun shines through Sunday windows, panes, azure blue, emerald green.
A thousand Sundays of window art, a portal to her God.
She stares while preacher preaches, lost in beauty, lost in art.
Bold window panes, a masterpiece of glass, windows to a wounded world of which the preacher preached.

And now she looks to frame the world without a windowpane.
Just plane and simple life view lense, with words, a window to her world.
A lense of grace, a lense of love, a lense of paneless gazing
On life, with hope,
All through the blood soaked cross-barred pane.
As much a she is able.

Counting gifts

*Hope for healing wounds of the body and soul
*Joy of family
*Joy of progress with middle man/child’s college plan
*Receiving a hundred dollars for my Compassion Child for a post a wrote. Thank you Compassion, I can’t imagine how my sponsored child will spend one hundred dollars
*More and more and more precious friends in community in this bloggy writing world.
*A increased hope and dream of a book one day
*Safe arrival of travelling loved ones
*Time spent back in my mountain cottage to write and wake to cold mountain air.
*A flat tire, yes in the right place
*My AAA tow truck operator was humorous and kind, good natured, and wearing a cross of our Lord on his neck.
*Seeing my sisters all in one room

Writing in community with The Nester, Ann, Laura and L.L. Barkat

Crossing The Wake – Part Two

This takes up a big space in my memory holder,  the one that holds the childhood treasures. The box where the heart can go and pull out a piece of memory here and there and sit at the feet of dreamy rememberance. The tender box of storage where being a child and learning of life are safely tucked away to look back on with eyes of a seasoned life. With new eyes. With new understanding. On what it is we were learning. And how gently we often learn of the hard. How tenderly He teaches  us of the difficult.

When I grabbed my phone and read the email, the memories began to flood a bit.

We spent hours water skiing. Together. So she speaks a language of the familiar when she asks, I was wondering if you’d consider writing a poem about crossing the wake.

A google search of crossing the wake reveals the technical best way to approach this journey across. And some of the words and phrases are important. I remember. If you have never skiied, you will remember too.

You remember the moments of relaxing, absorbing, committing without hesitation, and balancing.

About dot com Waterskiing will tell you “One of the scariest things facing a beginning slalom water-skier is having to cross what seems like a huge mound of water behind the boat, better known as the wake. In order to be a successful water-skier, you must tackle the wake head on.”

And she was thinking back, now in her 40’s to the times in her childhood when she did. And she is now. And she knew that I knew tackling head on what seems like a huge mound. A mound worth the crossing. A challenge ripe with reward in the victory. And a life of Joy on the other side.

About dot com continues in its tutorial “…your ski and body must point towards the direction you want to go. Face the wake head on. …Remember to take it slow in the beginning, and as your confidence level increases, so will your ability to tackle the wakes.”

But when we cross over by way of the Cross, we have the love of Jesus there in two directions. The vertical beam of the cross, tethering us to the Father’s love and mercy. And we have the horizontal beam of the cross, tethering  us to a community of believers, sisters in Christ to walk across the mounds with us. Never alone. Always going by way of the cross is the way of Love. Braced and bound, secure and safe. Crossing by way of His painful sacrifice. Relying on His Love, His arms extended crossing each difficult place before us and with us.

And there at the foot a place to lay down fear and doubt.There a repository for the junk that keeps us paralyzed by unknowing outcomes. There a place to lean into Him for strength beyond our own, helping us gain and keep our balance. There a place to stay upright, braced by His love.

Holding the tow rope of our youth, we know the safety and security of that strong nylon rope, connecting us to the power of the motorboat. And we learn to bend our knees, to absorb the bumps of the rocky wake, and lean into the moment of crossing out from the smooth into the rocky. And the wind in our face, muscles and tendons working, heart racing, we look out and see, not the back of the boat, but rather a whole different line of sight from over in the chop. And brave returns. And fear is diminished. And Joy moves into that moment.

The infertility, the bankruptcy, the marriage problems, the adoption of children, the pain of friends, the death of family, the trauma of loss, they are covered by the cross. They are covered and wrapped in His love. And his child is safely tethered to Him, the source of all power and love. And He redeems the hurt. And stills the rough waters. For us. Whom He loves. For us. He bends down and into our lives. Helping us guiding us.

In Love, by way of the cross.

So that crossing the wake is a place of partnership with Him and a community of believers. It is not a lonely skiier on a single slalom ski, behind a boat. But rather a child of Father God walking the rough spots with exhilaration and courage with a boat load of His love. And legion of fellow Jesus followers loving us through the rough and choppy. Drying us off, massaging our sore and tender spots, placing a balm, a salve on the blisters, and loving us through the journey through to the other side.

We cross by way of the cross. We cross with sisters in Christ. We cross with Him and into Him and because He went before. We cross because He has plans and adventure and marvelous abundant life waiting to be lived.

We go through the doubt and unknowing.

Because we know the one thing that matters. We are loved and we are His.

And there was and there is a beautiful cross.

Linking today with Ann, Duane and Jennifer.

And also joining Mary Beth today at New Life Steward and Denise at Denise in Bloom dot com.

The Calm, Relaxed Pace

If we have a purpose of our own, it destroys the simplicity and the calm, relaxed pace which should be characteristic of the children of God.

 by, Oswald Chambers

Wishing you a Sunday filled with gentleness, simplicity, calm and humility as you ponder His Gifts, His Call and His Love….amazing, grand and glorious.

And may you stand with meekness  in the gentle shadow of His Grace as your weekend rolls into Monday where the new of His Mercies await,  fresh and cool to wash the soul.

May you abide in His Love with family and friends in the community to which you have been called and drawn.

God’s Peace…..

Linking today in community with Deidra at Deidra Riggs dot com and The Sunday