A Child's Poem

The wind is soft,
The grass is low.
Beneath the sun of all our sorrows.

How long we wait for the day,
not a moment to waste before we sleigh.

Look now, oh friends!
For we have found our journey's end.


excerpt from Ch. 2, in a book being written by Caleb Smith ...the words just flowed from his lips to my ears as he asked, 'what do you think, mom?'
...speechless...

The Livingroom Floor

The french doors open
into the livingroom~
creaky floor with lots of gaps,
etched by time spent here.

We leave our scawl~
Boys wrestling daddy,
pillow fights,
giggles~
knees bent in worship,
dancing heart's sway to love's music.

Stories in each board,
cracks,
grooves,
notches.

Painful splinters occasionally~
memories of a full life
or perhaps a difficult life.
Many scratches ~

Was there singing and dancing~
or a pacing mother with a crying baby?
Possibly an elderly woman alone,
dragging her walker across these boards.

This livingroom,
this floor~
speaks loudly to me.
Declares clearly
its value.

Character,
Smooth...
in places that are
walked on daily.
Nicked but useful.

Well worn.
Steadfastly sure.
Still.
Inviting.

The french doors are open~

Threads of my life...

Spools all lined up,
full of color and waiting.
Calling my name and
yearning to sing.
It's that lullaby of weaving together
a future gift;

a little dress,
an apron, a card.

Something today,

tomorrow,

next week.

Always calling my name.

and each one has their own name...

a colorful name.








I see pins, needle, thread just laying there, too.
They sing a different song.
Their song holds my attention,

for if I ignore their presence,
I experience painful pricks-hindered work...

and frustration.

At times,

Reminds me of the children I've been entrusted with!

It is a beautiful song when I listen.

What beauty!

My toys.

(Boys!)

Dropping and

Rolling around the floor,

unraveling,

sometimes mingling together to form a knotted mess.

The container only appears to bring order.

Each little wheel is determined to be connected to something.

A spool,

needle,

something.

Kinda like life.

I can compartmentalize it,

but it somehow always gets mixed up with...

other lives.

A beautiful tapestry.

So,

I read,

and read,

and learn new ways to blend the colors,

fabrics, and threads.

Elastic,

polyester,

cotton,

and on and on.

All with a purpose.

All with a plan.

To be useful.

Like my life.

Being useful,

productive,

and fulfilled.

Teaching,

training,

pursuing His tapestry

for His purposes.

How sewing speaks to me!