To Lauren, my sea.

I am the ocean.

She is the sea.

Her waves and curves are a part of me.

She is a mermaid with a beautiful song;

My words are the whispers that follow along.

The sea and the ocean, they ebb with the tide.

They are wonderous creatures, both alive inside.

Sometimes so calm with a surface of glass.

Often so stormy and changing so fast.

The ocean, the sea, different, the same.

The sea wild and free, the ocean so tame.

The moon is her beacon,

Mine is the sun.

We are yet two,

Yet we are one.

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When Your Easter Basket is Empty: A Season of Life

Today is Easter. It’s a beautiful day to celebrate the resurrection of Christ, this I know. But my Easter basket is empty, and I’m having a hard time. What do I mean, my Easter basket is empty? I mean my kids are grown now, and they aren’t the small, smiling cuties sitting on the Easter bunny’s lap anymore. As a matter of fact, they aren’t even with me today. My almost twenty year old daughter lives two hours away and is at work and preparing for a dream trip tomorrow. She isn’t wearing an Easter dress and bonnet or hunting eggs and saying “look, Mommy!” My seventeen year old son is at work until tonight. He isn’t small, can’t say his R’s or devouring way too much candy. He is 6’1 and becoming a man. This is hard stuff. I’m sentimental, I’m nostalgic and I’m a mom. Yes it could be much worse, there are many people who have lost their children, and my heart breaks for them. I know this. I also know that I have been blessed in so many ways and have spent time with my Lord this morning. I also know that this is a season of life that the Lord will walk me through. I know as time goes on, the Lord and I will refill my basket with beautiful eggs and meaning and purpose and wrap it in cellophane and tie it with a bow. But today my basket is empty, and I will be ok. 

Thanksgiving Day

When the Waltons won’t come;

and the Cleavers won’t call;

and the warm and the fuzzy goes out of it all.

When hands won’t be held,

a prayer won’t be said,

and the bickering chaos

plays out in your head.

When plans are not made,

Whose bringing what?

When the whole get-together is

a pain in the butt.

So what do you do on Thanksgiving Day?

You grab your boxed pie and you go anyway.
-Tonya Adams

A little Thanksgiving humor! Feel free to comment if you can relate.

Halloween, 1982

Tonight I drove home from my grandmother’s house on this late October eve. The street that I have known my whole life looked different tonight. The air smelled crisp, a few leaves littered the street and porches were glowing with black lights. Suddenly it was Halloween, 1982, again. In my mind, I was on that street, with my brother and a big brown grocery bag. The hours had been counted down til dark. The street seemed so long and almost every porch light was on. My mom was keeping us at bay getting ready to casually watch from afar. The other trick or treaters were making their rounds. My heart was pounding with excitement at the thought of seeing just how full I could get my bag. It would later be dumped on the floor, sorted, compared with my brother’s and devoured. There were no rules about how much you ate, you earned it. Was my costume something I made or a cheap plastic mask with eye holes and a slit to breathe from? I have no idea what I was wearing, but my blood was pumping. I was breathing hard in my hurry to the next house on an awesome Halloween adventure.

The Scientist

The scientist drives alone in the night.The icy streets and the late hour are no match for the quest at hand. The shops are closing one by one, still the perfect lab coat goes unfound. The scientist knows that nothing can stop the thirst for knowledge; knowledge that can only be discovered in the laboratory. The hot scent of the Bunson burners mixed with the sharp smell of formaldehyde makes the hunt tolerable for the scientist. He must find the necessary gear to obtain the information he needs, and quickly. Finally, as the scientist passes one darkened shop after another, his truck sliding on the ever freezing streets, he becomes tired. His eyes are bleary and his hands are cramped and sweaty from his grip on the wheel. The scientist pulls to the curb and reaches for his phone, knowing his mission is in danger. With one last hope, he dials. “Hey, Mom, it’s Braden. Do you know where I can get a lab coat for biology lab tomorrow? I’ve waited until now and I have to have it or I can’t go to class.” Thru the receiver a scream of rage and frustration echoes through the night. The young scientist hangs up the phone, his hypothesis failed.

My girl

Grieving a loss,
Though not dead.
Regrets of angry words been said.

Helplessly, hopelessly pushed away

By a woman that was my child yesterday.

Growing pains, but so much more;

Knowing she’s not like she was before.

Leaving home would be ok,

If the rebel soul would go away.

The devils trying to steal my girl,

But this mamas fists don’t come uncurled.

I want her here, I want her gone;

I want off this ride I’m on.

Watching from a distance losing hope,

Tying a knot in the end of my rope.

Praying after this phase, she’ll come back,

Just trying to take up the slack.

Jesus, protect her in this broken place,

She’s my girl that I can’t replace.

Nan

The nurses come in,

The nurses go out;

I hear little things 

That they’re talking about.

Tomorrow nights plans, 

What movie to see,

But they don’t know what she means to me.

They see their old patient,

Frail and ill.

I see a woman with one hell of a will.

They don’t know the places we’ve been,

The cookies we’ve made,

The laughs we have shared,

Or the cards that we’ve played.

They only see confusion and pain,

They can’t know the love that remains.

How funny she is,

How she loves her four cats,

The shopping we did,

And her cute little hats.

The Christmastime fudge,

The spoiling of me,

They don’t  quite get it,

And can’t possibly see.

The salt on our apples, 

And the campouts we’ve had,

The unconditional love

When I was good or was bad.

That’s not just a patient,

They don’t understand,

That beautiful woman in that bed

Is my Nan.