“music” 2.21.17

a sports pub friday night

an arena sunday night

about 50 people

about 2000 people

after work crowd drinking

believers praising

there were those moments that bothered me at the bar even though I was there because my husband was singing and playing

and enjoyed myself

there were those moments that bothered me at the concert even though I was there as a believer at a Christian concert

and enjoyed myself

we live in a fallen world

filled with fallen people

we are all looking to feel something real

from pub revelry

to concert emotionalism

all were there to feel something

all were affected by the experience of the music

in a world gone numb

tunnel visioned by scrolling screens

tumbled vice in a  glass

the music still plays

and God still speaks




I can’t play a thing.

I can sing okay…when I have a stronger voice and a melody to fall behind.

But I married a muscial guy and we made musical kids.

I have come to appreciate the flowing power of music to make one feel and remember.

I am better for it.






A poetic life {#tellhisstory}

Linking up with blogger/writer Jennifer Dukes Lee and others to Tell His Story today.


I don’t often re-read books. But I came across a copy of a favorite book at a book sale { I gave my original away}. This book makes me think. It is fiction and was not even published by a Christian publisher, but re-reading it makes me reflect on Christ.

As I wrote last week about our family and love of books, I love also to write goodreads book reviews.

Goodreads is my bookish nerdy social media facebook.

Last night writing a review of the book Peace Like a River by Leif Enger I typed out these lines first:

One of the good things about reading a lot of books is that in the span of four years, so many books have been digested that large portions of books I loved have been forgotten. So as I re-read Peace Like a River this month, I was given the pleasure of reading many scenes, as if for the first time…

Here is the rest of the review if you are interested.

{And don’t worry I never write spoilers}

Thinking about this author, Leif Enger, and the work he has done in the form of fictional writing, I feel a sort of “call to arms” in the type of lifestyle I aspire to live.

A poetic life.

What is a poetic life? Like poetry itself it is not easily defined.

You have to let your own know-how, your own unique color, shine through as a something- special others can’t quite put a finger on.                                                                                         ~ Savvy by Ingrid Law

Stay with me now.

This is all wonderful, touchy-feely, creative, hippy, stuff I know.

But what does the poetic life mean if you are a follower of Christ?

A Christ follower lives this life following a completely different brush stroke. Her marks on this world, a world that cannot see and will not acknowledge the brush itself, does not bring attention to herself, but The Maker behind the brushstrokes.

One to the last things Jesus prayed for his friends before He was taken away to be crucified was that “The Father would not take them out of the world, but keep them from the evil one..they are not defined by the world…make them holy- concentrated with the truth. Your Word is truth”…John chapter 17

One of the many surprising things I have found myself praying as I have grown more intimate with the person of Christ is for myself to become “less Westernized”. Our wonderful free culture of democracy is very linear in its thinking. It puts a hefty price tag of value on the tangible.  The Western church has followed suit. Yet, we serve an unsearchable holy God, whose ways are higher than our own. And there is the epic rub.

We forget Jesus was a Jewish Middle Eastern Man. King David, author of many of our beloved Psalms, the quotes we like to buy in the form of hanging wall art at Hobby Lobby for $39.99, was Eastern as well.  It makes fundamentalist uncomfortable though, because we have been taught that Middle Eastern or Eastern is “pagan”.  This is accurate in a historical context.  The lands we call Middle East and Eastern have, as the centuries have rolled by since the advent of Christianity, become nationally non-Christian. That was not always the case.  For nearly 700 years after Pentecost and the “church scatter” modern day Iran, Iraq, Egypt were the centers of the Christian learned world.  Also, I have found the teachings of Buddha, Confucius, have a surprising faint echo of King David and Jesus Christ’s radical teaching.

However, a shadowy facsimile is not the same as the real thing is it?

There is only one name that saves. One image we seek to satisfy our soul’s emptiness: Jesus Christ.    

The modern American church has felt so hollow and weak and irrelevant for so long we were  tempted many times to leave the sinking ship altogether.  But The Man, our Maker, would not let us. He showed up Himself.  No pew, Pastor, or Retreat needed.  Then He led us to brothers and sisters who were not perfect, who did believe the exact same thing as us on every aspect of walking out our faith, but who were true followers of Christ; this is church!

And so, The Master has shown Tim and myself how the brush strokes of our lives are to look in very real, unfancy, unspiritual looking ways. As we bumbled and smeared along like kindergartners with finger paints He has patiently been fine tuning us so His true hue and light fragrance comes through. This despite our own juvenile blunders.

It is not about us.

It is about Him.

Our part is so ridiculously easy, and small, it is downright embarrassing how long it took us to get to this point.

So we keep trying to walk out with a light poetic step in this weary, heavy, sinking world.

We all sink.

I can’t walk on water any better than you can.

But I can point you in the direction of one who has.




Linking up today with the crew over at Jennifer Dukes Lee for #TellHisStory

Click to read more or get brave and add your own here.

New Look. New Season.


So my 31days of writing for the month of October 2015 has come to an end.

I think I missed only 3 or 4 days.

Being unemployed and all the kids in school all day, was a huge help to achieve this, as you might imagine.  Then, like a switch of a light, I suddenly found myself working full time.  Substituting for a 3rd/4th grade special ed. teacher who had emergency surgery.  From 7am until 4:45pm this lady is in heels and turns into a machine: straight, direct, lists whirling, clock watching, task doing.

It’s odd. After spending hours writing in silence; my days ebbing at a leisurely pace of moving about quiet home on a slow current of house tasks, jogging, praying, reading.

I don’t even know if I will be needed after next week.  I may go back to the sporadic calls in the morning.

Hungry for something creative do after seven hours of worksheets at a drill-sergeant-like regiment and 90 minutes of commuting, I updated the look and layout of my blog. I am hoping to be working often, but not full-time. I am amazed at mothers  who work 40hours a week. This captain needs to have her hand at the helm of the domestic ship half the time, and scurrying about working the other.  Life rarely works out so perfect, I know.

However, I feel confident that since The Lord so created me, therefore, “The Father who gives good gifts” will know how to disperse my time and tasks to be a blessing for myself and my family.

So, I hope to be able to catch up laundry, make meals, have a few still morning of prayer and take pictures. Compose some shortened more poetic posts here?

I mentioned in a previous post that upon working more hours my standards of nutrition went a notch downward-instantly. So did our frugality.  HoweverI am trying to fight the good fight and stay vigilant.

I am so thankful that my secular work is working with children who need a firm but gentle touch.  God places a special value on little children, more so the needy ones and so by proxy a special ability is given to those who work among them.  However, it is still a tangible task orientated endeavor.

The spiritual is the exact opposite:

Intangible effort of seemingly doing nothing of great consequence.

This rushing and going and doing because of another obligation muffles the quiet still voice of heaven. For the regenerated soul it is never completely silenced. It can be buffered.  Busyness buffers.  Just as being deliberate about nutrition is harder, but pivotal for the welfare of self and my family, so being deliberate to be among “those who have ears to hear” from heaven is more difficult but of great importance.

Something about creativity is connected to the Spiritual.

So, to keep this little speck on bloglandia going I am going to funnel my limited time into more photography and poetic posts.

It reminds me of that quote I once heard:

” I don’t know how to define poetry, I just know people are dying without it”.

resist the blending in, baby


October 20th: Temporary {LIKE TREE_31days of writing challenge}

each season is important

                                but also temporary

every stage a valuable lesson

                               but also temporary

the soft verdant hope of spring, arriving on warm earth scents and poking pastel colors through the brown

                                     but it is temporary

the long stretch of routine schedules interrupted, days long of yellow sun  green earth blue waters

                                      but it is temporary

in a blink a welcome chill, sweaters and soups and our breath in the early morning light

                                           but it is temporary

the weekends fill up, schedules are booked, your credit card is maxed, there is a tree in the living room and your pants won’t zip

                                      but it is temporary

s l o w…a new year at hibernation pace, clean slates, green smoothies, and labeled plastic totes twinkle at us, invite us in after the glitz and feasting

                                      but it is temporary

the old man in full swing, a curmudgeon with a cold, does anyone remember what the sun looked like?

                                      but it is temporary

the soft verdant hope of spring, arriving on warm earth scents and poking pastel colors through the brown….

season in

season out




“there is nothing new under the sun”

in all this repeat and sameness

there is a pulse

a spark

a variety

none the less

a song sung over us

the river of life pouring through us

sweetens the sound

refreshes the routines

the familiar in family

our great GOD

Who is not temporary




31days of writing challenge.

Daily prompts given by the gang over at Five Minute Friday.

Click here to read my series from the beginning.

October 8th: PURPLE {like a tree 31days of writing}


“what I see”

cheery yellow

vibrant red

mellow orange

stubborn “i’m staying green”

brown’s “i finally can rest”

the colors of the trees

but no purple

sunrise comes up pink

morning is blue

afternoon a glare of green

sunset spectacular shades of orange

twilight is inky plum {not quite purple}

evening is soft charcoal fading to black

the circuit colors of the day

but no purple

purple is royal; set apart

purple not often to be glimped

oxygen rich blood red with oxygen deprived blue blood making something new

we are called royal

we carry the line of david

we can’t see it

sometimes we just catch a glimpse of it on Him

we touch our forelock and curtsy showing respect where respect is due

stunned the king in his purple cloak descends down

calls us friends servants no more

and puts his purple cloak on us



31 DAYSLike A Tree:

31 days of writing in the month of October

Each daily word prompt given by the gang over at Five Minute Friday

Click here to start this series from the beginning.

things pile up_shadow shot sunday_poetry


Things pile up

As things often do


The lumped the clumped

The unrecollected and the neglected


Piles on the chair

Wet towels on the rail

Bills unpaid in their envelopes

Letters yet placed in the mail


But never ever let

Me with you & you with me

Be a task shrugged to the corner

Pitiful pile I’d hate for others to see


God help us and help us swiftly

The day you and I become

That task we must sort through

And be done with quickly




Linking up with the international crowd at Shadow Shot Sunday

& the sensitive souls at Emily’s Imperfect Prose

I have long noticed that photography and poetry seem to feed off each other in my brain.

It is the light touch, the capturing of ideas without saying a word-

that I want to make more room for here at my spot.

Emily’s spot {the imperfect prose link above} is highlighting Lisa Jo Baker’s and her wise, wise words on motherhood.

As always, I forgot its mother’s day weekend. {not a celebrator of commercial holidays I also forget my anniversary}.

But since writing this poem on marriage, I have been reflecting on the truth that I discovered long ago:

the best things you can do for your children is stay in love with your husband

{and its harder and takes more work than keeping a clean house, or sending your children to school with clean, matched clothes}

So enjoy!

It is after all, finally May, my favourite month, the month of light, color, and joy.

I always think of Guinevere belting out “the lusty month of May” twirling with flowers sewed into her gown and in her hair in Camelot.

















light through a crack_ shadow shot sunday


this, the shortest of months

is the darkest of months

but into the dark a little light will shine

a reprieve of bitter when i awake to optimistic sunshine


february sun most often brightens the eye but fails to warm the head

but sometimes, only sometimes, it spreads and fills the house, fills myself, in warmth like a wool hat on my head


i long to feel this distant furnace poised in the outside sky for myself

but dust that piles & bedrooms stale, beckon me, knowing they will be cleaned only by myself


it is the only mama, and oh, how at first she complains and laments the task is hers alone

who scrubs, makes domestic war, and airs out- but the pleasure of it slowly fills her, like the sun, on her alone


light pours and pours on rooms familiar, objects dear,

dust dances in brokah shots, but i think it rather adds, seems to endear


dirty finger- smudged glass reveal winter clouds are gathering up again

the sun, that fleeting winter furnace in the sky, disappears for good, but I know it will return again


and the hope of it rises-stubborn as passing time

knowing each day it marches closer, stronger in its stride to spring time


and i feel it, it bursts out slivers of powerful comfort…

Like Light Through A Crack


Linking up with the international photographers at Shadow Shot Sunday 2, after a long, long absence.

Photography and prose makes me slow down, notice, and be thankful in that simple way.

And that is a good thing.

You should look in or join in because we could all use some more good things.