An unexpected gift this week
a means of keeping time
calling to me stop and seek
the sounding of its chime
a reminder at each passing hour
when crystals dance and music plays
to hear the song and tap the power
in every moment of my days.
The clock
Fran Haley
Struck
Yesterday, it happened
at morning arrival
buses and cabs lined up
behind the school
waiting for the ringing of the bell
to release students into the building
staff gathering outside to receive them
while across the narrow street
from the sidewalk
graced by quaint and picturesque houses
a little child crossing
a car coming out of nowhere
not stopping in time
the sound
indefinable thud
like one low drumbeat
or heartbeat
a split-second silence
before collective screaming
then sirens
flashing lights
a knot of people
police and EMTs
a little red jacket in a heap
on the gray asphalt
two loose shoes underneath the car
staff, all the while
attempting to usher
other children inside
but they have seen
they have seen
some saw the little one
clutched in his weeping mother’s arms
some saw him
helped to his feet,
able to stand
some saw EMS get him
into the ambulance
all the long, dark
storm-clouded day
murmurs of
shock
horror
worry
until, just before dismissal,
he came to school with his mom
to show his friends he is okay
his little scatched face, pure sunshine
many of us
overcome with tears
awestruck
by this heroism
on her part
and his
and by the amazing grace
of God
that happened yesterday.
Child shoe. zendritic. CC BY-NC-SA.
Bookends of winter days
Winter mornings
dawn in gray monochrome
before the sun bursts on the scene
like a passionate artist
with its gilded palette
Driving to work
in this gray in-betweenness
I note the doves
always sitting on the power lines
like heralds
their plump bodies
of soft sandy colors
framed by the oyster sky
reminding me:
look for the peace this day
live as peacefully as possible
this day
Then, in the strange way
of life
as I drive home
weary and worn
the golden part of the day
nearly spent
what should I see
on other power lines?
Hawks
big and breathtaking
still as statues
painted in shades of rust
They might remind some people
of raw bloodthirstiness
or predatory fierceness
but their beauty
fills me with such awe
that it’s all I can do
to keep my eyes on the road
driving home
as I think about how my winter days
are bookended by birds
and how there’s something
inherently sacred
and profoundly satisfying
in that.
Dove. Jim, the Photographer. CC BY 2.0
Red-Shouldered Hawk. goingslo. CC BY 2.0
(One of these days, when I can stop the car safely, I am going to get my own photos of my hawks…)
*******
with thanks to Ruth at SOS-Sharing Our Stories: Magic in a Blog
for today’s inspiration to write:
“You are invited to linger in your winter memories, reach deep and pick a golden moment to share.”
Heart healing
“Heart” is the Spiritual Journey prompt for this first Thursday in February.
Thanks to Linda Mitchell for hosting our group of writers.
On a Sunday afternoon at the end of July, 2019, my husband had a massive heart attack and cardiac arrest. He was resuscitated by EMTs and went straight into surgery after arriving at the hospital. He got four stents and spent several days in induced hypothermia to reduce trauma to his brain, which can happen when blood flow has ceased and is suddenly restored. He recuperated slowly, painfully; his sternum had been broken by the CPR which saved his life. He came home. One morning in September he woke to jolts in his chest and tingling down his arm. I took him back to the hospital. More heart attacks. This time he had four bypasses. The surgeon mended his sternum with a little metal plate.
He is doing well now. In fact, up until winter settled in, he was doing eight-mile hikes in the park a couple of times a week and feeling as good as he ever has.
As this first Thursday in February drew near with Valentine’s Day and “heart” as the Spiritual Journey prompt for the month, I thought of a couple of things I might like to explore. I had chosen one, in fact, when I saw the heart-shaped hospital pillow that remains in our bedroom. This pillow was given to my husband after the bypass surgery. His attending nurse wrote on it with a Sharpie: “Keep hugging your heart!”
I thought, this is it. This is what I need to write about.
These pillows are given to all patients recuperating from open-heart surgery. The patients hug them when they have to cough or sneeze, lessening the severity of the jolt. The pillow protects the incision site whenever the patients move and when they practice the necessary deep-breathing exercises for their lungs.
It just so happens that the hospital where my husband’s surgery and recuperation has the lowest mortality rate in the country for heart bypass patients (according to reports from 2017-2019). It also just so happens that the county’s resuscitation rate is the highest in the nation. So, if you’re going to have cardiac arrest and need cardiac surgery, it’s the best place to be.
My husband is evidence of this.
I think about the surgeon who held my husband’s heart in his hands, who grafted those bypasses. He told us that as soon as the first graft was done, my husband’s heart immediately began beating stronger; it was hungry for the blood. It wanted to live.
Now. Where’s the spiritual element in all this, you ask?
Beyond the miracle that one human can cut open another and repair his heart, and that this repaired person can heal and live life awhile longer, is the Great Physician who is able to transform hearts and lives. When I was young, I attended a Bible study group in which a couple of guys could play guitars and we’d often sing this version of Psalm 51:10-12:
Create in me a clean heart, O God
and renew a right spirit in me
Create in me a clean heart, O God
and renew a right spirit in me
And cast me not away from thy presence, O Lord,
take not thy Holy Spirit from me.
Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation
and renew a right spirit in me.
Godly heart-grafting, I would say. Cleansing, taking away the bad parts, restoring. The heart must be transformed before the spirit can be renewed. Sometimes a great deal of work must be done…but the Lord is able. If we let Him work. If we are hungry for it. We often think of letting Him into our hearts but it’s really more a matter of offering our hearts—battered, damaged, tangled, sick as they may be—to Him. He knows exactly what is needed. Psalm 51 is the cry of David’s heart after Nathan the prophet confronted him with his adultery and murder. It can be the cry of any of our hearts as we place them in the healing hands of Almighty God, craving His mercy.
I rejoice that my husband lives, that he was made well, that the hospital and the EMTs are the best around.
I rejoice more that the Lord forgives and heals hearts and spirits. He works on my own, daily. He is the physician and the pillow, the healer and the comforter. The ultimate heart-hugger. He is the best place to be.
Not to mention that His own mortality record is unsurpassable.
Putting on awe
Funny how I ordered “awe”
and when it finally came and I put it on,
that very night
I dreamed
of finding my grandparents’ old car
the ’64 Ford Galaxie 500.
It was restored
shining, fire engine red, beautiful
and I drove it home
(of course I’d just been
writing poems about this car, so…)
but in this same dream
on the night I first wore “awe”
I left the Galaxie in the parking lot
and the light turned gray
like it does right before dawn
and I heard one lone cicada rattle
one of my favorite sounds in all the world
again connected to my grandparents
and summers at their country home
except in the dream, I knew it was January
and it is a miracle, isn’t it,
to hear a cicada in winter…
don’t ask how I ended up in the backyard
-this part of the dream is erased, alas-
but I found myself standing in the grayness,
facing the woods,
watching a bright red cardinal
feeding in the grass
maybe because I’d actually seen one doing that
earlier in the day
of course, this was Grandma’s favorite bird
-I am sensing a theme-
then, then, a little bird was flying
zigzagging overhead
so I called to it,
held out my hand,
and it LANDED THERE,
right in my outstretched palm.
I could feel its tiny feet,
its tiny beating heart…
I spoke to it, and it flew off…
but I was not sad,
just amazed
and filled with joy
all this I dreamed,
the very I night
the awe I ordered arrived
and I put it on.
Micah smiles
a tritina, with love – Franna
How you make me smile,
your sweet head adorned with ribbon,
eyes glimmering with light.
Such a celestial interplay of light
across your face when you smile,
recognition just beginning to ribbon.
Gift of my life, tied with ribbon.
I’m dissolved by the light
of this angelic smile.
Your smile, a ribbon of light in my soul.
Micah, three months old
At 100 years old…
If you are in kindergarten or first grade, the 100th day of school is a big deal.
You get to count a hundred beads or macaroni or sundry items.
You get to dress up as an old person.
You get to imagine what you would do at 100 years old.
Such as my kindergarten granddaughter did:
Check out the old-lady perm
“Always fun going through this kid’s backpack,” says her mom.
*******
–with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the weekly Slice of Life Story Writing Challenge.
At 100 years old, I will still be writing.
And not perming my hair.
Sunday is a stillness
Sunday is a stillness
in my week
not restful
for a pastor’s family
but restorative
and right
the church standing tall
like a father
doors like open arms
welcoming the penitent child
wrapping me
in belonging
Sunday is a stillness
in my spirit
ever how fierce or frayed
ever how dismayed
like a calming infusion
like a healing balm
the stillness seeps
so deep, so deep
for in all the unholiness
the holy remains
Sunday is a stillness
in my life
for the living
for the forgiving
for the remembering
for the mattering
for my walking in the footsteps
of those who walked before me
in the rhythms of grace
singing old songs of belief
through all our yesterdays
until our eternal Sunday
comes at last.
A game played long ago
This morning I woke to the sounds of wind gusts and snowflakes striking the window…brought back the memory of my oldest boy and a game we played long ago. A pantoum:
A game played long ago:
Little boy crawling into bed, whispering
“The North Wind will blow,
we will have snow!”
Little boy crawling into bed, whispering
“It’s so cold—I can’t get warm.
We will have snow!
Let me sleep here in your arms.”
“It’s so cold—I can’t get warm.
Until I am grown and gone,
let me sleep here in your arms”
—the memory of these moments!
Until I am dead and gone
the North Wind will blow
the memory of these moments,
a game played long ago.
The learning fire
cold cold classroom
how can anyone learn
teacher, wrapped in a blanket
kids wearing their coats
the teacher lights a fire
as good teachers always do
in some way or another
even if this one gives no warmth
it calms them, she says,
just the sound of it
popping and sparking—
like magic, the children get to work
the fire blazes, there on the screen
bright and merry, not consuming
—if not brought by Prometheus himself,
certainly sent through his Board
Lulling the learning: A Promethean Board casts its calming spell
in a cold classroom while the heat is repaired.
lit bits and pieces 