An Unexpected Love Note

Sometimes God sends love notes in sweet and unexpected ways. Here's how I got one this afternoon. Hang on for the ride...I'm going to be really honest about what a difficult time I was having.

So I was feeling physically and emotionally exhausted (it's been a hard few weeks of cancer treatment) and also sad and alone, and I decided to go into my tiny new study which is still piled high with boxes of books and files from the move. The study hasn't been a priority because kitchen, bathrooms, and other mutual living spaces have felt a lot more important to organize first. 

Tired as I was, I decided to give myself fifteen minutes to do some unpacking, but got caught up in the piles. I found myself smiling over some old books and papers because they represent so many things I have spent years loving and doing: writing, teaching, missions, ministry, homeschooling, theology, church history, poetry, fiction. At the same time, some of the piles made me sad...projects long finished, or projects never finished, all accompanied by a deep melancholy wondering over whether or not I have spent my time wisely and whether I will ever have enough energy or time again to devote to any of these things the way I would like to.

 

An hour or more into what should have been fifteen minutes, I found myself wanting a piece of chocolate (time to ward off dementors!) but tried not to give in because a) I'd already had a tiny one earlier, b) chocolate has phosphorous, and I am supposed to be keeping my phosphorous as low as possible right now, and c) I've lost my sense of taste almost completely again, so I knew that it wouldn't really taste like chocolate, except in my imagination. 

The only break I took came in the middle when my fourteen year old came in, feeling super stressed over an algebra lesson and a lack of time management, and instead of gently helping her in a peaceful way, I let her stress trigger mine that was already bubbling toward the surface, and I lost my patience. I had told her not to do a second lesson, but she hadn't listened. And she was doing a second lesson to avoid something else she needed to do. All of which made sense, except....losing my patience with her simply made me lose it more with myself, and I felt terrible inside over the fact that I was letting cancer and discomfort and stress take over instead of keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus.

I had been piling one set of files onto a rather precarious perch, and in my stress, I didn't realize how high the pile had gotten, and the whole mountain of stuff went crashing to the floor. My daughter, back on the other side of her door, called out, "Mom, are you okay?" and I called back an automatic "yes," and then just stood there for a minute. For some reason, it felt like the last straw. I looked down at that mess of papers, some of them worth keeping, some of them not, and I didn't think I could find the energy to pick them up, much less sort through them. Tears threatened, and my hands hovered near my face as I tried to calm my breathing.  I told myself they were just papers, most of them destined for recycling, and all I needed to do for now was find the energy to bend over on my achey legs and pick them all up. 

 

So I calmed down and bent over and started shuffling them together, and then I saw that a little square piece of paper had disengaged from the rest and fluttered off. I picked it up and saw that it was written in my husband's hand-writing. I recognized it right away because in the first years of our marriage, he would write or draw me a small-sized note like this every single work day and tuck it inside my lunch bag. This was during our first five married years, before we moved here to go to seminary.

 

I have no idea precisely when he wrote this particular one or why he chose the words when he chose them over twenty years ago, but they found me again today, floating down from the piles of files inside an old box.

 

And this is what they said:

 

Fear not, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters 

I will be with you;

And through the rivers, they shall not

overwhelm you;

When you walk through fire

you shall not be burned,

And the flame shall not 

consume you...

because you are precious in my eyes,

and honored, and I love you.

 

~Isaiah 43 

 

I felt a little bit like the woman in the Disney short film "Paperman" when the paper airplane with the kiss on it finds her on the street and leads her on a merry, wind-swept chase to the one who sent it in the first place. I looked at that love-note, and then I took it into the bedroom and tucked it into the corner of my dresser mirror. I love my husband, and I love the Lord who gave him the life-giving words I needed then and needed even more now.

 

What are the chances that this is the note that would float free today and find its way to me? These things happen in God's beautiful way, in his kingdom-kindness.  

St. Theresa of Avila and Trevor Hudson (on Souls, Gardens, and a Loving God)

I'm reading my way somewhat slowly through Majestic is Your Name: A 40-Day Journey in the Company of Theresa of Avila. I say somewhat slowly because I'm not doing it daily, and during the worst craziness of our move (and we're still unpacking) I missed a bunch of days. But I am over half-way through now, and I continue to find that my heart resonates with this great Carmelite teacher. (I've been realizing that I've always had a love for the Carmelites, but I'll save that insight for another post.)

Today's beautiful devotional included these words from St. Theresa, excerpted from her Life:

"When you enter into the spiritual life through the gateway of prayer, you would do well to see yourself as one who has set out to create a garden.

This garden is a place wherein our Lord wants to come and walk and to take pleasure...His Majesty wants to uproot the weeds and plant in this garden many fruitful and fragrant and blossoming plants. You may take it for granted that the Lord is already afoot, walking in His garden, if you have had any desire to seek him in prayer, for He always calls to us first and it is His voice we hear when we think it is our desire to pray.

If we want to be good gardeners of this new-sown soul, we must, with God's help, see to it that the good plantings are tended and grow -- and I am speaking now of the godly virtues. At very least, we must see that these good things are not neglected and die. Rather, we tend our souls carefully so that the first blossoms appear.

These are the spiritual "fragrances" that begin to rise from our lives -- the fragrances of faith, goodness, self-control, love, and the like. By them, many, many others are refreshed in spirit and attracted to the Lord...Then our Lord himself comes to walk in the midst of our garden. And it is all our joy to sense that He is there, taking pleasure in these lovely virtues."

I love this whole extended metaphor! (And quick side-note to poetic self, a slip of my neuropathied fingers made me realize that "soil" and "soul" are just one letter off.) I love the expression "fragrances of faith..." and that the purpose of the growing of good things is our lives is at least threefold: for our Lord's pleasure, for our own growth and joy, and for the refreshment of others that they may be drawn to the loving Lord and King we know.

I also love how the Lord, in his goodness, has this meditation dancing in my heart and mind today along with another meditation I've been contemplating for a few days, from Trevor Hudson's book Beyond Loneliness: The Gift of God's Friendship. I've been slowly working my way through the second chapter there, entitled "God's Passionate Longing for Friendship" in which he makes a couple of wonderful points. One is that God, of course, already has passionate and beautiful friendship within the triune Godhead. He did not create us because he *needed* friendship, but because he wanted it. He created us not out of need, but out of "the abundance of this divine relational life." He wants us to know that life, and so he invites us into it. And he takes the initiative to do this.

Where do we first see this? In the garden, the first garden, where we see the very first question in the Scriptures. The question is "where are you?" and God asks it of Adam and Eve when they hide from him after sinning because they are afraid.

I remember my daughter, when we read this story together when she was very little, asking me "why did God ask them that?" I think she was five or six at the time, and it already occurred to her very young mind that it seems like an odd question for the God of the universe to be asking. I remember her pointing out that God, being God, would know where they were. And it's true. He would also know why they were hiding. So why does he ask? As Hudson points out, he asks because

"even when we mess up, when we let ourselves down, when we fail to obey God, God does not reject us. Nor does God give up on us. Rather God comes looking for us. God continues to pursue our companionship. God knows the worst about us, but that knowledge does not prevent God from taking the initiative in reaching out to us. Here is the bottom line of God's good news: Nothing can ever extinguish the flame of God's passionate longing to be our friend."

Let's hear that last line again, and let's put it in bold: Nothing can ever extinguish the flame of God's passionate longing to be our friend. Can you hear that truth on this wintry Advent evening, during a season of life and love and light in the midst of darkness? God longs for us. And he longs to walk with us in the beautiful garden that together with him, we can create of our lives. He didn't have to go looking for Adam and Eve. But he did, because that is who he is, and has been, from all eternity. Jesus revealed God's heart to us even further when he gave us the picture of the Good Shepherd who went in pursuit of the one sheep who had wandered off from the fold.

Contemplate that amazing heart of God this Christmas. Contemplate that the loving heart that went to the cross has always, from the beginning of time, come looking for us when we are lost. That he does that for you, for me, and for every single person who ever lived. There is no one beyond the reach of that grace, no one he doesn't long to find and bring back into a close walk with him in a beautiful garden. When we know this with all our heart, it will shine forth from us in gospel beauty, refreshing others and attracting them to his heart. That's why we're here on earth, and for no other, deeper reason, I am coming to believe. We are here to learn to walk with him and to draw others into that loving walk.

God's Beautiful Design

Today was a long, hard, but in many ways good day. I am exhausted this evening and know this will be short, but I did feel like writing.

I spent the day downtown: first, visiting with my dear friend Erin, who went through surgery yesterday where she had a number of cancerous tumors removed; second, getting my second of three brain radiation treatments; and third, having an appointment with an ENT about the terrible pain, pressure, and fluid in my ear.

All of that put together, with a lunch in there somewhere with my precious husband, was wonderful in some ways, sad in others, and just plain tiring overall to this very tired body. I spent most of our way into town this morning crying because the bright sunlight, so beautiful on the autumn trees, was triggering headaches (which can happen sometimes right now). I spent other parts of the day smiling: over Erin's sweet grogginess and the chance we had to hug each other and the opportunity I had to pray for her; over my radiologist Anthony's kind chuckle and pleasant spirit; over the kindness of my husband every time I melted into tears after this hard week in my own cancer journey; over the compassion and care of various doctors and nurses and restaurant workers along the way; over the beauty of red leaves on bushes; and yes, over the beautiful photograph of a butterfly in the exam room at my ENT's office.

I was in the room for quite a while since they were trying to get in touch with my neurosurgeon, and I spent that time looking at the photo and contemplating the beauty of the butterfly. I'm not sure what kind if was, but it was mostly black with teal spots on its wings. As I meditated on this lovely creature, I found myself looking back and forth between the two wings and noticing the symmetry between the patterns on each side of its body. I found myself realizing how much they looked like a painter's carefully composed strokes. And I found myself wondering, not for the first time in my life, "How can someone look at a creature like this and not see grand design?"

Even in the midst of the worst pain and suffering of my life this year, I am grateful to find moments where I am reminded of the beauty and grace of God's loving design. I felt it today in notes from friends, in the butterfly's wings, in the words God sent to me on the radiation table when I was praying for protection from the radiation (asking him to help it do all it needed to do but not to harm me in any way) -- that last was kind of comical, because Anthony had spent a while needing to tip my head up to get the mask set right around my chin, and when I asked the Lord for words to meditate on as I prayed for protection, what did he send me? "Thou oh Lord, art a shield about me, you're my glory and the lifter of my head!" (Psalm 3:3) I saw his design in the craft tables set out in the hospital cafe space, where I ran across a craftswoman who had created a beautiful card and key chain with the EXACT verse that the Lord gave me when I first discovered I had cancer last February: "The Lord will fight for you -- you need only to be still" (Exodus 14:14). I needed that word again today; I truly needed it.

There are times, I will confess, when right now I feel like my life is filled with chaos. I do not understand why I am so sick, or why others I love are so sick, and why our nation and world are in such pain. I do not understand why all these things are allowed by the God I love. I do not understand everything he is teaching me through it.

But I know he is keeping me upright. And I know his design is beautiful, loving, and true, even if right now all I see are the tangled threads on the back side of the tapestry. One day it will be flipped over for me, and I will see it in the light of his countenance, the whole beautiful, glowing, golden design. Until then, I will just keep trusting him and holding his hand. And I will keep looking for grace notes.

It Takes Courage....

Mrs. B's Centennial

A couple of weeks ago, on the 12th of October, it was the 100th birthday of dear Mrs. Brooks, the neighbor and lifelong family friend who shared Jesus with me when I was a little girl.

Mrs. B, as I grew up thinking of her, is a precious saint. She was not only instrumental in leading me to faith, but in influencing and loving most of my family in Jesus' direction. When my mother, spiritually hungry and looking for help in understanding God, went to her door years ago to find out about the Bible clubs Mrs. B had for neighborhood kids, Mrs. B invited her to come see for herself what it was all about. That invitation, and her gentle teaching and loving presence, made all the difference in the life of our family. I will be forever grateful that she was the one who scattered gospel seeds and helped to water them for so many years.

I have no idea how many other lives and families Mrs. B touched over the years, but I would guess it is beyond counting. She taught Bible clubs for decades. She and her kind husband, Clifton (who always reminded me a gentler real-life version of Fred Flintstone) were known for their loving and generous friendship to many. Just as one example, when I was a pre-schooler, they once took care of me for a whole week during the day-time when my mother was in the hospital and then recovering from surgery. For a child who had not grown up located near grandparents, this was heady stuff. I still remember Mrs B scrambling eggs for my breakfast and adding bacon bits to them, Mr B pushing me in the cart at the grocery store, and Mrs. B laughing as she made me peanut butter sandwiches (hers were the best, I apparently proclaimed, because she spread the peanut butter right to the edges).

Both of my sisters eventually taught during the summers with CEF, the organization Mrs B was a part of. Although I never did their summer program, I did end up working with Mrs B in a Bible club when I was a teenager. She had decided to teach some refugee children from Cambodia who had moved into the neighborhood and she asked me to help. We couldn't speak their language and they could speak only a little of ours, but she loved on those kids with Jesus love and I followed along in her wake, happy to watch and learn.

Loving others in her gentle way has always been what Mrs B does best, and it's why her quiet voice, speaking the truth of the gospel, has always carried such weight. During my first couple of college vacations, I went with my mom and Mrs B to a program that Mrs. B regularly taught in. It was a detention center for juvenile girls who had gotten in trouble with the law, and Mrs B thought it would be good if someone closer to the girls' age could share a testimony with them. Introvert that I am (never a public speaker), I went because she asked, and I did my best to share as honestly and lovingly as she had shared with me. And I watched as those teen girls, hip and cool and insecure and in pain, swarmed around her after the Bible lesson she taught, just wanting to be with her. Some of them called her Grandma.

Mrs. B has outlived her dear Clifton (though he lived to be near 90, I think) and has even outlived one of her children, her pastor son who sadly died unexpectedly of a heart attack several years ago. She now lives in a nursing home where she can get the daily care she needs. It's not hard for me to imagine her bathing everyone there in the same gentle love she's always shone on everyone she's come into contact with.

I didn't know what image to put on the card I made for her birthday. I finally chose this:

I had seen this painting no long ago on the "I Require Art" blog. It's a painting called "Yellow Sycamore in Autumn," painted by Edgar Payne. I thought the wonderful spreading shelter of the tree, and its bright color and stage of life, seemed to capture so much of what I felt when I thought of Mrs B and all the beauty she's shared in her hundred years. Right down to that blue patch of sky...like a window where you can glimpse heaven.

When I went to write down the specifics of the painting so I could put them on the back of the card (something I always try to do when using an artistic image) I almost laughed aloud. Payne painted this in 1916. It's 99 years old...painted when Mrs B was just a tiny girl of 1.

A Truly Beautiful Sunset

Truly one of the most beautiful sunsets ever! I took this at Presque Isle last week.

Emily Dickinson: Autumn

I always think of Emily's autumn poem this time of year. You know the one, which ends:


The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

Can't you just picture her in her long white dress, primping before the mirror with a mischievous smile? Not to be outdone by the dazzling colors of the New England autumn landscape, she reaches into her jewelry box for a favorite pin. I always imagine it as ruby red or golden amber. 

Time for a Lovely Stop

The sweet girl and I were taking a walk the other day when she came to a sudden halt on the sidewalk. "Mom, stop! Look at that!" she exclaimed.

I looked, and realized that a beautiful autumn tree, a brightly colored maple, is what had brought her to a standstill.  I stopped too, and stood there for a moment just gazing at its beauty.

She sighed. "Sometimes," she said, "you just need to make a lovely stop."

Amen to that! 

Offering (An Original Poem)

This morning
I awoke
wanting to give you roses --
wanting to lay beauty
at your feet
in thanksgiving
and awe
for all you've given me.

Sometimes
it strikes me as strange
that I long to give
flowers
to the One
who made the fields
but then I realize --
you also made me
and made my heart
long to give
and made my eyes
for drinking beauty.

May my life
be filled
with giving moments
and with roses --
may each small act
of patience, kindness,
be a stem,
each loving,
forgiving moment
a smooth petal,
each bend in the road
I meet with joy
and hope and peace
a chance to bend
and fling
another tiny,
lovely offering
to the King of everything.

~EMP (2012/2014) 

The Roar on the Other Side

The seventh day of school found me wanting to shake things up a bit by adding some poetry into the mix. I’m pretty much always wanting to add in poetry (reading it, writing it) but these days S’ schedule is so packed, it can be hard to do. I hit upon the idea of tying a writing exercise into eating, and we did it over lunch.

I’ve long been excited about Suzanne U. Clark’s book The Roar on the Other Side: A Guide for Student Poets. I didn’t buy it, originally, as a homeschool book. I bought it because I consider myself a student poet. I’ve read it and enjoyed its prompts, meditations on the poetic arts, and great collection of poems for several years. When it dawned on me that it might be a good year to incorporate some of it into our home learning, I got quite excited.

One of the first “stepping stone” exercises that Clark includes in her first chapter, which has to do with the importance of noticing/seeing, is to write a journal entry describing an ordinary piece of fruit. I love these kinds of exercises that compel you to look at something “common” that you’ve seen a thousand times, but to look at it thoughtfully, slowly, and carefully, using all your senses. That’s what S. and I did at the lunch table with a peach today. We called it “mindful eating,” and by the time we were done, we not only each had a journal entry and a poem draft (S. really wanted to go on and play with writing a poem based on her descriptive notes) but we’d thoroughly and completely enjoyed all the juicy slices of that peach.

I’d almost forgotten that we had a small peach tree in my backyard for a number of years when I was growing up. Smelling and holding the peach, I let my mind wander to associations, and suddenly I recalled the golden color of the knobby bark and the smell of ripened peaches in the grass (we never seemed to harvest many, since the squirrels beat us to them).

I love how such a thoughtful exercise can be so many things at once: a break for hearts and minds in the middle of a busy day, a lesson in observing and writing, nourishing time spent together, food for the soul.

Of Cottonwoods and Mallorn Trees

We had a beautiful long weekend in Erie. We spent almost every moment we could outdoors, from drives on the peninsula to shore time by the lake to playtime on the sweet girl's favorite sandy playground to s'mores around our trailer-side firepit at the campgrounds in the evening. We also got to see wonderful friends for dinner on two successive nights. Despite some stressed moments (we continue to be very concerned about D's mom's deteriorating health and will be making another trip soon to see her) and our usual sparse accommodations in the trailer (made even more rustic this year since they'd opted to improve the bathroom facilities but take out the shower) we really had a lovely time.

One of my favorite parts of the beautiful flora and fauna on Presque Isle are the cottonwood trees that seem to grow everywhere. These are tall, beautiful trees that rustle with a hushed music in the frequently strong winds. It was the sweet girl who pointed out that the back of the green leaves seemed to shimmer with silver -- the leaves are a kind of greenish-gray. Coupled with the few eager leaves already turning yellow in anticipation of the autumn, there was a lovely silver-gold quality to some of the trees. It made us think of the Mallorn trees of Lothlorien, and S. and I ended up calling them Lothlorien trees every time we traipsed under another stand of them near the beach.

I love seeing S. learn to love Tolkien. We're nearing the end of The Two Towers, and every time Tolkien stops to describe the phase of the moon and the quality/timing of its light, she practically shivers with delight. I love that our daughter, so like us and yet so uniquely her own self, loves him as much for his scientific accuracy as she does for his poetry. She is so impressed that here, at last, is an author who cares about those kinds of details!

Happy Landings

Summer seems to be flying by. I'm writing a lot...just not here. I miss blogging and hope to get back to it more regularly soon.

In the meantime, for the first time in quite a while, I looked over my blog stats. I always find it especially fun to see what searches bring people to this space. Tonight, it made me laugh with delight to see some of the recent reasons people landed here. I love that people find my words because they're looking for:

Jessica Powers poetry
Hydrangeas
Emily Dickinson poetry
Renoir
Austen
Alcott

And...oh yes...Veggie Tales.

It truly makes me happy to know when people are searching for beauty via poetry, art, novels, and flowers (not to mention talking vegetables) they land here.

Keep coming back. More beauty soon.

Bits of beauty (birthday edition)

Our family made its annual trek to the conservatory in late March, courtesy of my parents, in honor of my birthday. As always, I like to share some of the beauty of the day here.

These pale, melon-colored tulips were so lovely.

But I love so much at the Phipps, including the simple, ordinary ivy climbing up the brick walls...

and the magnolia bud in the Asian garden area. Last year, it was blooming already. This year, just full of promise.

Snowdays: Links We Love

This morning the sweet girl and I decided to snip some snowflakes, and I went looking online for some easy patterns to follow. I've never been a very confident snowflake cutter, but I had a feeling today would be a good day to experiment.

The sweet girl has been on a very long paper creating kick. Well, she's always loved crafting with paper, but this particular folding kick started months ago when she made her first paper airplane. Numerous books from the library and packs of paper later, and she's become a pretty adept folder, so I had a feeling learning a snowflake fold would be easy and fun. It turns out it was. I found a pattern for a six point flake, she gave me some good tips, and away we went.

We found two great sites I'd like to pass on. You'll find them at the links. There's Snow Crystals, which has some great science as well as other fun activities, and Snowdays, a super creative site where you can virtually cut snowflakes of all sorts. You add your name and location, they assign your snowflake a number (so you can search for and find it again) and then it gets added to the constantly falling snow on their homepage. You can email flakes to friends, print pictures of the flakes you create, and more. So much fun!

Responding to God in the New Year

I pray that anyone reading this is having a blessed new year's day, a refreshing time to look back with gratitude on the past year (even if it was a difficult one) and to reflect on hopes and goals for the new year. Here we are at 2013!

 When I began this blog in 2006, almost exactly seven years ago, I had no idea that I would still be posting my thoughts here this far down the road. Although I do not always post as often as I used to, it's still a place where I enjoy coming to share creativity, struggles, prayers, inspiration, and of course lots and lots of good book recommendations.

One thing I hope to do this year is both a writing/creativity goal and a spiritual one (so often those two come bundled together). I have been thinking about the many things that often "come my way" in the course of each day, be it a lovely photograph on Facebook, something I've read online, in a book, or in the Scriptures, or just the ordinary thoughtful moments of family life and friendship. I'm hoping to maintain the discipline of writing something small each day, usually a poem or prayer, in response to whatever God opens my eyes to that particular day...whatever it may be. I hope to share bits of that "day book" here in the coming year.

I also plan to compile my list of favorite books from 2012 sometime this month, once I get past the sinus infection I'm recovering from -- and get back into some semblance of school and work routine following the holidays.

Whatever your goals and hopes are for the coming year, I pray that your eyes will be opened more and more to the riches of God's grace, goodness and mercy. The year is still like a day of new fallen snow...hardly any tracks yet, and so many beautiful miles to go.

Look What We Grew! (100 Species Challenge #s 14 & 15: Zinnias and Cosmos)

Zinnias (plantae asteraceae) so vibrant, have long been one of my favorite "easy-to-grow" garden flowers. This year I accidentally picked up a package of larger variety seeds. The results have been stunning, with this huge beauty the most gorgeous so far.

We also planted cosmos this year (they also belong to the asteraceae family) and they are so lovely, especially their feathery green leaves.

Just Because...

Just because...
I needed some beauty in this day and thought you might too.

Just because...
I forgot to post my annual flower photos from my birthday trip to the conservatory back in March. (This is one of many I took that day...)

Just because...
I recently remembered how much I love cymbidium orchids.

Just because...
you can never have enough flowers.

The Annual Crocus Poem

I woke this morning to a long, beautiful, spring-like rain and some lovely silver light. And to the happy knowledge that we had crocuses in a tiny green vase on the kitchen table.

Yes, we spotted our first crocuses yesterday (and the sweet girl found a patch that looked as though they were growing wild/belonging to no one, so I let her pick a few). The first crocus spotting is always cause for deep rejoicing in my soul. It's also cause for a crocus-sized poem. Here's this year's.

Happy leaping today!

*****

Thirty-two crocuses dressed up for spring
are clumped in a chorus and ready to sing.
Their melodies burst from deep inside.
Their golden throats are open wide.

~EMP, 2/28/12

*****

How Words Work

I've got a handful of posts in the pipeline, but life is doing that funny thing it sometimes does...getting in the way of blogging. Imagine!

Words keep being on my mind though. The way we use them wisely, the way we don't. How they can give life and hope and spark creativity and form connections. How they can wound or trivialize. How much I need them in my life, and how much I still have to learn about crafting them and using them well.

The other day I was reading a bit from Leonard Sweet's book Aqua Church as I prepped for a discipleship group with the teen girls at church. He loves to weave quotes and bits of poems into his reflections, and I stumbled upon a stanza I'd never read but which spoke to my heart. I quoted a line from it as my FB status. A friend asked me what it was from. I told her, and she went looking for the whole poem (it was from a book published in 1900!) and posted all several beautiful, hope-filled stanzas. She's been grieving the death of her brother, and the poem touched her heart. I watched as other people commented on the poem, sensing the comfort and beauty in the words, and then I saw one of them say they were passing it on to a grieving friend.

Do you ever marvel at the way words form a web? I often think about poetry and stories as long, ongoing conversations, but sometimes that firms up in front of our eyes in unexpected ways. An author over a century ago pens a prayer poem. An author several years ago excerpts it in his book. I read the words and they touch me so I pass that on. My friend is so touched she goes looking for deeper context and more of the poem. She passes it on to someone who passes it on to someone and...more people are blessed.

This is how words work at their best. They fly like birds and blow about like leaves, like seeds. They're messages in bottles and scrawled notes in balloons (something my elementary school did once, years ago in the pre-green days...we wrote messages and then released them in balloons, waiting to see if we would hear back from those who found them).

As writers and teachers we can choose our words carefully, shape them wisely and beautifully (we hope) but ultimately we send them out there into the world. And they do their thing, connecting hearts and minds and sometimes ending up in surprising places.

Excavating Treasures

My week has had a strange rhythm. Household tasks (cleaning, organizing), lesson planning and trying to figure out the shape of my fall, lots of Penderwicks on audio (the sweet girl has fallen head over heels for the entire series), with VBS happening in the evenings. No other week this summer will look or feel quite like this one.

The organizing in our laundry room ~ which doubles as a sort of attic space/catch-all ~ has been interesting. I found a stash of papers that I clearly pulled from boxes a long time ago, probably during some other organizing season in my life, with the intention of doing something with them. I still haven't done much with them, beyond sorting through to see what's mine, what's D's, what needs to be filed for practical purposes (if anything at this late date) and what can go straight to recycling. It's an odd bunch of papers, ranging from receipts and other bits and pieces of ephemera to articles printed from the internet, snippets of poems I worked on a few years back, and scribbled drawings by the sweet girl at different ages.

It feels a little bit like excavating your life to come across things like this. I had a similar feeling earlier this summer when I went through some boxes of things I'd stored in my sister's attic during college, twenty plus years ago. Only that was a even stranger feeling since the layers went so much deeper.

Except for a few pages that seemed to have tumbled out of a very old writing file and gotten lost, the farthest this pile stretched back was four years. I know it's four years, because I found this little poem I wrote when the sweet girl was in kindergarten and learning to write her letters:

Learning to Write an "S"

I'm sketching a snake
who likes to skate
across my slate.

I also found essays by Kathleen Norris, poems by Li Young Lee, obituaries of and tributes to Madeleine L'Engle, annotated pages on John Granger's thoughts on postmodernism, and recipes for winter squash.

Tired and ear-achey as I am (and that's part of this week's rhythm too) I had to smile over all these treasures.