blocks

I have writers block. It's not nearly as fun as lincoln logs, legos or those wooden shapes. In fact, it's not a toy at all.

In my attempt to try and make something bigger of my love of writing, I found some contests in which to enter my work. Bravado took hold and I envisioned lovingly cradling the works of my mind in my hands, before handing them off to be critiqued. No sooner had I confidently envisioned this than a masked bandit came by and swiped my brain. I watched helplessly as he stuffed my thoughts into a plastic sack then ran off into the night. For a time, I felt defeated. And now, much hand wringing later, I find myself ready to seek out this crafty pillager and take back what it is mine.

Help!

for the sufferer

I watch you suffer.

Oh, how it hurts.

I am angry. I want to fight back against the injustice you face. The battle. The journey. The weight of the load. The tears you've cried.

And while you trust God's sovereignty, you press on, press in, fighting tirelessly for hope.

Please know I pray for you.

Take heart.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty."

Psalms 91:1



morning

From my padded deck chair I can see morning. Not the morning I usually see, the bars and gates of city living made alive by the bright faces of new blooms in my garden and sweet warbles of birds. I'm thankful for those birds, they escort my mind to a place far above the rumble of cars and mufflerless motorcycles, the growly engines of the occasional early mower, the incessant clamor of barking dogs. From my little city lot I  take what I can get, but I still dream of morning.

Today is different, special. Today I see morning in all its splendor. And I rejoice.

Morning.That glorious time when night and day make a mysterious exchange. When the covering of blackness give way and darkness is swallowed up in light. Slowly the sky melts. The world awakes, the little beings that inhabit the sheer beauty of God's creation rub the sleep from their eyes and go about the work of the day. They begin with song, praises echoing forth from their small throats in harmony with the others who share this space. A melodious chorus with an occasional solo. They usher in beauty with beauty.

Fresh faced beams hover behind the edge of view sending forth a canopy that illuminates the blue above. A row of pinetrees line the lake, framing the inland sea as if it were a mirror, the water as smooth as glass. The tips of the pinetrees glow, as if lit by fire, the branches below still dark. Dew drops have bathed all within reach, as if to clean yesterday from the surface of the world in preparation for today. A chipmunk runs past, stopping to observe the stranger in his midst. The call of the loons echo hauntingly.

I open my Bible and read Psalms, resonating with the prose of David's heart. Surrounded by God's handiwork, I experience the words more deeply. His majesty echoes from the words in my lap and the world I see at the same wondrous time.

From my chair on the porch I watch the day unfold. Hours pass and I'm unsure of whether I should keep my eyes open or close them and simply listen to the world awaken. I am captured by this beauty and simplicity in amazement of the grand design and execution. The Artist paints a masterpiece.

Unable to wait a moment longer light breaks forth, the sun lifts its head above the treeline and fills the world with gold. The ground, the air are colored in a honeyed hue. The sunkissed landscape shimmers And I catch my breath, the beauty of the past hours a prelude to this glory.

In the suns presence, the fragrance of the morning changes. The thick, damp air dries in the sun like laundry on the line. In its place, the pure aroma of light.

The chill of night packs its bags and heads home as the warmth of the sun fills the day. I center my face in its glow and feel its kiss, my feet still chilly in the shade of the porch post. The day will be warm, I can feel it.

Slowly emerging from its hiding place, morning has thrown open the shutters and welcomed the day. Day has come and with it the sound of feet padding down the hall, a chainsaw in the distance, the coffeemaker steaming out a rich, dark brew, sleepy eyed conversations. The chorus of nature bursts forth, as if the music it performs gave a crescendo. Wind whispers through the pines. Acorns pop and snap as they fall from the trees and land on the ground below.

Day. The performance has ended, yet just begun.

"Lord, you have been our Dwelling place in all generations.

 Before the mountains were born, 

or You gave birth to the earth and the world,

even from everlasting to everlasting,

You are God."

Psalm 90:1-2

smart guy

Evie wasn't so sure she wanted to visit Paul Bunyan-land.

"Paul Bunyan is a really big man who knows your name," Daddy explained,"should we go there?"
"No," she said.
"It will be so fun," Daddy said, "Why don't you want to go?"
"Because he's a really smart guy," she said.

So we told her all about the rides and tractors and animals and she, despite still feeling timid about Paul, the smart guy, decided she might like to try it out. So, we did.

"Hello EEEvie," said Paul.

She froze, her eyes wide with terror. 

Remember these?

I got excited over a trash can.

I took a picture.

My traveling companions laughed at me.

I'm a bit quite sentimental and I'm okay with that.

Paul and his lady friend.

Prehended by a Peli-can

Do you ever wonder how the dinosaurs became extinct?

Paul Bunyan took care of them.

Thanks, Paul.

Pretty girl in the schoolhouse mirror.

Remember these slides?

Shiny metal. Tall. No sides. Dangerous.

Heh.

Our motley crew.

(Complete with 3 year-old who has a new

love of creative expressions)

View from the top

The rollercoaster to beat all.

Literally.

So painful.

two-step tuesday

It rained. What a glorious sight!



The gentle pitter of little drops quenched the sighs of a thirsting world 

and gathered in a little puddle beside the garage.

It called her name. 

She danced with the raindrops. A jumping, stomping, splashing sort of dance.

Raindrops make good playmates.

She sat in the pool then tipped her head forward to soak up the muddy swirls with her golden locks. We bid our little pool goodbye, stopping to pour back what had gathered in the toes of the rain boots.

One dry skirt later and off we went, the pitiful song of our barren cupboards ringing in our ears. "To the grocery store!" we sang, our list in hand.

It was productive, pleasant, really, and bag fulls of God's bounty filled our trunk.

We pulled in the drive, my phone rang and I cheered with the sound of my mother's voice. 

Distracted, I emptied the car and closed the trunk, leaving my mind and my keys inside.

 I rang my knight-in-shining-armor.

He answered and sounded very happy to come rescue us.

So we danced in the raindrops, our groceries dry beneath the eave.

We waited.

What a welcome sight!

Evie begged him stay and he melted, his heart torn by the duty that called and those brown eyes. We savored those moments. Laughing at the misfortune that brought us togetherness in the middle of the day and dancing to the tune of big band swing. "Dance with me, daddy," she pleaded.

So he did.

He drove away.

We settled back into the routine of the day, a two-step Tuesday.

laugh-a-doodle

Is it even legal to post on a blog twice in the same day?

Probably not.

I've already driven above the posted speed limit. Eaten whipping cream over raspberries three times. Visited Target two separate times. I'm breaking all the rules today.Why stop now...

***

The curly topped fairy made me laugh so much today, more than is probably good for a person. In case you haven't reached your funny limit for the day I thought I might help...

The floor beneath our dining room table is dangerous. Dangerously crummy. And I threatened to vacuum it. "No!" she cried,"If you vacuum it I will run away! (long thoughtful pause) Could you please use a silent vacuum?"

Evie and Daddy are working together to memorize Psalm 103. "Bless the Lord...," she says," Who forgives all your iniquilies."

Ready for a trip to Wasau, she assured me that she would pack all she needed. And this is what fills her bag...
1 pair fleecy jammies
1 sunhat
2 tank tops
1 pair of socks
1 bag of hair bows
"I'm all packed!" she declared.

Supper was finished, she was off to play while we chatted at the table for a few more minutes. We were interrupted by a cry of utter delight. "I went poopy in my potty chair!" We ran to celebrate the happy moment. But something was not right. In the corner of the room was the removed diaper, with evidence of it's previous cargo. In the potty chair was the refuse, flattened. I asked of these details, and she admitted the truth. The evidence had been planted. What the girl won't do for a little celebration...

Tantrum-splosion. Everything offended and then....a small doll in the corner caught her eye. The tears and wailing stopped. "That's for my dollhouse," she said happily, standing up from her flattened tantrum position,"I will go play with that!"

I found her blanket on the couch, the corner soaked. I asked her what happened. "A man came in and did it. And this is how it is," she said sadly.

And then she laughed herself to sleep....

color my world

It was an ordinary day with a splash of color

A quiet morning. The stillness broken by a little voice, a demanding little voice, "Mama, I need you!" "And I need you too," I whispered in her ear as she snuggled in my arms, her curly mop tickling my nose.

A hot day. The sort of hot that makes me wonder what life felt like before air conditioning. I love these hot summer days. I wait for them all winter long. But our castle on the hill has a direct view of the sun, its blazing heat merciless. We escape the fate of our hapless grass and retreat to our chilly villa.

A restless child. Held fast in the grip of the same four walls, her mind schemes of new opportunities for fun. Toys, even new ones, no longer hold the magic they once did.

A creative mama. Held fast in the grip of the same four walls, her mind works in defense against the plans of a restless and mischief loving 3 year old while trying to accomplish the tasks of the day.

Many messes later....

A box of paint. A plastic tablecloth. A stack of paper. A hand full of paintbrushes. A creative little mind. A whole jar of paint dumped in her lap. A creative mama trying to direct a paint covered child into the bathroom for cleaning up. A plethora of painted handprints on the walls from the dining room into the bathroom. A good laugh about it all.

And she colors my world.

She brings me "presents" from the gardens.

"Here, mama," she says, her smile as bright as the stems

 she clutches with muddy fingers,"I picked these just for you."

And my heart melts.

.