Melancholy New Year

I want this night to be special,
to anticipate the night,
to eagerly await,
the ringing in,
of a brand new year,
and yet,
it doesn't feel right,
with melancholy shadows,
I wait,
for nothing,
what's a new year,
but another day,
another excuse,
to “celebrate,”
when I'm not in the mood,
to throw parties,
when I'd rather just chill,
and chat with some friends.


Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: In anticipation of the night.

A Random Light

My writing for yesterday's prompt came late and is too personal to share, but for any one interested the prompt was: These are the delicacies of a ruined evening.

Today's prompt from A Writer's Book of Days is: A random light.

And that brings you a poem. I don't know what it means. It just kind of fell out of my head, so here you go:

A random light,
a star in the night,
a drop of sun,
upon a stone,
that hidden bit,
of light inside,
the special glow,
of newborn smile.

Smudges

If I tell you the truth...
Will you believe me?
Will you understand?
Or will I have to hide?
Will it be ok,
this part of me is me?
Will you see the need,
or write me off,
say it's wrong,
disallow this part of me?
Will you still respect me?
Will you still believe in me?
Will you still love me,
if you know,
I'm not all white and pure,
there's smudges on my innocent act,
and I kinda,
like them there?


Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: If I tell you the truth...

Day 3

After a long day I finally wrote. I can't share what I wrote, but I'll tell you the prompt for today was "Write about a time someone told you a secret."

"A Writer's Book" Day Two

The prompt:
Write about something sacred.

The random rambling:
The earth is sacred, the ground we walk the stars above, the pen in my hand, writing itself. Life is sacred. I could write about anything and it would be sacred, but what does sacred mean. To me it means valued, loved by God, necessary for wholeness. Anything life giving is sacred, but so are the things that take life, because without those things we couldn't see the value of the things that give life. Love is sacred. Loving is living in the sacred way of God. The sacred is both invincible and as fragile as a glass ornament. The stuff of life is sacred. Life is sacred. Books and words and feelings. Relationships. Touching the soul of another. Perhaps that touching is the most sacred of all things. When you touch somebody so deeply their very soul moves inside them. Connections are sacred. We live in a web, tied to the earth and the sky, each other, all creatures and all creation by invisible threads, and everyone of those threads is sacred. Ubuntu.


The poetry:
Sacred Threads

I
am
not
alone.

I'm tied to you,
to creation,
to the earth,
to the sky.

Connected,
bound up,
by God's love,
the sacred threads.

The ties of love,
the give and take,
the push and pull,
the stuff of life,
that makes us whole.

The sacred is knowing,
I am because you are.
Ubuntu.

Going Far

I remember eating Chinese with the Leadership Now crew. We always had good food, but that day we ate Chinese, and the fortune in my cookie was perfect. I remember reading it, and thinking it was so appropriate, so perfect, so fitting to the group I was with. I wanted to keep it forever. To always remember it and to always hold on tight to the friends I was with. It was something about friends. And something about going far. I nearly forgot it. Until a moment ago I thought I had forgot, but I think it said something like “with good friends you'll go far.” We giggled and laughed; go far we would. As we ate we were preparing for the biggest trip of my life so far. In a few months time we were in Africa. Good friends going far.

Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: “We ate Chinese.”

P.S. I'm so excited I got that book for Christmas :-D My (highly ambitious) goal is to write something for every one of the prompts this year.

Tasting the Bread

Last night my church had one child attend the Christmas Eve late service. This little girl was absolutely adorable. She looked about four, had a head full of curly hair, and spent half the service whispering to what appeared to be her mom and grandmother.

When it came time for communion everyone was invited to circle around the altar table to share the bread and juice. The little girl was antsy waiting, then didn't want to take any. When everyone returned to their seats I could hear her asking her mom "why did you taste the bread?"

Though the whispers of a four year old changed the mood of what is generally the "adult" service, I found it both adorable and thought provoking listening to her. Nearly every Christian church serves communion at least occasionally, but how many adults even don't really understand why they take communion?

So this little girls question got me thinking. Why DO we "taste the bread" at communion? If a child asked me that could I even begin to answer? Do I even have a reason for it when I take communion, or am I doing it just because that's part of what we do? If it's hard for adults to understand, how can we possibly explain communion as anything more than a snack to a child?

I can't answer all the questions. In fact I'm not sure I have any good answers, but it did make me think about what communion means to me. And I realize... sometimes I'm just going through the motions. Sometimes I take communion because that's what you're supposed to do, and it really doesn't mean anything to me. Perhaps I should be ashamed to say that is probably the case more often then not.

As often as it doesn't mean anything though there are times it does. Sometimes it is exactly what I need. Sometimes I need to be told I'm loved. I need to be told God loves me enough that it doesn't matter how much I screw up or how stupid I am God is there with open arms and a precious gift. Sometimes that simple reminder of love - love directly from God in Christ and love through all the people who hold my hand even when I doubt God is there - is exactly what I need.

So I think if I were asked "why did you taste the bread?" I would have to answer that it's a reminder of God's love. That it's a reminder God loves me and you enough to give us the most precious gift that could be given, and that there is nothing more important than sharing the love God has given to all of us.

And there's my sappy Christmas post that was surprisingly difficult to write...

Untitled

A cluster here,
a group there,
circles of friends,
cozy up inside,
against the winter chill,
they group together,
to paint a picture,
of who they are,
creating one image,
like constellations of stars,
but I'm alone,
blue as the moon.

Writing prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: "Write about winter constellations."

Ash

I hate,
how fast,
my mood,
can crash,
like snips of paper,
consumed by flames,
shadows of joy,
whither away,
leaving me empty,
dust drifting aimlessly.

Invitation

an invitation,
rejected,
stinging,
salt in a cut,
me left refused,
wishing,
I wasn't alone...


Writing prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: "Write about an invitation refused."

Succumbing

Old habits,
die hard.
I've tried to forget,
and never return.

Just one night,
stay away,
a wiser friend pleas.

He knows how I'm hurting,
it's for my own good.
One night and one more,
now repeat that again.

I've been a good girl,
stayed out of trouble,
but the lonely night taunts me.

Just this once...
Just so your not alone...
Just for a friend,
since no ones around.

I nearly succumb,
I think I want to,
until I find,
a better friend,
in just my pen.