Old Mossy Steps

“Old mossy steps know lots of secrets.”

-Old Moss Woman's Secret Garden

The old mossy steps know lots of secrets. At their base is where my childhood pals and I met to plot treasure hunts and adventures. The bottom step was the starting point of many secret missions and the tall wall on the left is where I decided to try to fly, resulting in a spectacular fall into the the lower wall on the opposite side of the steps, and a dozen or so stitches in my chin.

Then it was the place of my first kiss. I still remember standing at the top of the steps looking out across the valley below as I held her hand and tried to work up the nerve to kiss her. She gave me a peck on the cheek, then I turned and looked at her a moment before leaning in and kissing her lips.

As a teenager I snuck off to the same mossy old steps to share deep talks with my girlfriend. We'd sit on the third step from the top and I would lean back against the taller wall while my girlfriend rested against me and we shared our most intimate fears and dreams.

But the middle step, staring at a patch of moss on the taller wall is where I told my biggest secrets. With no one listening but the moss and a few trees I would spill out my secrets and talk through my problems. That wall knew when I fought with my parents and what my girlfriend and I disagreed about. It knew when my childhood best friend and I stopped being best friends. It knew when I was depressed, when I was afraid to ask for help, and when I had big dreams I was too scared to hope would come true.

The old mossy steps know many secrets, and I'm sure they know more than just mine...

Photo and prompt found here.

A Last Dance

They were but strangers meeting,
shared a passing glance,
summoned courage to ask for a dance,
their smiles lighted as feet moved,
swinging through familiar tune,
eyes meeting with a longing glance,
only to part with the fading song,
their shared moment gone,
as the last dance ended.



Prompt: Write about a brief encounter.

The Kiss That Wasn't

I should have known

when he tried to kiss me,

before a first date,

when I didn't even want it.

I never should have gone,

on that awful date.

I never liked the guy,

with his flattery,

he only hurt me.

He only hurt me

with his flattery.

I never liked the guy,

on that awful date.

I never should have gone,

when I didn't even want it.

Before a first date,

when he tried to kiss me -

I should have known.

Flash Fiction Friday prompt: A Kiss to Remember

Midnight Chatter

Are you listening,

in the night,

as I whisper,

secret fears?

This is when,

I should be sleeping.

I can tell,

because I cry,

when I catch you,

closing eyes,

and drifting off,

to that elusive,

land of sleep.

Unexpecting

Isaiah 54:1* Sing, barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song and shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are your children than the children of her who has given birth.

When this scripture was read at my prayer writing group I couldn't help seeing a little of myself and where I'm at in life in it.

I have no children of my own. While to describe a woman as barren would generally indicate a more permanent and less voluntary state than I would presume or wish for myself (or anyone), the fact remains that I've never given birth. I've never experienced labor or held a baby in my arms knowing it came from me.

I don't have a family of my own to raise (though I hope to someday), yet I spend my days raising children. I've cared for enough families I've lost track of how many. I've had countless kids capture pieces of my heart, and to myself I call them my kids. Especially recently, now that I'm working for a single family instead of a preschool with dozens of kids, I've caught myself saying “my __ year old” and adding “that I watch” or “that I babysit” before telling something they did, to prevent confussion over why I talk about “my” kids but never have them with me. And so I have both many kids and no kids.

*I adapted from the New International Version

My New Queen Sized Bed

Last night* I slept on a queen size bed in my own room for the first time in my life. I've always had a twin size bed and was never interested in trading it for a larger bed when I've been offered other beds in the past.

There's been a whole list of practical reasons for my attachment to my twin bed:

• I already have twin size sheets and blankets I like and have to find new ones if I got a larger bed.

• It takes up less space in my room.

• It's what I'm used to.

• Switching beds would take more work than keeping the one I had.

• The bigger beds I've been offered have been water beds, which I'm not a big fan of.

Those practical reasons haven't changed and still kind of annoy me a little, but there's something else, and that has changed.

There's a song by Death Cab for Cutie (see lyrics below) that puts into words better than I could why I didn't want a queen size bed in my room until I “needed” it. I wasn't exactly afraid, but almost. I didn't want that much extra space to feel lonely going to bed by myself at night. I didn't want to make room in my bed for someone else only to have them never come, or to end up sharing it with the wrong person. I didn't want to wait forever for the right person to come fill that space beside me.

But now there's a different feel to all that. I'm not trapped waiting for someone, and I'm not trying to fill a space beside me with guys who aren't worth it. I've actually met someone I want to wake up next to because it feels so right being with him. I'm not adding an empty space beside me (even though it's physically still empty most nights), and I'm not adding space for someone just because having anyone beside me sounds better than another night alone.

I don't want to jump ahead of myself, but I can't help thinking that sharing space and my life with this man will continue to feel right for a very long time, and I hope that's true, cause this is a good feeling.

Your New Twin Sized Bed

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed

with a single pillow underneath your single head

I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need

and now it's in the allay behind your apartment with a sign that says it's free

and that I hope you have more luck with this than me

you used to think that someone would come along and lay beside you in the space that they belonged

but the other side of the mattress stayed like new...

*actually two nights ago cause I rarely get things posted the day I write them.

Happy Valentine's Day

Is it ok to be a sap and gush a little about my Valentine's date? Just because this year is the first I've officially had a Valentine's day date? Still no? Then go away, cause I feel like gushing over how sweet my weekend with my man was!

Friday night I had a family commitment, so my romantic weekend didn't start until Saturday. I waited all morning for the dance class I would see my boyfriend at, then flirted with him across the room as leads and follows were lined up on opposite sides of the room to learn their respective parts. When the leads and follows came together again we rotated partners, so every time I got to my man I gave him hugs and kisses before we fell into practicing the moves we were learning.

The dance lessons went great (we'll see how much we remember next week...), but after four hours we were both ready for a break. I walked with him to his car to see what the surprise he told me he had was - raspberry jelly filled chocolates (either he pays attention well, or I just yum over anything with raspberry and/or chocolate that much that it's obvious). Then we went out for dinner at a cool little burrito shop, before heading back to his place and calling it an early night.

Sunday I got lots of snuggles from my man, we went to Panera for lunch, ran a few errands, and watched a movie before supper. He was brave enough to let me try cooking something new, so I made us chicken marsala, which turned out amazingly well if I do say so myself. I think he was slightly scared by my cooking method - apparently not everyone automatically needs two recipes, and doesn't follow either, to make something new!

I stayed over until Monday/Valentine's Day, and he bought me breakfast at this awesome little cafe. It wasn't the kinda place you'd think of being romantic, but it was fun and really sweet. The food was good, and you could tell they knew all the regulars. I liked the feel of the place, and I liked that it wasn't like a cliche Valentine's date spot.

The only bad part of the weekend? We both had to work Monday afternoon, so we couldn't spend the rest of Valentine's day together.

Newness

So apparently I've been slacking on the blog front...

I spent a large chunk of this past fall stressing over work, school, relationships, and my in ability to balance everything. I decided I needed to cut stress, so I planned to make some changes for the beginning of the new year. I also found some unexpected changes happening, which led to a whole lot of newness in my life.

Newness:

Unexpected: New Boyfriend - Ironically, or perhaps by fate, I met a really great guy the day after the guy I had been dating dumped me. He's cute, he's fun, he's silly, he's mature (well, at least in the important stuff :-p), he treats me well, he's a poet, he passes friends' approval, and is all around wonderful to have in my life.

Planned: New Job - working in the daycare center was becoming to much stress, so I decided to look for a job as a nanny and leave the daycare center. The change of pace has been just what I needed, and also left me with more time and energy for thinking and writing.

Planned by Default: No Classes - When it came time to register for spring semester classes I was running short on mental energy to plan what classes I wanted to take. I also wasn't sure what my work schedule would look like, so by default my lack of energy to plan for classes led to me not taking any classes this semester. While it's slightly disappointing that I can't do everything well all at once, I feel good about taking a break from school to settle into other new things.

Added Bonus: New Writing Time and Goals - While I'm nannying I can use the time the kids are napping for writing and such. Since I'm not taking classes I can also use the time I would have set aside for homework to do creative writing. I'm hoping this post will kick my blog back into gear (I even have some other stuff written I intend to post, I just haven't gotten around to it yet). I also have some other writing goals I'm working on, but actually getting stuff posted here again is what is relevant here.

Prayer for Healing

Dear God,

Be with her in her pain,

help her know she is not alone,

grant her the wisdom to see,

more pain of another sort

is not the solution.

Wrap your arms around her,

hold her close,

when physical distance,

prevents a hug from a friend

Be with her when I can't,

when I don't know what to say,

or she pushes me away,

or I'm just not the person she needs.

Help the world to see,

her pain is not her making,

that the scars she gives herself,

are not the reason she hurts.

Surround her with the patience,

of listening ears,

and grant them the understanding,

to know talking about pain,

is better than ignoring it,

that shushing away,

her honest words of hurt,

only leads to scars,

that run far deeper,

than the marks we wince at.

The prayer prompt from this weeks Praying Through My Pen is: Read Numbers 12:13 and "write a prayer for healing for someone specific." Rather than write about a specific person I found myself writing about a specific need for healing which many people I've talked to or heard stories of have faced (and "her" can just as much be "his").

How much do you love me?

How much do you love me?

Do you love me enough,

to hug away my tears,

to hold me when I cry,

to put me on my feet,

when everything feels wrong?

Do you love me enough,

to know who I am,

and still be there,

even when I cry,

for no reason at all?

Do you love me enough,

to stay by my side,

when I've lost track,

of who I am

and what I want?

Do you love me enough,

to catch me when I fall,

stop the out of control,

downward spiral

of my crashing mood?

Do you love me enough,

to be worthy of my trust,

to keep me safe

and not break my heart,

if I let you touch it?

Memories Underfoot.

My feet remember walking.

Walking bare-foot through a labyrinth in the cold.

It was a chilly morning.

We'd gotten lost on the way there,

missed a road and had to turn around

after calling someone for directions,

but that was exactly the kind of adventure we needed.

We had a place to go,

and a deadline for getting back,

but the point was more about the wandering,

than the destination.

There was irony

in getting lost going to a labrynth,

a maze we could follow

to lose our own path and follow God's.

Eventually we arrived.

Despite shivering a little in the cold

I couldn't resist

taking off my shoes.

Something about bare feet

touching the ground

calls me to be present

in a way I can't be fully present

without feeling the ground beneath me.

The grass was cold and damp that day,

softly cushioning my feet,

a striking contrast from the crunch

of hot black sharp stones underfoot

at the last labyrinth I walked.

It was strange

not to hear the footsteps

of the person walking with me

and yet,

I could sense where she was

in the winding path around me.

Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: Write about memories underfoot.

To the Tree of Life

God of the woods,

God of nature,

you are the tree of life.

Your roots sink deep into the earth,

spreading to support our feet

even as we avoid your shadow of comfort.

You are the bright green beauty

of new leaves that catch our eyes,

if only we look up from our over busied lives.

You are the rough bark

taking on the scars of the world,

offering a love more permanent

than anything represented

in hearts and initials,

carefully scratched,

by reckless flighty lovers.

You are the branches reaching out,

bigger than life,

holding us carefully

as we try to climb higher,

reaching for the sky

with our fragile dreams.

You are the infinite complexity

of roots and branches and twigs,

leaves and veins in leaves,

far more intricately complex

than anyone could see from the ground.

True Friend

wrapping me with love

drying tears of pain and hurt

tight hugs holding me

prompt: write a haiku about someone important to you.

Acceptable Losses

What loss is ok?

Perhaps you'll say,
the loss of time,
as you laugh for hours,
living in the moment,
with that kid who adores you,
or your best friend,
who you never see enough.

Maybe you'll say,
the loss of a guy,
who is a loser,
just playing you,
trying to get laid.

Maybe the best loss,
is the lost sleep,
when a friend says,
“I need you,”
and you sit up for hours,
holding them,
until they're ok,
or as ok as they'll be,
and the next day you smile,
unfazed by the tired,
because friends are worth,
more than sleep.

Maybe the only,
acceptable loss,
is losing the shield,
the thing that divides,
whatever separates you,
from God,
and from people,
the ones you could love,
if only you lost that wall.

Perhaps an acceptable loss,
isn't really a loss,
but a gain,
hidden in,
the taking away,
of that security blanket,
that keeps out the world.


Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: Write about acceptable losses.

"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."

Unwinding

Come to the center,
distractions fade,
sitting in,
the shadow of God,
walked a path,
closer to you,
now it's time,
to unwind,
retrace the steps,
away from the center,
and yet remain,
centered with God.

Trustworthy

This foreign word,
you say is me?
It's not that I'm,
unworthy, per-say,
but... why me?
Why trust me when,
I'm so untrusting,
hiding behind a screen,
lost in tight-lipped silence?
Why not tell,
a better friend,
someone you've known,
more than I'll talk?
I wouldn't tell a secret,
but surely there's,
more worthy keepers,
of these things,
you trust me with?