It's Me Again

Yeah, I haven't updated my blog in four months. No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. It was a little over four months ago that I became Mrs. B (and so am no longer actually Miss W). Things have been super busy and super crazy since then.

After our honeymoon, Mr. B and I settled into a one-bedroom garage apartment. Cozy, but not bad for two. He had made an offer on a house, and had even signed a contract to buy the house, but the bank was dragging its feet. So we made the apartment work.

At the beginning of the summer, we stayed pretty busy with church stuff, working in our church's VBS. Then things started to go a bit haywire when we disagreed with some doctrine that our pastor was teaching. We ended up leaving our church. Now we're attending a different church that I think we will join soon.

It didn't help that Mr. B's family all went to our old church. We not only were estranged from our church friends, but also family relationships were a little strained. It's better now, but I really stressed about it for a few weeks.

Finally, our house deal went through. We were pretty happy about that. We closed in September, and we had applied for the loan in April! But our house was in no way move-in ready. It requires quite a bit of work (water, roof, paint, floors), which we're still doing. The good news is that it appraised for $50,000 more than what we're planning to spend on it.

In the meantime, we found out that we are expecting our first child. If everything goes well, our little one should arrive in late May. I'm very happy to be having a baby. It's something I've wanted for a while. But man, have I ever been sick! I have been tired and nauseated every day for the past three weeks.

In addition to having my food restricted because of pregnancy and my old allergy (gluten), I've also developed a new allergy. Yep, now I cannot eat corn. It breaks me out and makes me super itchy. So this poor, nauseated, pregnant woman can't eat ice cream or regular bread or even sodas. It's been awful.

Like I've told my husband, we've been through a lot in a short period of time! But we are learning to work as a team, to help each other and depend on each other. He is a terrific husband. He does everything he can to take care of me. Our circumstances have not been perfect, but with the Lord's help, we are doing just fine.

Not Saying Goodbye

I don't know how to say goodbye

To the girl at the coffee stand,

Or the trainer at the gym,

Or my mother.

2.9 million people work, eat, and dream with me;

I don't know them all,

But there are invisible spider threads joining us,

And how do I disconnect these lines?

I don't know how to say goodbye.

And, it's true, I can't figure out the right syntax,

The correct arrangement of consonants and vowels,

Just the right tone and facial expression

That would help me say it.

I don't know how to say goodbye.

Instead I pretend that I'm not leaving.

I never say anything final

Or even cry.

The Potter

Lord, shape me

Upon Your wheel;

Move me, change me,

Take me higher up.

I will lose my self-will.

I will send my pride away.

I will meekly accept Your will.

I will choose to be humble.

I trust You to create in me

The beauty that I long for.

I trust You to skillfully craft

A vessel of honor

Fit for Your use.

The Stoic One

I take it in the gut, every time

When I'm the recipient, the acceptor,

The bearer of another's burden.

It's then I falter, stretching for a handhold,

Leaning, tilting, trying not to fall, knowing,

She can't hold me up.

And so I take it, take the dagger to the stomach

With not a whimper (because I can't afford a whimper),

I keep talking through my teeth until I find space

To limp away and lick my wounds.

It's difficult, although I'm trying not to whine;

(See, it's not my place to whine;

I'm the stoic one).

When I'm wounded this way, I need a soft place to fall, but

I'm the only me that I know.

Nothing

For 40 minutes I tried to write... and for 40 minutes I got nothing useful. It happens sometimes. I imagine even Shakespeare had days like this.

The Mask

A danger, named, is robbed of

The worst kind of fear: uncertainty.

Whether a giant or small monster,

Or child looms behind the mask

I can't know.

And when I am uncertain, I can't

Step forward this way or that, only

Hole up in my footprints waiting for

A message that may never have been mailed.

Each day the quizzes twist my brain,

Twist my thinking until nothing seems upright.

It's only when I remember that God is never uncertain,

Never unknowing, never unloving,

That I condense into one whole trusting self, and

Move onward, unafraid.

Goodbye

To the tiny red-veined leaves, to the sparkling wet grasses

I say goodbye

To this intersection, to the hole in the parking space

I say goodbye

To the cluttered faces of houses of people I don't know

I say goodbye

As I enter the door, to the grimy doorknob

I say goodbye

And to every floor tile, the white, the gray, even the chipped ones

I say goodbye

And to my mother, with eyes like mine, and mouth set to acceptance

I say goodbye

And to my father, my soul's image, through any other words

I say goodbye

And as I say goodbye, I know that the barest molecules of me will remain behind, still clinging to this life.

Honey

I found a well of honey

Far from the common ground;

Dipping down into its depth,

I discovered a magnificent sweetness.

Surprised, I thought I must be mistaken,

But each time I drew it up, it remained

Sugared like the taste of lovers' lips.

What good fortune to discover such a prize!

No bitter drops tainted my nectar.

Determined to keep it for myself,

I sold all I had to buy this well.

Spring Shower

The sun steps out to see the rain-soaked earth,

Washed clean, sparkling, springy with fresh green.

Tiny leaves like puppies poke their noses from bare branches;

White and yellow grassflowers brave a look at the sky, unafraid;

And every puddle shimmers with its own sun.

The Healer

Forced labor

Hands chapped

Feet swollen, crippled

You arise

Broken body

Twisted, useless limbs

Eyes scabbed and blind

You show up

Bruised face

Arms, legs bloody

Spirit crushed

You present yourself

Murderous heart

Lustful eyes

Swathed in choking sin

You appear

At the end of human capability, past the edges of our facade

The Healer lives

Waiting

As through the stars you peer,

You follow what she's doing,

And long to see her, hold her,

Your beloved.

As through the stars we gaze,

With open face, moved to worship,

We long to see you, touch you,

Beloved One.

The promise has been made:

Two will join in marriage.

Heaven and Earth will meet

To celebrate.

But till the day dawns,

We yearn in midnight hours,

Watching, waiting, longing for

Your face.

Shakespeare Reconstructed

A million apologies to Shakespeare for today's poem. I reconstructed his sonnet 116 "Let me not to the marriage of true minds". I have no aspirations to write better poetry than Shakespeare. I used it only for inspiration.

In Honor Of Valentine's Day

Souls marry before flesh, if love be true.

None can divide lovers, indeed division

Would be proof of love's lack,

A flimsy mockery, a shadow, easily torn.

Right, honest love does not waver, because

It is a fixed decision, a solemn vow,

A firm, unyielding product of the soul.

It is little to onlookers, all to those who love.

It steadies through disaster, sustains through grief.

Fading youth, and lost hopes will not swamp it,

Built by faithful hearts, it carries on,

And death only can cast it asunder.

I swear this is true, and if it's proven false,

Then love does not exist, no one has known it.

Living in the Present

I didn't have time to write today (which makes me sad, but sometimes life is like that). I did, however, read a poem that I wanted to share. It's from the book Calm My Anxious Heart by Linda Dillow, p. 108-109. She says it was written by a fourteen-year-old boy, but doesn't give his name. It struck a chord with me because I often have the same problem as the author.

It was spring but it was summer I wanted; the warm days and the great outdoors.
It was summer but it was fall I wanted; the colorful leaves and the cool dry air.
It was fall but it was winter I wanted; the beautiful snow and the joy of the holiday season.
It was now winter but it was spring I wanted; the warmth and the blossoming of nature.
I was a child but it was adulthood I wanted; the freedom and the respect.
I was twenty but it was thirty I wanted; to be mature and sophisticated.
I was middle-aged but it was twenty I wanted; the youth and the free spirit.
I was retired but it was middle-age that I wanted; the presence of mind without limitations.
My life was over but I never got what I wanted.

I struggle with wanting to be in other circumstances besides the one I am in. I forget that I am exactly where God has placed me at every moment, for His purpose. I am reminded of the quote by Jim Elliot: "Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God."

I so easily forget.

Telescope

I am one, one whole person, alone.

I wear purple and follow the King.

All my allegiance is His, and my service.

My love is one, one whole person, by himself.

He is complete, and completely perfect,

A son of God, he follows the King.

The King of all things knew all my heart,

And read the thoughts of my beloved.

He combined our paths into one,

From what is good, He made something greater.

With one lens, words become clear on a page;

With two, the heavens open to the humble.

Thus, separated, we saw clearly

But joined now, the stars are in view.

The Proud

In every proud, unbent spirit

There is a will to war.

The deafened ones admit no merit

In the commands of the humble.

Mocking, they deny defeat

When they are beaten,

And as they willingly repeat

Punishment, still they do not heed it.

These creatures grow ever more monstrous.

They crush the weak in the way,

Rolling over us and through us,

Settling black eyes on all they cannot overpower.

And yet, at last, their reign will end,

Though they are proud as Satan.

Stronger than iron, the spirit bends,

In the hands of its Creator.

Foggy Morning

A plain water drop
Hangs from a bough, where the sun
Makes it glorious.