a real day

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Sky

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 19:29:00 +0000

...join with all nature in manifold witness

to thy great faithfulness, mercy and love...

This morning I read the livewonderstruck challenge very early. Some might call it coincidence. . . I choose to believe it's so I could pay attention to the sky today on my way to work.

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Relationship

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 16:41:00 +0000

I say, "So why even get up if God has it all planned out?"
You say, "I think it's God's plan for me to get up."

And I love you.

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Silence

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 16:39:00 +0000

There's a picture of Jesus. . . you might have seen it. It's one that's lit golden and he's looking off to the side. It hung in the hallway of my childhood country church. It seemed friendly. Like home somehow. When I see that picture of Jesus, I recognize him.

I know in my mind that his skin was like that of a burnt copper penny, but that golden lit picture is still my picture. A friend has one where he is laughing, and I like that one as older me, but the little girl me still loves the painting of Jesus that hung in my childhood church.

I drive by it now, on my fifty-minute drive to work. It should shout, but it whispers. I should notice because it's huge, huge on a billboard right off the road.

Some days I don't even see it. I drive by, auto-pilot me, and I might as well have been driving by reams of gray concrete. Some days I notice him with a cursory, "Oh isn't that nice. . .There's Jesus. . . Think about Jesus." I have not yet had a day where I meet that picture on the road the way that the painting met me in that hallway in that old country church. It's the same picture, and I'm the same me. Or maybe the sameness belongs to Jesus, and I'm the one who's different. Maybe my sixty miles-per-hour, ahem, sixty-two miles-per-hour life drowns out the whisper.

Me sprinting. You waiting.

Even this morning You were there waiting as you will be tomorrow and the next day. You've something to give even. And I ask and I ask and I ask. But forget to receive.

You offer peace. You offer hope. You offer purpose.

Regret is mine at this closed door. Help me to invite you in for pie and a slice of me. May I give rapt attention for even one moment in my life to the You that is waiting. May you grow my attention span and point the cross hairs of my life on that which is most beautiful and good. Albeit difficult and sacrificial. I know You some, and I do remember when You remind me. Oh I pray that You might remind me more, for my online calendar and reminders are set to distraction. Help me to know You and live struck by the thick wonder that is today.

There is a newness that only You can give. Thanks for the tapestry You're weaving, and that I might be one green thread in it. Green me up today and weave me into people and experiences that You've set out in your plan. It will be beautiful, for your designs are, if one can stand back up far enough to see them.

--------------------------------

Embrace and invite

Reflect on what you hear

Pray that God reminds you of people

Ask God to bring the word

Enjoy the presence

Share it.

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Forgiveness

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 16:07:00 +0000

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Creation

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 15:59:00 +0000

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 15:55:00 +0000

Vagrant veteran
on your corner
thank you for the smile
peeking through twisted gray beard
seven dollars is something
. . . I guess
"Have a good day"
jumps from my mouth
then sits awkwardly
I wonder at my words
still
two days later

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Time

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 15:50:00 +0000

I must learn to say no . . . so that I might say yes.

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Reflection

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 17:21:00 +0000

A Boat and a Room

The furniture of my mind needs re-arranging.
For the crimson sofa I've purchased engulfs
It wasn't expensive, and was so easy to pick up
off the curb.
Sally picked hers up
and I kept up.
And the room is full to overflowing.

I can't even see the wallpaper
Get it out.
Rearrange and redecorate
for this vessel is off course and has run aground.

Re-calibrate the wobbly compass
Ever pointing toward screens and tasks
Point it toward Glory and Wonder
Slow the pace of the engines
Feel the breath create more space
Taste wind and hear grass.

I thought it efficient, this ratio that's all off
No wonder
no Wonder
Can I open to it?
Your hands grip crimson, stronger than mine
Shoving it out the door.

In response to today's Challenge from MargaretFeinberg.com. . .Wonder Challenge: What are the challenges preventing you from experiencing God’s wonder? Turn those challenges into a short prayer. And, if you feel comfortable, share it with others who can pray alongside you. If you include #LIVEWONDERSTRUCK in your Facebook post, Pinterest pin, Tweet, or Instagram post, we can help encourage you in prayer.

#LIVEWONDERSTRUCK Beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 17:16:00 +0000

I forgot something in my car, so I had to trudge back out to the lot--a bit of a jaunt. I wasn't glad to be "wasting" my time, but on the way I saw a shadow painting a delicate wallpaper-like pattern on the top of a sweaty old fire hydrant. Otherwise my sidewalk was lined with the general brown dinginess of January after snow. But, in one tiny spot green shoots of grass were springing up; new life in defiance.

Small wonders today, but wonders nonetheless.

In response to today's Challenge from MargaretFeinberg.com. . .

Throughout the day, look for wonder through a camera lens. Snap a picture on your phone or break out your camera to capture an image of God’s beauty, grace, love, peace, and joy. When you start looking, you may find examples all around you! Let’s encourage each other with God’s beauty. So, upload your photo and share—tweet, post, pin or blog. And make sure to include #LIVEWONDERSTRUCK so we can find you!

21 day challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 18:49:00 +0000

After a day of work or writing I always feel mentally spun-up, like my brain and shoulders just emerged from the Hunger Games arena. I've been wondering for a long time if it's just the way I am, or if I could more effectively manage my physical stress response throughout the work day. After all, this is my life (a.k.a. right now) and I'm living it even while at work. This idea of mindfulness/wonder/awe--more in-the-moment thinking--keeps coming up in my life, and after I see the same idea five different places, I sense a movement beyond coincidence, and in the last 24 hours I feel like the Designer is being a bit conspicuous.

1.

2.

3. Margaret Feinberg's 21 days of wonder challenge.

C

I have also been wondering how I might put some more life behind this blog. So, I am taking Margaret's 21 day challenge, and will post each day as I ask to be struck by wonder, to be filled with awe. Anyone wanna join me? #LIVEWONDERSTRUCK

motherhood

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 03:20:00 +0000

Time got squishy today
as moments soaked
one after another between new diapers
and laundry folding
and unfolding

Our impromptu dance party
made smiles
and cassaroles
as
Pandora sung
songs we hadn't heard
yet we knew them somehow

In tune together
as we laugh and bounce
and my knee hurts
but I ignore it to bounce once more
speaking cave-man lingo

You smiled with your eyes
for the first time this week
and your self shone through it
and I know her, but I'm still meeting her all the time
when uhh is up
and uhh uh is uh-oh

This blessing tidal wave
washed over me like
clean sheets today
and I can't help but marvel
Through bundled-up cold walks
and belly laughs at each fulcrum
of the swing
each one
after
each one

Picking up your toy carnage
as I did yesterday and will tomorrow
I remember little plastic horsies
lined up on a flipped laundry basket drum
and they were real
as you stopped to see them

As you put your
sippy cup back in the round space of the high chair
our eyes held the same laugh
It had been there all along
but today you found it
and then hah-hah'd its smartness,
and I am meeting yours
it's growing too fast for my slow eyes to catch

You waved bye bye after supper last night
and Grandma and Grandpa were tickled
and my chest puffed out with a mix of
Deep Glory that I haven't felt before.
It's like pride and love shaken together
somehow purple in the way it makes you
strong
and weak
all at once.
I walked to the car on wet pavement with my heels
bouncing a bit
and kept you in my lap.

I know the rules
And the car seat gets used
But last night we drove home together
and you fit there
and somehow I fit too.

shifting perspective

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Mon, 19 Nov 2012 15:52:00 +0000

From my podcast on the way to work this morning:

"We're only as great as our ability to negotiate and take advantage of our limitations. . . so I've decided my limitations are not only okay, but they're an incredible opportunity to think about what it is I can do with what I have."

intellect and imagination

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 15:13:00 +0000

There's a song that wants to sing itself through me.
Am I listening
to hear the tune that I might not recognize
as it is different from all other
dances I see and melodies I sway to

it's not this seriousness
it's more yellow somehow
and lives at the intersection
of walking in the cold grass in socked-feet
and sitting on a stump cut flush with the ground
sort of crooked, but almost flat
so I turn to welcome the incline and not totter at it
with my baby curled into the seat made with my legs.

She picks up a pine cone.
I start to stop its move toward her mouth
and then stop myself
and giggle at the pursed lips
that taste woodiness and prickles
as she pulls it away
slobbery
back and forth, taste and away.
We sit as the sun sets
unable to shrug off the thought that
it's indulgent
to soak in this moment
as a slow breath
enlarges the space around us.
We should be inside
shouldn't we
maybe she's cold
maybe I'm cold
maybe we should have shoes on
or coats
or be on the human-made ground
and not this
not here

but we are
and the fragrance of impermanence wafts around us
as we sway to the music of the song that we're supposed
to sing with these lives
in a duet for a moment
harmonizing
as leaves crunch under my socks
and she learns the flavor of pine cone.

firstfruits

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 12 Jun 2012 17:44:00 +0000

I'd plunk her down
On a blanket spread over green grass.
Newborn baby girl, squirm and coo,
So peaceful, idyllic as little one lay quiet beside
mother me, gloriously and carefully planting my beautiful garden. . .

Yeah right.

Charli--poop her pants and smile--Wusk
would look angelic on her little blanket,
for a time.
But the real pastoral scene came in static bursts
between stoccato steps of momma feet wearing a path in the grass.

I'd begin to dig a furrow - wah!
Pick her up
Put her down
Plant some seed - wah!
Pick her up
Put her down
Finish the row - wah!
Pick her up
Put her down
Cover the row - wah!

Slowly, through action squished between slow stints of consolation
our first garden went in the ground.
Somehow cultivation followed frustration to lead to
Crisp color yums
from backyard dirt, sweat, and patience.

Firstfruits.

awake alive

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 12 Jun 2012 13:25:00 +0000

today I sit

alive

awake

filled with desire

for creating

for living

for being

this me that is emerging

new job

horizon

new home

trusting

new

sweetheart sides

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Fri, 08 Jun 2012 15:37:00 +0000

I sit heavy, next to her mechanical bed

noticing its angle.

Her hospice tongue lulls in her mouth.

Ice will only satiate the need.

I wonder at the tired eyes of my mother,

watching her mother.

His distracted foot twitches as he prepares

to somehow be without.

How will he have tea alone,

without her to share the tea bag?

"Nan and I" starts every story

--A life side by side.

So young for her to marry.

All thought her knocked up.

But no. Just in a hurry

with the war nipping their heels.

Poor and sick most her life, but with her Bud.

How do sweethearts live alone?

How do they be without?

a writer

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 15 May 2012 14:40:00 +0000

As I have been reading "On Writing," I've found myself again and again drawn back to the idea of myself as writer. I came to this realization of identity during the Nebraska Writing Project, and it was emboldened throughout the dissertation writing project. I had a piece to work on, I was constantly jotting notes in my little notebook, and begrudgingly dragging my computer to the coffee house or my sunroom at early hours in the morning. While I hated this time in my life, I've now found myself missing that piece of identity. I've written a few blog posts, a few poems, but I have this burning need to be working on something bigger--to have a project. I've planted a garden, made plans for creating a baby quilt, but nothing seems to satiate the need. I need words.

"If God gives you something you can do, why in God's name wouldn't you do it?"
- Stephen King

I certainly don't think I'm some amazing writer, but I keep running into books and articles online that leave me thinking, "I could have written this. . . but I never would have written this." I want to write something that gets at my thoughts about life and living it well. When describing how he made his living to his mother, Parker Palmer said, "Well, I spend half my time at home writing books and articles, trying to communicate with readers about things that matter to me. Sometimes, people read what I write and invite me to give a speech so I can talk with them face-to-face. And… Well… That's about it..."

I've been reading Michelle DeRusha's blog, and her posts are more and more often about the journey into being a full time writer. At this point in my life, I don't want to abdicate my position at the college, or my part time gig at the church, but I do want to settle into my writer self again. While my new little addition keeps me busy, she does spend a large amount of time sleeping throughout the day. Just yesterday I planted half my garden in between her waking times. I essentially have three months left of my leave time, and I want to steward that time. I want to create something. But what?

When students faced me with this question, I was always quick with response. . .
Tell the truth.
Write what you know.
Get your butt in the writing chair.
Get on Google. Ideas don't just spring out of the air--even for the best writers.

Perhaps I need to take my own advice.

more convincing

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 18:31:00 +0000

I forgot that I had said I
would sub on v-ball
tonight at 615. Should be
home around 730. Love
you, maybe we can rent a
movie.

Holding my phone.
The txt springs tears that I didn't know were bubbling.
New mom has them in full supply.
"Lovely" I want to type. But don't.
I want to write things about selfishness
about responsibility.
I want to be a complete ass snob,
writing "Sure a movie is all I want from life"
but instead of send I click backspace. backspace. backspace.

I am sad that I'm not going to book club tonight.
I am sad that I didn't mention it yesterday.
I am sad that I'm not going to my friend's graduation tomorrow.
but most of all I am sad that I decided not to mention these things-
because I wanted to be home with my new little family.

The trouble is I wouldn't rather be at bookclub than home with you.
But I would rather be at bookclub than home alone. again.

I wish you wanted to be home.
I know you do.
I know you're caring.
I know you love us.
I know I won't say anything, because I want you to want to be home.
I want to keep this relationship happy--after all it's the only adult convo I'll have today.
And the only one I'll have tomorrow.

It's just hard when all these hormones make me need a little more convincing.
And hard when my whole day is spent waiting for you to come home.

midnight in paris

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 22:03:00 +0000

"No subject is terrible if the story is true. If the prose is clean and honest, and if it affirms courage and grace under pressure."

I just watched the most lovely movie. . . all by myself. I wanted to try and watch all of the Oscar-nominated films before the big event on Sunday, but a couple of them are neither in the theater or out to rent yet. Anyway, for a former English teacher this one was very fun with its allusions to writers and artists. As I finished the film, two things keep ringing in my mind--renaissance begins now--we always want for another time, either living in the future or the past, but the real time is right in front of us.

"The artist's job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence."

Shrove Tuesday

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 15:59:00 +0000

Shrove Tuesday (or Pancake Tuesday) is a day of confession.

I must confess that I have been away from writing. It was nice to rest in the needed hiatus following my dissertation, but I have decided that it's time. Time to write again. This year for my lenten devotion I have decided that I am going to write every day. Something. Every. Day. While a large majority of this stuff will be crap (that is for certain), just the idea of writing every day means that perhaps something will come out in the writing. After all, I like to tell my students that an important tool in writing is their butts. A butt in a writing chair got a lot more writing done than most other tools.

So each day I will write. Starting tomorrow. I am not going to narrowly define my topics or wrangle myself into writing things that I hate. Instead, I am going to simply follow the intent of this blog in the first place--to focus on how today is a REAL day--a day to live life to the fullest. Within this lenten season will come the birth of our first child and the time that comes following that. I see it as a good time to document.

I have debated about giving up FaceBook for lent. I toss and turn the idea. Just this morning I learned of a friend leaving youth ministry. I wouldn't have without the good 'ole FB; however, I have come to see that each morning as I lazily scroll through posts--most of which are simply a waste of time--that I am missing the magic hour at the start of the day. I am missing it.

Perhaps that is my Lenten devotion this year more simply--to stop missing it.

Want for movement

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 01:47:00 +0000

Fingers still I want for movement
and words
that haven't moved
in this hiatus
needed
but awkward
in its waiting and wanting
not feeling right or left
just off.

3 Preggo Poems

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 01:45:00 +0000

Body

You've always done things I don't understand.

as a scab fades to nothing

a banana turns to energy

and a 13-year-old skinny blonde stands two inches taller

Imperceptible change only measured in hindsight.

That doesn't bowl me over like it should.

Or force me to ask how . . . or why?

Instead I walk by you like wallpaper that's the ugliest

red

floral

catastrophe,

but I don't notice, after all

it's always been that way. Hasn't it?

My hand fingered the mattress

Wrinkled the over-washed white sheet

Just like I told it to.

As I sat with Grandma--

Hospital sea-green sterile, enveloping chords and paper skin--

Trying to look at anything else but how she feels,

To soften fuzzy edges.

But you feinted . . .

. . . after I specifically told you not to.

But as I continue to round out with a new body inside

perpetually in the future

with the present invisible

except for this huge pairs of knockers

that don't seem to fit on this B-Cup diva

I wonder what you're up to.

And I've never understood less.

I never thought you were all that

shifty

shady

dark-alley walkin'

You've been a good employee

On time and pretty reasonable

Listening to me, your boss,

Index finger taps the letter "j" on keyboard

almost

before I can think it.

You're good.

You're quick.

Dependable you.

Turkey Bacon

I like to think about you.

As I turn over and run my right toe across the quilt edge.

Hair tither wiped away

As I squint out the window at bare branches

Hoping for Spring

And you-you and me-different.

Lucie wags her tail and shakes her collar

so loud

saying "get up or I'll piss all over"

I call her bluff.

Linger and scroll my finger across my phone

delaying vertical.

She puts a paw by my one open eye and

harumphs

as her head flops down curling over you

and over the thin line of me that separates

As I open the other eye

Half the world is dark and the other light.

I don't think she knows, but it's fun to wonder wish

that she's somehow sensing the magic

of new life waiting inside.

The doctors say you know our voices.

I don't even recognize mine on a recording, but you--

you know it.

I like to point out to the daddy voice that you're going to be both me and him

Somehow 50/50.

He just smiles and says the part like him

is Filet Mignon

and the part like me. . .

. . . is Turkey Bacon.

And he laughs.

I hope you laugh like him.

And someone hears it the way I hear his.

I hope you're just okay with you . . . whatever that might be.

You'll just have to explain to your dad.

If you end up liking Turkey Bacon.

Motherhood

The sign by the highway reads

Windmill Farm

in faded black

paint on white

The "m" is hard to read, and no windmills turn for miles.

But they did.

The parents sit wraggled

eyes tight after errands

the giving--oh the giving

that they could never prepare for

The sexy in them wrung out, and she doesn't drop F bombs anymore

But she did.

Teenage heart throbbing

She escapes parents

blunders through identities

making new ones

and wears faces

She's independent now, and she knows she doesn't need them after all

But she did.

Old mother

reminisces on poems

she wrote before wrinkles

wrote her.

Her first pregnancy totters on rusty memory, a vapor

The writer seems a stranger, and she knows it would have all been different if she didn't.

But she did.

Christmas Letter 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 03:12:00 +0000

"Release the tension in your shoulders. Now in your back . . . " At the end of each of our pregnancy classes the teacher leads the class of six couples through a relaxation series that always leaves me feeling refreshed and a little like my legs are full of Jell-O (in a good way). Last week at our class I was just starting to feel relaxed when I heard it. It was getting slower . . . and deeper . . . and louder. Ralph's breathing was starting to sound like it does each night just before he goes to sleep. I felt the sense of panic begin to rise in my previously calm body as I realized what was about to happen. I decided to squint through my right eye to see if the other couples in the class were noticing. None seemed to catch on until his breathing went from loud and breathy to an all-out snore. The peacefulness of the dark room was gone for good, as I got the worst case of church giggles in my life.

Gosh, I love being married. :)

Yes, Ralphie and I are expecting a little bundle of Wusk joy toward the end of March. We're hoping it has Ralph's charisma and my study habits. Each time the baby kicks, Ralph takes it as evidence of its impending athleticism. I guess we'll just have to see. The little one will grow up as a Sterling Jet as we just moved to the booming metropolis in August. It is a bit ironic as Ralph and my relationship started with me talking extreme smack about his small hometown . . . I guess maybe there was more flirting going on there than any real hard feelings.

Life Lessons Learned in the "Real World" Vol. 6

· All pants should have elastic waistbands. (I might just wear these pregnancy jeans for the rest of my life.)

· It doesn't take long to accumulate way too much stuff. (Thanks to everyone who helped us move all our junk!)

· The best dissertation is a done dissertation.

· Living in a small town IS all it's cracked up to be.

· Making sauerkraut isn't as tough as you might think. (Thanks to my in-laws and their good teaching!)

· Gas is expensive. (Ralph is commuting to the Department of Veterans Affairs in Lincoln, and I'm cruising east to work at Peru State College while still helping out with confirmation classes on Wednesday nights in Lincoln).

· Seeing the Harry Potter movie at a midnight showing is exhausting. (Thanks to my sister for reminding me that I'm not too old to stay up late).

· With a FULL beard and long hair Ralph resembles Joaquin Phoenix during the time period when everyone thought he was going crazy.

· The waiting time before a baby is full of joy and excitement.

I can always tell Christmas is here as Ralph starts talking about the end of his Fantasy Football League. How does he always make it into those championships? Yes, 2011 has been a year of changes, and like every year, we're continuing to learn. While this year had many turns that we didn't anticipate, I have a feeling that next year might have even more to teach us.

new house. new job. new pant size.

noreply@blogger.com (Evi Wusk) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 14:03:00 +0000

new house

White siding. Just old enough.
It is just
what I wanted
all these years
quiet
old yet and new
friendly somehow
with a gathering curve out front
I sit here in the living room
six windows play frame to
the art of yellow leaves changing.
I wonder at the life
unfolding here
all the leaf changes to come
and snows to fall
and knees to scrape
and Christmas giggles at a present gone
so right
or so wrong.
I will look back
at this kitchen, dining room, sun room
and life overflowing, busting the edges
with people and things we did
and laughs we shared
and messes we made
Now it starts
just walls, just rooms, just stuff.
I'm sitting in a blank canvas
and the paints will come fast and furious
Lord, help me stop and smell the brush strokes.

new job

I bought a lime green lamp.
Somehow that one thing gave me vision.
For the new office of
professor Wusk, not quite yet.
Three classes this fall
three this spring
new faces
new meetings
And I can talk about this from my gut
I fit in the classroom
back home somehow
I shift weight though
in the meetings
wondering how I fit
here in a candyland of words and spinning wheels
yet
thankful for a flexibility
that allows my hope and wondering thoughts
I know this will be my job
the longest job I've ever had
While I've been there awhile, It's like I've only
just put my toe into the waistband of a new pair of jeans.
I wonder at the fit still.
I know this will feel different in a bit.
But for now at least, I like the color, the fade
in this, my place of work.

new pant size

It was only last week when the first
stranger asked if I was expecting.
Yes
I am. Delighted.
Thank you
For noticing.
Anticipation stacked on anticipation
this normal thing
not seeming so normal
when it's your insides
squirming through
these months of changes
uncomfortable and yet more comfortable than ever
the one thing I've always known
myself to want
And yet I wonder, Why?
But when I remember myself--with all my thoughts and foibles--
my beginnings just this way
I can't imagine an excitement
more intense in hue
than this waiting
and wondering
at the slow change that will be the change
from all I've heard.
I want to meet him or her.
And I will never, even for a second, think/feel/know
the immensity of this.
As we walk through it like it's normal
buying a crib
playing the easy escape
owning simply a consumer role
and sometimes for entire days
forgetting just how close we are
to gravity changing.

my mother's face

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 17:32:00 +0000

My mother's face

That simple line

conjures an image packed with tears

and with a fragrance

that stirs my soul

My mother's face

has looked upon me

with fat cheeks and giggles

and said this is my daughter

My mother's face

has sweat, as she wipes her brow

pausing after trudging the tiller through

old-rusty-green-with-missing-paint-speckled tiller

busting through the hard caked mud of the garden

My mother's face

has filled with the angst of a life that had to be

and the joy she wanted to be

in a place that had to be

A place somehow not her home

yet. . . then.

My mother's face

has been

closed tight in prayer

over me

my life

my problems not her own

but somehow hers too

My mother's face

carries wrinkles now

that it never did before

My mother's face mirrors my own

and yet somehow mirrors God's

shines glory out

more than any face I've known.