For You

Found this as I was going through some files tonight.  I wrote it in the spring a few years back, but the idea is just as relevant now as it was then.  Maybe take it with you into the new year. 

05.21.10
For You


On my way to your house tonight
I looked up and saw a rainbow
brilliant
solid
the colors were
mesmerizing.
And suddenly I realized there were two.
The sky was a mess of light and dark
of storm and sun
of big billowy dark clouds and these streaming colors
taking my breath away.

I wanted everyone to see it
and I immediately started thinking about who I could tell.
But it was gone quickly as I drove into the rain,
and realized only a few
would see the rainbow
that showed itself to me.

-

On the way home tonight
I thought about the brief moment of brilliance that shone before me
and realized it hadn’t reminded me of promises,
of power, or trust.
I was too busy to give it the moment it deserved
the moment I deserved
to enjoy the message it could have sent.

I should have soaked it all in.
I should have rested in that moment and
let it be about me..
getting it.

As moms our lives are so much about other people.
So much about the guilt or the list or the needs
of other people:
our children, our husbands,
even our friends.

“Even Jesus needed a break,” you said with a sigh.
He took time to go away by himself
to be filled up
to be revived.

You need that.
We all do.
And when our lives are too much
to think about all at once,
but that doesn’t stop the thoughts
from their lengthy attack,

we need to step back,
and take a moment.

“Look, there’s a rainbow.
No!  Listen to me!
Stop and look!  It’s for your own good!
Don’t worry about who else is here.
Don’t worry about what hasn't gotten done.
Don’t worry about your list of projects
or your list of prayers.

For just a minute.
Look.
Quietly.
It’s about you,
for a minute
or two.
Now that you mention it,
take as much time as you need.

Soak it up.
Wrap yourself up in it.
It’s God’s promise.

We’ll get through this.

For You

Found this as I was going through some files tonight.  I wrote it in the spring a few years back, but the idea is just as relevant now as it was then.  Maybe take it with you into the new year. 

05.21.10
For You


On my way to your house tonight
I looked up and saw a rainbow
brilliant
solid
the colors were
mesmerizing.
And suddenly I realized there were two.
The sky was a mess of light and dark
of storm and sun
of big billowy dark clouds and these streaming colors
taking my breath away.

I wanted everyone to see it
and I immediately started thinking about who I could tell.
But it was gone quickly as I drove into the rain,
and realized only a few
would see the rainbow
that showed itself to me.

-

On the way home tonight
I thought about the brief moment of brilliance that shone before me
and realized it hadn’t reminded me of promises,
of power, or trust.
I was too busy to give it the moment it deserved
the moment I deserved
to enjoy the message it could have sent.

I should have soaked it all in.
I should have rested in that moment and
let it be about me..
getting it.

As moms our lives are so much about other people.
So much about the guilt or the list or the needs
of other people:
our children, our husbands,
even our friends.

“Even Jesus needed a break,” you said with a sigh.
He took time to go away by himself
to be filled up
to be revived.

You need that.
We all do.
And when our lives are too much
to think about all at once,
but that doesn’t stop the thoughts
from their lengthy attack,

we need to step back,
and take a moment.

“Look, there’s a rainbow.
No!  Listen to me!
Stop and look!  It’s for your own good!
Don’t worry about who else is here.
Don’t worry about what hasn't gotten done.
Don’t worry about your list of projects
or your list of prayers.

For just a minute.
Look.
Quietly.
It’s about you,
for a minute
or two.
Now that you mention it,
take as much time as you need.

Soak it up.
Wrap yourself up in it.
It’s God’s promise.

We’ll get through this.

The woman in my kitchen

When I imagine myself
in my new house

it's always quiet there
and usually I'm alone.

(Which is funny for a lot of reasons.)

I am standing in the kitchen
in the sunlight
looking out my
big
new
windows.

I'm holding a mug
(even though I don't drink coffee)
and wearing a warm, cozy robe.

I'm smiling slightly,
a content
- at peace -
look on my face.

It's early morning
(except I'm never up before 6:30)
and
of course
the kitchen is clean.

There is some clutter
(this isn't complete fiction)
mostly because we just moved and we're still unpacking.

And I'm thinking about how
good
it is
to finally be home.

The woman in my kitchen
could be me

(it rarely occurs to me she's not).

But occasionally I wonder,
worry a little,

about what's real
and what only exists

in my dreams.

This room

I’d like to walk into rooms

and read poetry to people.

Not to have them wonder about me

or think I’m something I’m not.

But to have them feel something

                other than the despair of the moment

                other than the frustration of having to answer the question before them.

It fills me up.

Like a weak battery recharging

like the first       deep      breathing            on a Spring walk through the yard

like a quenching drink.

It satisfies

and makes me feel whole again;

like I’m a part of something.

Something bigger than me

something I just shared with someone else

somewhere

who sat in a room

close to a window

writing the words the wind brought in.

This room could use that same breeze.

Poetry doesn't take as long...sometimes

It Works

Soaking up the quiet night

I listen to my babies breathe.

I should sleep with them, but I can’t resist

breathing-in this moment.

So many things compete for

my attention, my eyes, my touch.

I relish these moments of sole-

soul searching.

My family, my husband, my life.. nothing is more a part of me, nothing I’d rather give my life to. My time to.

But I need to re-energize.

I wish I could get this

with all of them around.

But I can’t, and I laugh at how ironic life is.

What else can I do?
Crying is the alternative.

Tomorrow I will be frustrated with

how little I can accomplish.

And seconds later my heart will melt

at the reality of how much I love my children

when I’m helping Clare get dressed.

Because that’s how it works.

That’s how this works.