 What do I see looking back at me?
An aging lady peering to see . . . to see her youth and vitality. And what does she say to the years creasing lines across her face? Rejoice! Be Glad! Seize The Day! For today is yours You Gorgeous Thing! Aging is a beautiful process. But often our inner critic dims its glory. So, we must take this detracting voice in hand, view with optimism the advancing years and embrace the adventure. Life is more than the sum of aesthetics and brawn. Age offers more than a legacy of what can be seen. We are not too old It is not too late
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"Pain,
you are a terrible deceiver, parading yourself as an angry foe, pretending to be unyielding. You shadow me, Hound me, Taunt me, as if by your mere presence you could conquer my spirit. But I have learned to measure your ultimate strength, not by how much hurt you can inflict, but by how much of God's grace you call forth; not by how deeply you can wound, but by how frail you really are when put in perspective by His power. And I have learned, at last, to believe that, even at your worst, you can never outlast a promise of God. You can never outlive His love." - BJ Hoff Someone I care for is going through a very painful journey and this poem came to mind. I hope these words of hope encourage. Know that you are loved, that this is not our home and that one day soon there will be no more sorrow, no more tears and all the warmth and light of heaven will out-shadow this temporal journey's pain. Guffaw through life?
How can this be so. . . when dogs nip at my heels and I stub my toes? Maintaining joy in life stays the soul. So, laugh in the face of joy stealing woes. - NM July 26, 2020 I unearthed, a few days ago, a poem I wrote October 4, 1994. It is a rough draft I never went back to to reshape. But the imagery - is lovely. I remember the day I wrote this; I was sitting in my living room looking out the window onto a beautiful stormy day.
Light peaks through Dark Thick Clouds. And the wind moves Through the skirts of the spruce Making them dance As the birch Clap their hands To their rhythm. Are you spending years in prison for something you didn't do? Like the story of Joseph, have you been wrongly accused? Just remember God's preparing you, he is raising you up, he has a work for you, so keep your eyes on him and don't give up.
As you sit in the darkness of the cell where you live, you can bloom where you're planted, remember Joseph did. God loves you and he cares and when it seems he's forgot, he will open the cell door, remember he is raising you up. Be steadfast and faithful, God loves you and he is there. It's all in his plan, he's raising you up, he really does care. I wrote this in May of 1997. While rummaging through, a few days ago, for a different piece of writing to reference for a project I am working on, I came across this and thought I'd share. I hope you find encouragement. If you’ve never heard Whyte recite his poetry, I hope you find this inspiring.
I planted a seed Many years ago And a tree Grew up in its place. If I would have known That when I was old I would eat Of its bittersweet fruit Would I Have still planted that seed? Nannette Milette © The brambly bushes weave their way up the hillside in no particular pattern much like Pollock's Autumn Rhythm. They do not hold an aesthetic appeal to the average eye. To most they look like a tangled mess of thorny vines and dusty leaves that house spider webs laden with dead flies and debris and snakes that look like shimmering oil slicks slithering among the vines. But the appreciative eye can see beyond the spiders, snakes and briers to a storehouse of delectable treasures; black, sweet, juicy treasures baking in the sun.
As a young girl, I spent many happy summer days submerged in briers. Dressed in cotton shorts, summer top and tennis shoes I'd listen to birds enjoying the day and bees buzzing around me. I'd gorge myself on warm, tasty berries without a care in the world while the sun colored my skin. After satiating my appetite, I'd escape the cruel claws of the bushes with berry stained mouth and scratched and bleeding extremities. I'd find my way to the shade of the weeping willow to escape the sun's piercing gaze and contentedly lay on a soft bed of grass. Although years have flown by since my youthful excursions to the brier patch, I still find myself among the brambles trying to extract the treasures life holds for me. I'm not as heedless to the thorny claws as I once use to be. Now, after a tussle with the thorns, all I see are scrapes and dripping blood. But when the wounds heal and my vision clears, I see more than spiders, snakes and briers. I see a storehouse of treasures just waiting for me to pluck them from their thorny vines. "Extract the precious from the worthless,' sings through my mind and once again I see the beauty in the briers. ˝ Nannette Milette © |
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