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love for today.

26 Jan

When I need little reminders of joy, they are everywhere I look. And I am humbled over and over. Thank you for being joy…

BTA: for more than i could ever write in a blog post. for being constant. for always picking up where we leave off. for phone calls on the drive home. for so. much. love.

(R)BW: for photo sessions with our littles (I still owe you pictures), kindred blogging, kindred lives. for four-legged friends and a worthwhile commute.

AdR: for chats about being mamas to boys over coffee, for pups, for fashion inspiration, for friendship crafted over radio spots and marketing meetings.

BWB: for lunch dates and pregnancy conversations, hearts after God and the written word, crafts and craftiness and your amazing ability to find me when i need to be found. and for dinosaurs.

JLR: for history. for wisdom and friendship and prayer and openness that withstands all tests of time and distance. for doing life, and for witnessing life at its very beginning.

KTB(D): for ruby slippers and choreography and a love of everything literary. for travels to coastlines and shorelines, and for poems we understand without saying a word.

LZ: for sparkle, both the kind you feel and the kind you wear. for generosity of spirit, for encouragement, and for adventure. (and birthdays, of course.)

LH & NJ: for loving our little family like your own. for prayers, guidance, reassurance, countless blessings, time, nourishment in so many ways.

AT: for fridays. for target dates. for raising boys in a crazy world with reckless love and abandon. and for being real.

BZ: for thoughtfulness and encouragement and spirit. for talent that goes on for miles. for always finding the good. for fake mustaches.

EV: for phone calls that break up the day. for too many similarities to count. for trading in tiaras and earning new titles as mamas instead. for strength.

EJH: for laughter. for being honest. for finding silver linings and reminding me of good. for celebrating what matters and never giving up.

GDZ: for believing. for cultivating love and family and generosity and care. for graciousness and gracefulness and grace.

TMD: for late night conversations. for cheering on and lifting up and leaning in. for lessons. and for bunches, not grapes.

JMK: for covenant. for building a legacy. for falling in and rolling to the middle. for dreaming and watching dreams come true. for what is to come.

And there are more, of course, who I don’t mean to miss in the least bit. More who challenge me in the best ways and who build me up–who teach me about blessing and God and what it means to be selfless, generous, willing, authentic, kind, bold. This entry could be a novel, and I sit back in wonder and think, “How did I ever end up here, with so much beauty at every turn?” You are. Believe it. I know it to be true. Beautiful.

there are not enough words.

mm

went digging for poetry, and this is what i found.

9 Jun

i took an amazing poetry class in college. twice, in fact, because it was so good. and now that i’ve dusted off my writing wheels and have them spinning again, i suddenly miss the poetry that used to find its way into my life. i’m sure there’s plenty of it lurking close by, even now. i think i was just more careful, just took more time to find it then.

on a whim tonight, i decided to resurrect the old chapbooks (“reconciling panes” and “alterations”) i completed as a final project–one for each semester of that defining class. unsure of where to find my poetic voice in this time and place, i thought i might just recycle old words in a new way. tucked into aging poems, i found the following; mixed it up and am starting over with this:

reconciling alterations

the light on in the kitchen
burns yellow,
swings left right,
settles over this table for two.
in these pictures
i do not look like myself
and we sit here,
gently
as if to say
a hundred things at once
without a word.
in all of this silence i take you in–
voice i will always remember
telling and retelling
about the little girl
with long brown hair who
danced, planted marigolds.

years later they are orange and golden.
yellow satin breathing and blushing,
filling up with color, new
like a slow motion flip book.
passion soaked up like sunlight,
two-part harmony songs for
this spirit with lungs still
learning to inhale your love,
exhale my own.
and i am not the same.

before traveling here i packed
pen and paper,
recorded history of
wrongdoings,
inspirations,
broken heart.
could forget your adjustable lens
and
how your hand passes over each frame,
whispering approval.

but here you reassemble every idea
i have ever understood about love,
and tonight,
grace, green with life, leaves
the smell of sweet on my fingers.
you pen your history in lines made permanent,
carefully crafted letters
of age-old penmanship
beyond the wooden cross hanging,
the tabernacle wine and bread.
cradle hope in dance steps to erase my scars.
each morning,
a different kind of worship.

a found poem. poetry out of poetry. old thoughts, remixed. exactly how i’m feeling today. and it feels so good to have “found” it.

poetry love,

mm

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