My First by Brenda J Wood

 

Image by Donna Naquin from Pixabay

 

I didn’t recognize the signs.

The itch I couldn’t scratch.
The yearning to put pen in hand
My deep self-covered patch.

But then I took an interlude
A thoughtful introspect
Considered all my options
On me, I placed a bet.

Could I write that New York seller?
I confess it mattered not.
I wrote all that was in me.
I gave it all I got.

And thus, the teeny book came out.
It landed. Solid. True.
And so; there’s nothing left in me
But to write another few.

Still, there Is nothing like that first one
That fought for air to breathe
And let me be my real self
Oh what we can achieve

By putting pen to paper
And writing what’s on mind
Carving words from heart and head
To leave for those behind.

Brenda J Wood has authored more than fifty books. She is a seasoned motivational speaker, who declares the Word of God with wisdom, humour, and common sense.

Gentle Gifts—Two-way Grace ~ Guest Post by Ruth Smith Meyer

 

Words as gentle gifts,

 or gentle words as gifts,

 extended with generous grace 

and genuine sensitivity,

 generate insight, 

acceptance, 

understanding and growth.

Gentle words, are gifts 

that I can grant to others 

Conversely 

Graciously accepting

 the words of others,

generously granting them time  

as I listen carefully with my heart, 

their expressed words 

become gentle gifts to me. 

Then my words 

whether written or spoken

become even gentler gifts, 

extended with

 genuine understanding, 

and graceful sensitivity 

that can better generate insight, 

acceptance understanding, 

growth and love. 

Gentle: calm, compassionate, considerate, fair, honourable, kind, lenient, peaceful, polite, sensitive, serene, soothing tranquil.

If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame. Proverbs 1:5

Let the wise hear and increase in learning.  Proverbs 2:2

 

Ruth Smith Meyer lives in her little house in the fairy-tale town of Ailsa Craig, Ont. Widowed twice, she finds comfort and companionship in her writing. She is part of a writers’ group that keeps her focused. She invites readers to visit her Facebook page: Smith Meyer Books

Finding the Auspicious in the Average ~ Guest Post by Ruth Smith Meyer

 

Finding the Auspicious in the Average

The average—

common, 

humdrum,

mediocre,

normal, 

usual. 

Then the avid author

takes a closer look—

In each nugget of 

average 

discovery is made— 

awe-inspiring 

axiom.

The auspicious—

The encouraging, 

favourable, 

golden, 

good, 

happy 

and hopeful.

Thus ascertained,

One assumes 

a different approach, 

adapts to 

a new acceptance 

and gives assent to 

new actuality. 

An amazing anecdote is born. 

Ruth Smith Meyer lives in her little house in the fairy-tale town of Ailsa Craig, Ont. Widowed twice, she finds comfort and companionship in her writing. She is part of a writers’ group that keeps her focused. She invites readers to visit her Facebook page: Smith Meyer Books 

Perspective by Pamela Mytroen

Perspective

I stepped over the edge

slipped on fear-pebbles.

They bounced and tumbled 

into the yawning canyon

plip-plopping into the river

below

I soared

on the warm updraft of confidence

until I squinted down

and crashed 

on rocks of doubt

I limp in the valley

of shame

surrounded by 

heckling coyotes

laughing hyenas

wishing I could 

crawl back to my nest

and hide

though gangly,

 my feet and feathers

are much too big now

my nest is too narrow

I look up

A new precipice invites me

beneath a witness of stars

I'm climbing now.

I will ascend until I taste

the pure air of perspective 

I will consider the white clouds I floated on

the blue sky I dove through

the fading jet-trail I wrote 

in big gauzy letters 

of faith

 

Will I step over the edge 

and fly again?

I'm surprised I even tried

I never knew I had wings

Maybe

I just need 

more practice

 

Epiphany in Infancy by Connie Inglis

                          (The Adoration of the Magi by Jacob Jordaens)

Epiphany: (Oxford Dictionary)
1. The manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi.
2. A moment of sudden and great revelation or realization.

I do not think it coincidental that these are the two definitions of the word epiphany. I see them as  related. The Great Revelation of Christ to the magi--that "magical" awareness 2000+ years ago that this infant was God in human form--is not difficult to connect to that same "magical" realization that happens for us in a moment of epiphany. I believe it to be a Holy Spirit-driven awareness, an awareness that is not exclusive but inclusive. That's why I like Jordaen's version of this event--it is not just the magi that are there, but the simple townsfolk, people like me, who are there too, taking in that epiphanic moment.
 
The greatest epiphany in my life came when I tasted God's love and turned my life over to Jesus. Since then I have had a number of epiphanic moments in my faith walk. In my writing, however, there was no sudden burst of awareness but a subtle drawing to a desire.  My epiphanic moment arrived in infancy and has grown over time.

I shared in a previous post that I first started writing when I was nine or ten years old. I was working on a science fiction story, complete with illustrations, when one day I came home to find my mom had accidentally thrown away all my work that I had kept hidden in a manila envelope in the closet. I was devastated and sad and my pen remained silent for the next 35 years (Other than inconsistent journaling). And just like Jesus' birth came at a time in Jewish history when God had been silent, so my moment of inspiration came at a time when God seemed far away and I was in need of some encouragement. Surprisingly, the words flowed with ease and spilled out on to the page.

It was early 2006--the year our firstborn would be graduating from high school, returning to Canada and going on to secondary education while the rest of us remained in Thailand. It was a time of uncertainty for us as parents and yes, fear. But it was also a time when all three of our children were coming into their own, particularly with their giftedness in art: our daughters in fine art, our son in graphic art (Art on left by daughters Mykal and Kendra). It took me back to my childhood and my love for writing and art. The creativity I thought I had lost but now saw in my children, pulled me back into its realm. I was inspired or, as Madeleine L'Engle puts it, "in-spirited." It truly was Spirit-driven in its infancy. And God has kept me there, quietly helping me develop in it ever since. My epiphany i.e. His epiphany, came in the form of the following poem, a poem dedicated to my children:

THE ARTIST

The artist’s eye

            --seeing the unseen

Dip. Stroke.

Turning on the

            Light bending a brush with 1,000 colours—

            to a cataract world.

Gray-scale becomes

azure, magenta, chartreuse.

The artist’s ear

            --hearing the still, small Voice

Weave. Blot.

A single ink dot meaningless,

            but corporately—masterfully

            fortissimo to a deafened world.

Muffled becomes

pure yellow, blue, red.

The artist’s touch

            --molding the Supra-dimensional

Fire. Bisque. Fire.

A lump spinning on a wheel,

            driven emotion takes form through

            unique fingerprints—controlled strength.

Dull clod becomes

smooth, lustrous, unblemished.

The artist

            Creator-charged—

breathes life into the medium

and takes your breath away.

The Christmas Gift -- Vivia Oliver

There is a gift we celebrate at this time each year

Which we need to hold in our hearts so dear

This gift we should open, not leave it under the tree

We hold it in our hearts, this gift so precious to me

A gift left under the tree not opened helps no one

When Christ offers you salvation, take it a prize won

Take that gift with thanks; to your life add his charm

This gift, you can take forever to hold in your arm

This gift will sustain you through trial and error

It will bless you and give peace to the bearer

There’s no gift like it, it cost not one cent

It will never wear out and will never be spent

Take this gift of salvation, let it fill you with hope

It will give you a thing to hang onto when you’re out of rope

And tell others of this wonderful blessing it has given

It might even give them salvation and life in heaven

(c) Vivia Oliver, 2009

There are no small moments—Stephen T. Berg

For me, remembering as a writer is about continually coming back to, and holding to a truth that propels you as a writer. It may be a truth that has evolved or changed shape but it is one that has a mystery about it that keeps you probing with the tip of your pen. With that, I offer this:

There are no small moments,
but how do you prove this
to the hero, or the progressive,
or the chief investments officer?
And how do you convince
your own soul—as you lift
the black plastic bag
from the white plastic bin
and take the hallway
to the stairs
then to the alley—
for the inertia of blood
makes the blue heart slow
to speak the splendour it sees
in snow, in wind, in light, in eyes,
and these left unattended
—their seriousness,
lost to all but the very young—
add to the verdict of
shallow moments.
And now,
                   there is no way around it
but to lay open and wait:
who knows, in time, with luck
you may burst into flame.

www.growmercy.org

Wedding Thoughts for Our Son and Daughter-in-Law - Denise M. Ford

In honor of our son and daughter-in-law's marriage (the wedding was July 21 in Vancouver) I wrote a poem based on their creative relationship that has developed over the years.

For Christopher and Catherine:

Perhaps if we could, we might hear your silent vows to each other…

Your laughter floats above the music of my soul, like a twirling current shaping a sandy shore,

One by one our notes appear, discovering the melody, understanding the harmony, measure by measure composing our love.

Your curiosity intensifies the depth of my dreams, like a rushing wind lifting the morning mist.

One by one our voices blend, discovering the melody, understanding the harmony, measure by measure composing our love.

Your devotion dances with the rhythm of my spirit, like a sparkling meteor streaking through the sky.

Rising in crescendo volume, our solos merge, forging a new harmony, measure by measure composing our love,

Our passion inspires the path of our future, like a soaring eagle swooping towards the precipice.

Our chorus encompasses us, combining our melody, intermingling our harmony, measure by measure composing our life.

Our promises glide freely and willingly to each other, like rippling circles reaching to a sheltered bank.

Hand in hand we will create our arrangement, within our harmony, measure by measure composing our life.

Our future beckons, revealing our possibilities, like a sunrise shimmering beyond

the horizon.

Together, composing, creating treasures for a lifetime, measure by measure our marriage begins.

With love,

Mom

To read Denise's personal blog and writing website go to:   http://www.walkingwithdustyanddee.com/

The Plowman - Violet Nesdoly

The Plowman

God is plowing my spirit
breaking with His Word
through turf of actions
churning them over
to deep motivations
bare and uncovered
furrows laid open
before my own eyes

Mine is the stony patch
lumpy with pebbles
life-habits of thinking
established reactions
plow clangs out warning
when stones hit the plowshare

Then God stops His plowing
takes out unrelenting
shovel of living
methodically patiently
loosens the dirt
proceeds to uncover
not pebbles but boulders
that must be removed

I'm bruised and disquieted
torn wide apart
a field He's preparing
for purposes
higher than mine.

© 2004 by Violet Nesdoly

**************************

Spring is the season we prepared the soil for planting on the farm where I grew up. But I wonder, is there ever a time when the soil of one's life isn't getting a going-over for its next crop?

It seems no sooner I get over one challenge, than I face another. And whatever these challenges are (whether community, family, personal, writing-related), they open me up to myself, revealing places where a lot of work still needs to be done.

Website: www.violetnesdoly.com

• Personal blog promptings  
• Writerly blog Line upon line 
  
• Daily devotions for children Bible Drive-Thru
• Daily devotions for adults: Other Food: daily devos
• A poem portfolio

She is my Sister - Pamela Mytroen

I fall asleep to the petty whine
of a full refrigerator
while my sister’s heart hammers
to the relentless rhythm
of staccato gun-fire and crescendo sirens
Screaming closer.

She draws her knees to her chest
beneath fear-soaked cotton
while her babies cry for a lullaby.

Oh Singer! She is my sister.
Would you wrap your melody-shawl
around her shoulders
and rock her gently in the poem of your love?
And when at last her lashes brush her cheeks in sleep
would you chase the dirge from her darkness;
breathe quiet into her night?
And peace?

She is my sister, though I don’t know her name.

May her dreams hum with harmony until at last her ancient troubles
Drum the new day,
And then as despair meets dawn,
even then, would you trace the phrase of her stretch-yawn-stretch
with your smile?
and would your hope-kissed lyrics linger the morn
on her lips?

For she is my sister,
and You know her name.

 

 

~ by Pamela Mytroen