A Bowl of Cherries (Random Acts of Poetry)

Bowl of Cherries

Tight ruby skin
stretches redly over
sweet crimson flesh
water beads glide
over ripe roundness
reflect as they move
sweet red rubies
captured and repeated
in silver-white orbs

A quick poem for Random Acts of Poetry, from a prompt at LL's Seedlings in Stone! More poetry at High Calling Blogs.....

Some Beautiful Things (gratitude journal)

Psalm 67:5 May the peoples praise you, O God; may all the peoples praise you

219: Beautiful sunsets shared with precious family

220: Uncles who share their love of fireworks



221: The mud at river's edge between your toes


222: Silver-gold wheatgrass against deep blue skies



223: Rolling hills of green and gold, touched with summer sun

224: Sweet red peppers from the garden

Writing

I didn't see it coming...the brick wall that I seem to have hit while going along at a good speed, writing away. It seems to have loomed up out of nowhere, although in retrospect I can see it was there all along.

I'm fighting a difficult battle in my mind right now, one that I know with God's help will pass. I have been trying to think of how to put it in words, but it's not coming easily so you'll have to bear with me.

Writing is part of me, it has been what I do since I was a child. Words flow so much more easily for me through pen and paper or keyboard than they do through speech. It's how I speak what's inside, how I share what burns to be shared.

I had taken a long break from writing, while my kids were very young and I was so busy with daily life that finding the time to write was hard. In retrospect, I was also running from writing...both from hearing what I would say if I wrote it all down and from the fear of what being "A Writer" would mean for me. Picking the pen (Ok, the keyboard) back up last year was a wonderful thing in so many ways. I felt the flow again, words moving through me rather than backing up and sticking inside, festering with the need to come out. I heard my voice again, and realized how much I had missed it.

But writing comes with baggage. I grew up with A Writer for a mother, and there are scars I'm running into that I didn't realize were there. I want to say right off that there were wonderful things about my childhood. I have an amazing father who spent a measureless amount of his soul holding us together. I also realize that my mother's problem wasn't writing...that her writing was not the main reason she wasn't able to be a mother. It was much, much more complicated than that. And I have been blessed through the last year of blogging in meeting mothers...wonderful, committed, loving and present mothers...who are also successful writers. You writing mothers have given me the ability to write again.

So what's my problem? It's not writer's block, not in the sense that the term is usually used. I have no problem with the creative part of writing, no interruption in the flow of ideas or words. In fact, when I stop writing the ideas and words and stories just keep writing themselves in my mind...characters continue to develop, scenes are painted verbally, conversations and exultations weave themselves and wait, eagerly, to travel from brain to page. If you know me in real life, you might notice that the less I write, the quieter I am. But it's noisy inside, believe me!

The closer I get to being "A Writer," the more successful I am at getting the words down on the page or a screen, the more I struggle with this. I want to be a writer. I want to be a mother, first. I have a terrible fear of becoming a mother like my own was...as much as I love her, the truth is that she wasn't able to be a mother. I grew up in the shadow of her writing, an afterthought and an inconvenience. I know now that other factors were at work, and the writing was just the most visible way that she was leaving us. But as a child I vowed that when I had children, I wouldn't let anything else come first. And the more success and joy I have when I write, the more that dark fear comes forward. Can I find a balance? Am I spending too much time on writing, which is a me thing, and losing time with my kids?

My family used to tell a funny story about how clever I was as a toddler. How, when I needed something, I had learned before the age of two that the only way to get my mother's attention was to crawl under the table and unplug her typewriter.

It wasn't really funny.

Intellectually I know that my life is very different from my mother's, that my family does come first, that I homeschool my kids and have chosen to stay home with them full time rather than work, that I am fully and wholly committed to my job as wife and mother before anything else. I know that I can and probably should use the gift that God gave me, and that doing so (as long as my priorities are in order) will build us up and provide a good example to my kids. I know that my faith makes me a new person, one that without God my own mother couldn't have been.

But when I sit down to write, the fear claws at me and pushes me away from the keyboard. And when I don't write, the silence deafens me and the words claw from inside, seeking a way out.

I miss my voice.

I am working on finding balance. Part of the problem is that I don't know what that balance looks like. I have let a lot of opportunity pass me by in the last months and I have not written many things that longed to be written. But I'm not sure how much time I've gained back by not writing...I did most of my writing before the kids woke up in the morning, and if I got up even earlier managed to curb the urge to "check in" frequently during the day I could probably get a lot more writing done without losing face time with the kids. I know that many of you out there are doing it and doing it well, and I'd love to hear any advice you have to offer on the balancing act!

I feel like I have turned a corner, or at least I'm in the process of doing that. I've looked the fear in the face, I've named the beast. Now I just have to tame it. I'm getting this worked out because I have to work it out, I can't have these two parts of me warring when they should be part of one, seamless whole. So thank you for your patience, and for your example. Fighting these little internal battles makes me stronger, builds my faith and helps me know myself better...stumbling helps you know your center of balance, even if it's not pretty.


Edit: I just want to say that in talking about my decision to stay home with the kids and my struggles with writing I'm in no way saying that working (writing or otherwise) mothers are not good mothers. That's not at all my intent, and the SAHM debate isn't at all what this struggle is about for me. Being a mom is what I've wanted to do all my life, and I feel lucky to be able to do just that...the question in my mind isn't whether or not a woman can be a good writer and a good mother, but whether I personally can be. I've been thinking of the Proverbs 31 woman and thinking that perhaps the "linen garments" she makes to sell could just as easily be woven with words as with wool...but balancing it with all the other things is the difficulty.

Photo: stock photo from the Big Box of Art

Still Alive...

Just a note to let you know I'm still alive...just having a couple of months in which I have been having trouble writing. There have been several contributing factors...too little time, various little crisis that needed my full attention, various neurosis that sapped my attention (writer-phobia, I'll explain later) and then there's that thing that happens when I've waited too long to post and there is too much to say and I don't know where to start. Please forgive me! I'll be back, I really will. I just needed a little time to get things back in order and plan ahead so that it doesn't happen again.

I'm still here! I'll be back...

Reflections in a Plastic Cave

Eldest just wrapped up a week spent helping a local church with their vacation Bible school. The theme for this year was Rome and the early church, done living-history style. Eldest played the part of a Roman Christian shopkeeper, dressing in a toga and serving "rat on a stick" (chicken), bread and fruit to the "townspeople". They had canopies set up like a Roman marketplace, a room where Paul was imprisoned, and a realistic cave created in one room complete with dripping walls and an electric fire.

Youngest, Middle Child and I attended the last night of VBS. We donned bed-sheet costumes, tied sashes round our waists and money bags containing three plastic Denarii to the sashes. We met with our family groups (Go, Tiberius!) and sang worship songs to the jingle and thump of children with bells and drums. I took Youngest's hand and descended the stairs to the basement, where Rome was set up under bright canopies flanked by walls of Styrofoam rock. We made tin-can lanterns at the metalworking shop, we painted swords and shields at the armory, ate dates and dried fruit at Eldest's booth and had our picture taken dressed in full Roman attire. We visited Paul in prison, where he told us about his faith in Jesus and where a Roman guard who had spent the week harassing the Christian shop keepers professed that he had decided to follow Christ after listening to Paul's testimony there in jail.

My favorite moment, however, was when we met in the plastic-walled "cave." It was dark, damp, and quiet as the group of mis-matched and humorously dressed kids gathered together. We solemnly drew the Jesus fish on one another's hands with magic marker in the artificial gloom of the makeshift hiding place. A part of me was there with the kids, but another was drawn back centuries into the reality of the early church.

Secret meetings, meticulous vigilance, persecution and hardship. Stonings, floggings, the constant threat of discovery. The brave martyrs and persecuted secret Christians of the early church are the foundation on which our faith was built, they are the roots of the church in which we now stand--unafraid and free--to profess our faith. I am reminded to be thankful for our ability to do this, for the beauty of being able to worship together freely and openly.

And I am reminded that in many places still, this is a freedom that other people do not have.

The days of the martyrs are not over. There are still places where Christians meet in secret places, pass out Bibles smuggled in by visitors, sing their hymns and pray their prayers knowing that they face prison, exile, financial ruin and even death if they are discovered. I am reminded, in a cave made of duct tape and plastic sheeting and surrounded by children in pillow-case tunics, to be thankful that I will go to church on Sunday and fear no reprisal for expressing my faith.

I am reminded to pray for those who will meet in secret this week, who will sing the same songs and pray the same prayers but risk more for it than has ever been asked of me.

Random Acts of Poetry...silver coin

I caught
a glimpse of God
in the open palm of
a street beggar and as the sun
glinted on my silver coin in his
hand silver-round like the head of
a nail I thought what I have
given you is the least
of what you
need

The prompt for Poetry Friday this week is to write a poem using the words "I spied God in..." I changed the prompt a bit...is that cheating, or poetic license?

More Poetry:
LL's Black Box
Laura's poem about the ocean

Ten Years Old!

Middle Child turned ten yesterday! It's hard to believe a decade has passed. She is such a joy...so sweet, creative, and kind. We celebrated with a sleep over, followed by a family party. We're a little tired after all the festivities, but it was a fitting way to ring in the double digits!



The celebration started with gluten free pancakes on the "You are Special" plate. I had lots of help making them! We had whipped cream and fresh strawberries on top.

The sleepover was lots of fun. I was suddenly reminded of what it's like to be a ten-year-old girl at a sleepover! We went out to dinner at a favorite restaurant, came home and listened to the girls giggle and giggle and giggle all night long. Easy gluten and dairy free lemonade cupcakes were for dessert, followed by more giggling and opening presents. Little to no sleep was had, but it was a lot of fun. The next day, Hubby took the girls out for donuts for breakfast. They went swimming and returned home, where I gave them all pedicures with Middle Child's new nail polish. After a hard day of play, there's nothing more relaxing than sparkly nail polish and cucumbers on your eyes!



After the girls went home, family came over for dinner and cake. The adults enjoyed talking and catching up, but the problem with sleepovers is that by dinner the next day...well, we had a bit of a hard time waking the girls up to have cake! Youngest was almost sat on more than once.


Strawberry cake! Middle Child received some grown-up gifts this year, two beautiful necklaces, a purse, and a gift card for shopping. She also received some toys and a beautiful handmade outfit for her American Girl doll, Nellie. My friend Dawn is an amazing seamstress! It is fun to see the confluence of little-girl and little lady that this age brings. It's going to be a fun age.
Happy Birthday, sweet child! You bless us in so many ways. May God watch over you this year and always, and may the year bring you much joy. How blessed I am to be your mother!