I grow my garden
wild and free
I do not expect
it bow to me
My joy it is
to watch it bloom
Nor do I wish
its beauty to consume
to cut and cull
alone preserve
no longer in the wind and sun
to dance and curve
Not for me it is
to choose the day
nor the colour it shall bloom
So many shades of beauty
wild and free
Though I was the one
to plant the seeds
my garden does not belong to me
Let it go, little mamma.
You have deeply entered their pain,
lived it with them,
prayed and suffered.
Their burden is not yours.
You can love
but you cannot hold the whole world
in your heart.
Don’t try to steal God’s job.
Only He, the eternal one,
can bear all the world’s suffering
without breaking to pieces…
Your call now,
is to go dig in your garden
and plant flowers of hope
in the simple brown earth.
Your call is to smile again
and find joy in the little gifts of each day.
Tears have washed you clean.
Now, little mama,
let it go,
trust more,
be silly and laugh again.
So many times
life in a large family
is like swimming in the ocean
tossed about by salty waves,
trying to catch your breath between tantrums.
Then there are those moments of glory
when your kids are all getting along
and the baby is sleeping while your eldest girls
do a duet on their ukuleles.
That moment is one of perfect rest,
like you’ve climbed upon a wooden raft,
the waveworn wood smooth against your skin,
the sun’s warm weight on your back.
At that moment you question nothing.
Self-doubt sinks below the waves
and you float there
–happy–
trusting for that moment
that everything is grace.
It’s been a year since I came to visit you.
It feels far too long,
but I can’t afford to fly to Saskatoon
every time I want to see you
(which is kinda always).
So thank God for the telephone
because speaking with you
gives my spirit wings.
Over my morning coffee,
and your morning tea,
(though several provinces apart)
we share, ponder and discuss
problems and triumphs,
and celebrate our awesome things.
God in all his wild and tender beauty,
feels closer to these little bits of his creation
–two busy moms laughing in their kitchens–
when we are together.
So bosom friend,
enriched by your wisdom and humour,
your sense of adventure and joyful openness to others,
I have treasure enough to fly around the world!
Feeling right at home, up a tree on the beach!
Some days are crazy
but flowers bloom, stars shine
and the baby smiles.
She tore through Paris
lighting up the street corners
with her flashing smile
A haiku for my buddy Bernadette, and her sister Lucy, too, who are bringing some real Canadian warmth to good ol’ Paris!
Thanks to getdrawings.com for this pretty picture! 🙂
Little darling
how my heart is bursting
with the beauteous warmth of you,
your cuddly down-softness
snuggling in my arms,
fluffy dark hair caressing my cheek as I cradle you.
And yet in all this glory
a bittersweet strain of music
tugs at my heart,
because you are so much like her,
your big sister who was born asleep,
eyes closed forever,
motionless,
and here you are
—thank God!—
alive.
I want to cry grateful tears of sorrow
when you squeak and grumble like a little bear
because your sister was so silent.
And when I smell the milky scent on your neck
because your sister never tasted milk.
I was left bursting but alone…
my arms like edges of an empty cradle
with only myself to rock.
I get choked up by your little hands
which look exactly like hers–
long slim fingers and grandma’s double jointed thumbs.
They’re curled up in tiny fists above your head
in the abandon of sleep,
yet warm and ever ready to grasp my finger
instead is still, pale, and cold.
In this bittersweet place
I love you both
and want to give you everything:
all the affection and tenderness
I wished to give her
but also want to give you for yourself.
I drink deeply both of sorrow and of joy.
How life and death are woven together
–intertwined–
in this strange tapestry where all the shadows
make the colours brighter.
What is painful
and what is precious
have become inseparable
and love runs through it all.
Just East Of Crazy Land 
