Sitting behind the steering wheel
I turn the music up
The country sound fills the car
Pounds out loud
–
Rolling the windows down
I feel the wind rush by
The roar of tires on pavement
Grinds out loud
–
Crying in the car
I feel the freedom
Alone at last to let the tears come
Sobbing out loud
–
Praying from my heart
I know God reaches down
Guiding me as I search
Loving out loud
To fly, once and for all free
To soar higher and higher
To embrace the clouds, and the heights beyond
–
To fly, with nothing holding me back
To breath in the clearest of skies
To laugh as my voice echoes
–
To fly, on the wings of an eagle
To hope in the steadfastness of the Lord
To soar on the power of His absolute love
–
This is my quest
Sometimes life seemed to just stand still, like that moment when the waves rolled in and stopped before rushing back out to sea, like that hush just before the sun disappeared in its silent farewell each evening. Yes, life stood still. Karina felt like she was holding her breath. But the strange thing was, it was just her life that stood still. She could see everyone else around her thriving or stressing, whichever they chose, in their busyness. But not so with Karina. Her life wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t going anywhere, seemed to have fallen asleep.
At one time Karina would have been happy with this. Ah, yes, she would have enjoyed the quietness and the peace. But now she was ready for action, anxious with anticipation, and desperate when the sense of hopelessness seemed to overwhelm her.
All this she didn’t understand. She knew she was unhappy. She knew she was anxious. But that was about all.
Spring had come early that year, or winter had said goodbye sooner than expected. In any case, the crocuses, lilacs, and all the fruit trees had long since donned their flowers eventually letting them flutter to the ground. Spring rains had been steady. Green was leafing out the trees and carpeting the lawn. All the tiny spring creatures had been bustling around since the first hint of Spring. Ah, yes, Spring had come early.
Karina tried to take pleasure in it all, but deep within her heart was that haunting loneliness that curled within her very being. One day, she had vowed to herself, one day she would be free from it. But, she could not shake it now.
(Dear reader, you wonder, who this Karina is…well…I’m not sure. See, I’ve only just met her myself. Perhaps we will just see this glimpse into her life, or perhaps she will stop by again. But for now, content yourself with the knowledge that she spared you the time and gave you the vision of a little bit of her struggles.)
—-
The Gift of Spring
Spring flutters in
Flowers bloom in spendor
Creatures chatter with glee
–
There’s a new baby in the pasture
And a new flower on the lawn.
–
Tiny pictures of hope
Sent here for you and me
Handed by the Creator
A gift for those who see.
–
(Yes, yes, I know my poetry’s aweful…if you can even call it poetry. But I’m not writing here to stun others with my brilliance. No, this is practice putting my fingers to the keypad and putting on this blog the stirrings of my heart, however ragged they may come across.)
It was early dawn. She stared out the open doorway, past its wooden frame to the dusty street outside. The sun came down between the close buildings, illuminating the few children who crawled in the dust. One child was crying, rubbing dusty hands across her face. Mary watched, sadness in her eyes. He had loved them. He had reached out to them. He had held their little forms in his strong arms, and shared His love with them. She stepped out the door and quietly knelt and picked up the crying girl. She hugged her close, whispering that everything would be all right.
Mary tried to believe those words herself. But, as she stepped back inside to gather a few tidbits of food for the children, the seen from the hill that day flashed through her mind, causing her to catch her breath sharply. He had been in her arms so many years ago, but it still seemed like just yesterday. He had come running, crying about being pushed down in the dirt by his cousin. She’d soothed his hurts, and pushed Him to go out and play again.
She’d watched Him grow. She’d seen Him become all that a mother could ever wish for her son. And in one afternoon, all that had changed. Mary felt the gasp coming, and she set the child down. The pain was so deep, like a sword that pierced her very soul. Only a mother that has lost a child would understand, could understand. Silently she wept. She remembered vividly the crowds, their voices as they mocked. She remembered the haunting voices of the soldiers who cared little, hardened and callused beyond feeling.
And, she remembered her son. She remembered that same hurt look on his face. Before she’d been able to sooth away his pain, but this time she couldn’t. As he hung on that cruel cross, she felt a part of herself was there with him. It was the pain of a mother. She’d been praying for him, then. Even in her pain, in all the confusion, in her own heartbrokeness, she’d been praying. Praying that his courage would not fail, and He would fulfill His Heavenly Father’s plan. Yes, she had been the mother of Jesus.
As the child hungrily sipped the milk Mary offered, tiny rivulets of white dribbled down her chin. Mary lifted her head, and forced herself to focus on the present. That’s when she heard the running steps. She felt her entire being tense. The last time she’d heard running steps…she shook her head. No, she wouldn’t think about it.
The doorway was blackened by the shaking form of a young girl. The girl struggled to catch her breath…”Mary! Mary! You’ll never believe. I don’t believe! But I saw it, He wasn’t there.”
“What…slow down, who wasn’t there?”
“Jesus, Jesus wasn’t there.”
Mary hated the shock that went through her. She couldn’t stand. At the mention of His name, the floodgates opened and she no longer held it inside. Tears were streaming down her face.
“Mary, did you hear me? Jesus wasn’t in the tomb. He’s alive.”
As the sobs wracked her body, Mary tried to process what the girl was saying, but it didn’t make sense. She’d seen Him die. But, then she remembered. Slowly her weeping quieted. She didn’t know whether to let the hope that began to rise have a foothold in her broken heart. Could it be? Was that what her Son had meant? Had He…was He really…YES! Jesus was the Son of God. Mary believed, she knew she believed.
It was one of those nights…quite and very lonely. But the loneliness wasn’t horrible. Yes, she was lonely, but sitting there staring at the fire, she didn’t mind so much. The solitude was actually kind of nice, hauntingly empty, but nice. The fire flared and reached its heated fingers up towards the chimney, then fell dejectedly back down. Ever rising, ever falling in it’s noisy little dance. She let thoughts run effortlessly through her mind, so tired that her thoughts held no pattern, just a randomness that would be only understood by those who can understand dreams. Her life roared to life and flickered sporadically in her mind keeping in tune with the fire casting its crazy shadows around the room. She could feel the heat in her mind, feel it overwhelm and then numb. She had the faint idea that at one time something important had mattered, but for now it didn’t. She scolded herself for allowing this weariness to overwhelm her, but she was to tired to fight. And, so she continued staring at the fire and thinking, her mind a true reflection of the dancing flames.
Will joy rise again
Is there hope after the storm
What do storm clouds leave behind
What does the wind allow
Are the fields recovered
Can you see in the coming dawn
Is there anything left
Or has it all been blown away
What does the fog obscure
Is all crushed
Not a single stem to lift its beaten head
Are there flowers that will rise again
Has death descended
Forever to haunt
What has withstood
Was the field not ready
Were the crops to frail
Was the farmer’s hand not strong enough
But wait, there is a flower
Single, small, but standing
In the far corner
Just a little flower
Hope must come again
Because of that little flower
The flower flickers and sways
Is it a mirage
A taunting of the soul
Time will only tell
If there’s hope after the storm
I cannot tell
I can only wonder
Yes, I can only wonder
In a little country town, there is a crossroads. That’s all there is there in the center of that town, just the crossroads. Buildings line the sides of the streets that meet, share their brief hello in crisscross formation, and then exit the town. This is a country town with two main roads, both lead out. The roads do not lead in, because there is nothing there. Well, there is a sidewalk, and it runs parallel to the street, always runs parallel, and never faster than the street. On that sidewalk there are cracks, cracks that streak in wild patterns without much purpose. But the cracks, the sidewalk, the street, the crossroads, and even the little country town have a purpose.
The only problem is, it hasn’t found it yet.
(Hmmm…what an odd paragraph. Looking at it, I can’t quite figure where it came from, and don’t worry, you’re not the only one reading it who thinks it doesn’t make any sense. 
I don’t think it makes any sense either. But I had to write this evening, and that’s what appeared, and this is my writing practice blog, so that’s what you get. Someday I’ll stop trying to convince myself that this stuff that I write doesn’t need an excuse to find it’s way onto this blog, but until then, I will continue to make excuses. It’s the way of the writer.)
She rested on the park bench beside the tranquil waters of that pond. Yes, my dear friends, it was dark out, and foggy. The Moon was full and the light from it showed the soft wisps of steam rising in the warm spring air. She stared out at the pond, breathing in the dank air, the constant lapping of the water on the rocks reaching her ears. But she did not see the pond, or hear the water.
Through her mind again, and again, she went over the details. Was this her fault? No, how could she have know it would come to this. She couldn’t have known. Yet, she had been there pleading and begging for this. The Moonlight caught and held for a moment in the tears gleaming on her cheeks, then they slid down and into the collar of her dress, replaced slowly by more soundless tears that slid down the same pathway.
Her trembling voice whispered, “This is the great and terrible quest.” Her words evaporated in invisible tendrils that mixed with the fog, moving away into nothingness. This wasn’t how she had planned, nor what she’d hoped for.
Suddenly, she raised her fist, slashing it across her face, smearing the tears into her hair. Her eyes flashed in the moonlight, “How dare you!” Her cry snapped and bounced off the fog. Then she crumpled on the bench, burying her head in her hands, her hair fluttering over her hands and hiding who she was.
She did not see the quiet form of the man who stood behind the bench. Broad shoulders sloped down to large, open hands that rested on back of the bench. A rebel wind blew the shadow off his face. His was the kindest, most caring face; the eyes were deep with compassion and love, and they glowed with a unparalleled fire, eyes of eternal wisdom and love.
Slowly one soft step at a time, the man came around the bench. No sound came forth from his mouth, but he bent, gathered her in his arms and cradled her close. She rested her tear-streaked face against His chest, looking up with a little sob, she asked, “Why?”
For a moment, there was a look of sorrow that crossed the man’s face, as if He wished something didn’t have to be. But, then he shook his head slowly back and forth. There would be no answers tonight.
Moonlight rested on the man and the girl that he held. Tomorrow would come, and the girl would rise to the challenge of the new day, but for just that moment, it was good to lose herself in his love, tough love though it was.
(Before reading this, read “The Hidden Life” in my previous post. “The Child Sees” is the companion piece to that one.)
–
Carrying her through
God’s hand ever present
The child sees
–
Lifting her chin
Smiling with kindness
The child sees
–
Reaching down
Lifting her up
The child sees
–
Strengthening her hand
Encouraging her heart
The child sees
–
Coming back again
Ending all pain
The child sees
(I know I promised myself that this blog would be my writing practice blog, that I would write and I would post it whether it was good or not, but this is harder than I thought. I almost couldn’t bring myself to post this. But, I’m gonna throw caution to the wind. This is getting posted…so fearful little self, take that!)
Crying in the dark
Weeping in the shadows
The hidden life
–
Hoping for the sunrise
Knowing it won’t come
The hidden life
–
Looking for a future
Wandering on alone
The hidden life
–
Knowing not the heart
Shielding it from harm
The hidden life
–
Crying in the dark
Weeping in the shadows
The hidden life
I was coming to the end of a long, long road. It was a dark night, the road was a dirt road, and there was fog up ahead. I don’t know what stopped me…ah yes, the end of that road as it disappeared underneath the swirling fog. The moisture in the air and the coolness of the night raised goosebumps on my arms. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t what I had planned. This didn’t even make sense.
But there had been a reason. Once upon a time, dreams had led me to start down this road. Ah, yes, then the days had been golden, filled with blazing sunshine and the sparkle and promise of adventure and victory. But now that road had turned into something dark, cold, and lonely.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I heard something whisper, “the valley of the shadow death.” The voice disappeared away into the fog. The valley of the shadow of death? “Whose death?” I had to wonder. Was it mine? No, I was in my prime, and had I chosen another road perhaps I wouldn’t have reached this dark valley. “Then whose death, ” or maybe “death of what?”
As I stood uncertainly, knowing I could not go back and retrace my footsteps, and feeling loath to step forward and enter that fog. My mind went back to but a few months previously when I had started down this path. The man with the kind face…ah, yes, I could blame this on Him. Hadn’t I begged Him to point me in the right direction? Hadn’t I pleaded with Him, trusting Him that He knew best and would guide me well. “Then why this utter darkness and fog now?”
But, my friend, it’s in the darkest times when answers to questions don’t come, and there was no answer to mine. At least not an answer to my question. But as I stepped forward, and the fog swirled in around me, I was very, very aware of His presence. The man with the kind face had been right. This was the best way to go. For now, I would have to content myself with that thought.
