Snapshots

Fireflies and sparklers
running through the sprinklers
spending summer days
in Grandma's yard.

Homemade icecream
on the porch
creeking porch chair
back and forth.

Grandpa's boat
waiting outback
Grandma's hydrangeas
and birdbath.

Chincoteague
and Tom's Cove camping
going to the beach
or with Grandpa fishing.

Christmas Tree
with the pretty star
gifts underneath -
who are they for?

Spending precious
time together
making meomories
that last forever.

This is the heritage
she's left behind:
A strong sense of family
humor and wit -
love and pride.

Sacred Places

It's the obscure spot
on a winding
country road
where the body
broke
but the soul was
freed.

It's the bathroom floor
wet with tears
cried from a
broken spirit
who bows
her head
to a sovereign God.

It's a quiet porch
overlooking the beauty
of a yard with
tall trees worshiping.
It's the whispered caress
of God
in the breeze.

It's the heart of
a God-wrestler
pushing Him away
while still holding on tightly.
It's the exhausted embrace
of a God-pursuer
who has finally come back home.

A Story Of Two Girls

Two girls -
two thousand years a part
both asleep
with loved ones begging
for a miracle.

One girl -
dying of sickness,
the other one of
instant tragedy.
Both families
wait for healing.
Both wait
for the physician.

One family's hope
was dashed,
then astonishment filled
the room
as the girl got up and walked.

One family's hope
was stubborn,
until the pronoucement
was made
and the girl remained still
and beautifully broken.

Jesus came to both girls,
separated by two thousand years.
He took their hand in his
and told them,
"Little girl, get up."

One girl got up and
walked back into her family's arms,
back to her earthly life.

The other girl got up as well
and kept her hand in his
as he led her to the better life.

Mark 5:35-43
vs. 41 - He took her by the hand and said to her, "Talitha koum!" (which means, "Little girl, I say to you, get up!").

We love you.
Michelle L. Shoemaker Smoker
August 12, 1979-April 25, 2009

Rain

Rain~

so thorough and complete

consistent and straight forward

no pretense

rain like God's sorrow

pouring down

weeping with the ones

who weep

taking their pain

and making it his

grieving and aching

releasing and taking.

Thirsting

If spirits could storm
mine would be tearing
itself a part with lightning.
If hearts could dry up
mine would be
whithered and dirty.

I thirst for Living Water -
You hold it out to me.
I pretend I do not see you
and turn to walk away.

I drink the dust instead
and die a little bit more.
But still you're there,
inviting me in.

The Heart by Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
who, squatting upon the ground,
held his heart in his hands,
and ate it.

I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter -- bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
because it is bitter,
and because it is my heart."

Breaking Tears

A tear drop
wets
the lashes of
her eye,
until they sweep
her upper cheek,
and slowly
down
it glides.
The tear
pauses
at the corner
of her upper
lip,
tasting the salt -
another teardrop
drops -
falling to
her chin
where it
rests
awhile,
until it
breaks upon
her chest.

To weep
is a release,
a break
in self sustaining
pride.
To cry out -
whether in
anger
or
remorse -
is still
falling
into
you,
becoming,
once more,
your little
child.

Just Me

You are God,
but I am me.
You are God
though I want to be.
You mastermind the workings of the universe.
I stupidly try to interfere.
You count down the months till the doe gives birth,
I hold out to you my self destruction.
You smile and say, "Give it here."
Then, because you can't fix it fast enough,
I grab it back and hold on tight.
Maybe this time God, it's too much.
You smile and say,
"Try as you might, you won't get it right.
I give orders to the morning,
I show the dawn it's place.
By my command the eagle takes off soaring,
and finds a safe place to rest at night.
I've counted every hair on your head,
your name is engraved upon my palms.
But you choose to trust yourself instead."

And after I'm exhausted and my anger has subsided,
after my self loathing and the nagging and the chidding,
I realize that you are God.
And I am just me.

~ June 10, 2008

The Art Of The Blindside

Physical pain

that hits you deep

in the gut

caused not by a blow

to the stomach

but a stab

to the heart.

An innocent scene

that ignites a memory

which in turn invokes

such a strong immediate

emotion

it takes you by surprise -

the art of the blindside.

Some Words

There are some words
that you never imagine
you'll hear, words you
never hope to hear,
words you fear to hear.
And no matter how
dark the outlook is,
no matter how many
ominous signs there are,
hope holds tightly by the
thinnest thread, until you hear
those damning words.

And then time slows.
And you can't believe it.
Something won't let you believe it.
You know you've just
been dealt the biggest
blow of your life -
but you can't feel it.
Something akin to pain
hits every few minutes
and the new reality
washes all over you again -
taking you by surprise each and every time.

I think I cried that night
more for the pain I knew
was coming and less for
what we were feeling then.
I cried for the anguish
of my brother,
for fear and worry over him.
This road that he now travels,
it's a road he goes alone.
It's a road of raw emotions,
a road where he'll wrestle with God.
And there's no way to protect him.

Hating Hope

Sometimes
I hate
hope.
It's fleeting
and flighty,
teasing
and shadowy.
It's absence
angers me.

Don't talk
to me
about hope,
unless once
you've lost it.
Don't sing
to me
about hope,
unless once
it's disappointed
you too.

God's looking
over
at me.
He reaches
for my hand.
Quietly
he's telling
me,
"The Story's
not finished
yet."

Holding On

My grip is slipping.
I'm letting go.
I turn my face
and look away.

You grip my wrist.
You won't let go.
Intently gazing.
Intensely praying.

And you wait
for me
to hold onto
you again.

Pain And Promise

Will my heart break -
when I finally sink into it?
How long will it take -
till I finally emerge from it?
How much will it cost -
And where must I go?
To realize what was lost
and the horror and sorrow.

Don't make me go there,
don't let me go through.
The journey's too harsh -
I don't want to lose you.
Don't make me go down
the dark alleyway.
Can't you heal me right here
without all the pain?

You promise your grip,
your hand in my hand.
You won't let it slip
whether I fall or I stand.
Your arms wrapped around me
as we take the first step,
sharing the weight
of the pain I can't feel yet.

The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, --

The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.

~ Emily Dickinson

This has always been my most favorite Emily Dickinson poem.

A New Beginning

Suppose the circumstances of your life led you figuratively to the edge of a high cliff. Before you is void, below you is death, and above you is life. And imagine the circumstances of your life tossed high in the air like a child tosses armfuls of airy leaves over his head into the breeze. All your financial security, health, and comfort has flown out of your hands, out of your control. And you hold your breath. And you wait. Will those cares and concerns glide smoothly and effortlessly through the air? Or will they plummet like heavy bricks to the dark hard earth below? The angst is in the waiting. Our human minds imagine the deep dark fall into obscurity. For our circumstances dictate nothing else. How can bricks fly? But what if it is not so much circumstance that dictate flying or falling? What if it's more about perspective? Perhaps the only difference in soaring high above and plummeting to the depths is the way we view our circumstance? Perhaps the cement bricks are airy leaves all along? And what we thought were weights tied to bring us down were wings given to lift us up? What if the dead end was in fact a new beginning? And the only way to begin was to jump off the cliff and trust our Creator to bring us high?

~ from the January 15th post in Rantings and Ramblings ...

Connecting

I feel so close to you
as we praise our King
together.
My heart is filled with
graditude,
knowing we can connect
in this way.

Eternal

Our bodies
are fragile.
Our spirits
eternal.

On The Brink

The distance
between
heaven and earth
is closer
than we think.
It's just a
heartstop
away.
And we can't
conceive it -
but we all
live on the brink,
rarely thinking
heaven can
beckon
any day.

...And my bed is soaked with sadness
My sadness has no end
A downward spiral of despair
That I keep falling in ...

~ some of the song "I Need You" by the Swift

Unyielding Heart

Unyielding heart
that refuses to soften.
Self righteous pride
that will not be broken.
Angry spirit that has turned away.
A temper-tantrum flares ~
fists raise
feet stomp
voice swears ~
And time stops.

A love that awaits
a heart's reception.
Grace that cleanses
the sin and deception.
A Divine hand that holds on tight.
Love pours out ~
Arms open wide
feet moving toward
voice that whispers ~
And time moves forward.

Obvious Lie

Nothing's wrong -
I'm am fine.
Can't you see my smile?

Window Seat

I perch upon a window seat
much like a cat would
sunning herself.
Newly birthed light spreads
it's fingers across my lawn
and reaches through to caress my face.
I close my eyes and breath in deeply.
Quietly I'm at peace
with my God at my side,
all around, and before me.
Camaraderie and gratitude
fill the space where God and I sit
perched upon a window seat.

Here Come The Birds

Here come the birds.
They think they own this land.
Their flighty enthusiasm
portrays their cheeriness.
Here come the birds -
a little late in the morning.
They do not care.
The party is just beginning.
Chatter fills the air,
not mindful of those yet sleeping.
They overtake the yard -
assuming they have the right.
Here come the birds,
celebrating life.

Lord, Teach Me

Lord, show me how to praise you
glorify you
worship you.
Show me how to lift you up
and prostrate myself.
Let me see your holiness
your fearsomeness
your awesomeness.
Teach me to fear you Lord
to revere you
and be struck speechless.

My mind tires itself out
with thoughts circling on self.

I was created for You.

Sacred Haven

Sacred haven -
this simple life.
silken cocoon -
I'm safely wrapped inside.

A warm quiet womb
that cradles a beginning.
The Creator whispers
His promises to me -

And I am waiting.

Beloved Betrothed

He waits for me,
knowing I'll come.
He quietly pursues me -
my beloved One.
I walk through lonely
alleyways and byways -
arrogant and stubborn.
He's one step behind,
quietly persistent.
And he waits.
He waits for me to turn to him,
to fall into him,
to cling to him.
He whispers his love for me.
His closeness warms my soul.
And I turn to him,
fall into him,
cling to him.
He is my betrothed,
my beloved betrothed.

Hosea 2:19-20
"I will betroth you to me forever;
I will betroth you in righteousness
and justice,
in love and compassion,
I will betroth you in faithfulness,
and you will acknowledge the Lord."

Waiting For Beauty

Wet damp earth
quiet in the morning
except for the birds
that talk back and forth.

Grey airy fog
that floats through the woods
like the Spirit of the Lord
silently overtaking.

Grey dirty clouds
illuminated by the sun
pouring through the edges
burning off the dreariness.

Empty bare trees
arms reaching high
roots anchored deep
waiting for new life.

We wait for you Lord.
For your beauty to overwhelm.
We wait for you Lord,
our beautiful King.

Hope

A beginning
at the edge of the ending.
A new direction
with the risk in the jumping.
A new perspective
from the One who walks along side us.

An awakening
of the one who was always there.
A stirring
of deeply buried desires.
A fire
to be intimate with the Creator.
A need
to use these gifts fulfillingly.