Birthday Boy

My husband's birthday is this week. Here's a little poem I wrote for him a couple birthday's back. The backdrop?  The shared smile we always have when we see a dog in a truck or car, face to the wind, enjoying the ride. 

May the year ahead be a joyful ride for you my dear.

 

Photo by Darren Rowse

Birthday at Work

With a twinkle in the eye

And a merry little grin

May your day at work

Be happy

Like a dog

With wind-blown chin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 
MUSIC LINKS

A Barking Happy Birthday

 

Stingy and Lavish Go for Coffee

Stingy

Sequestered in curtain-drawn room

Stingy spent his energy and his day

Clucking to himself over his good fortune

While keeping his purse of loving intentions fat,

Calculating each withdrawal in miniscule glee

Unmindful of darkening shadows

Nipping away at his soul.

Lavish

Largeness of heart kept Lavish

Breathless and busy as

Opportunities to greet others

Traveling through life

Filled the cracks and crannies

Of an unassuming life

Unaware of the Sunlight that

Broadened his footsteps and horizons.

Stingy’s Friends

A few like-minded curmudgeons

Imbibing a round of stories

About their wealth and calculations

For a prosperous end to life.

Lavish’s Friends

Strangers and buddies alike

Find their way into a heart

That grows larger

Until in the end it

Explodes in the ultimate meaning

Of a life well-lived.

Stingy and Lavish Meet

Once on a rainy day Stingy

And Lavish met at a local coffee shop.

Stingy was having his usual,

A small black coffee

For which he requested a refill two times

While quietly stashing three sugar packets

In his pocket for his cereal at home.

Lavish had a small black coffee too,

Noting while he drank it the man

In the faded coat who seemed friendless

And maybe on the verge of desperation.

Their eyes met while the beggar’s hand 

Lurked fingeringly in pocket.

A warm smile and gentle nod.

A cold stare and nervous cough.

Then footsteps and a seat-mate.

“Couldn’t help but notice.

May I buy you some breakfast?”

“What? You misunderstand!

I am a wealthy man!”

He rose and with pomp escorted his

Pride out the door and back home to his

Curtained room where

The fragrance of a stranger’s smile

Haunted his small doings

Like an unexpected cool wind on a day of

Scorching desert heat.

Becoming Lavish

How often in one day do our thoughts or actions

Betray the Stingy persons we are by

Missed opportunities, self-focused choices,

And hoarding ways that fill us up to empty

With meaningless pursuits and things?

Who can truly be Lavish by their own gut and grit?

So we sit in the coffee shop of life sipping black coffee

And hoarding sugar in our pockets.

When the Stranger meets us with kind eyes,

And offers us not only breakfast but welcome into the family,

Will we have the sense to sniff out

His true identity and allow him to lavishly feed us

With himself for the rest of our lives,

Turning us into lavish, empty-pocketed friends?

*How great is the love the Father has lavished on us

That we should be called the children of God!

And that is what we are!   

                           *I John 3:1

Wormwood’s Black Eye

Have you read Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis? In that imaginative satirical novel, a senior demon, Screwtape, writes letters to Wormwood, a Junior Tempter who he is mentoring. The letters pertain to Wormwood’s responsibility for securing the damnation of a man known as “the Patient.”

Saturn's Rings

It’s often helpful to me when a little or big wrinkle in life presents itself to remember that cautionary tale. We all have our own demons trying to upset the apple cart of our journey through this life. To God our Father, we may be children, but to the powers of darkness we are projects to be destroyed.

This morning about 5:00 a.m. I took one of those apples in my cart, spit-polished a David-like aim, and let it fly. I think the Wormwood who disturbed my sleep is eating applesauce for breakfast. He may have an ice pack on his eye too.

It’s become my habit when my sleep is disturbed to choose from a menu of good options as an alternative to sleeplessness. Wormwood’s intentions were likely to waken me to stewing and fretting, while tossing and turning and getting fussed up about problems real or imaginary playing like a shadow theater on the bedroom wall. 

After I figured out that strategy several years ago, I came up with my own defensive plan:   #1 - pray or read my Bible or other good book. I learned that strategy from my mother who especially employed it during her years of frail health, but strong mind and spirit. This strategy not only calms my spirit, but often makes me sleepy (I mean no offense to the Lord by that last part of the sentence.)

Option #2 is to do some of my chores, work off a little energy. That sense of satisfaction at being ahead of the game before sunrise most often brings a nice ensuing nap before the official arrival of morning. Option #3 for me is to write.

This morning, 5 a.m. found me in the kitchen making a loaf of rye bread to use for Panini sandwiches for lunch. That bread will be perfect paired with the delicious Swiss cheese we got at the Guggisberg Cheese House in Charm Ohio last weekend while on a trip in northeastern Ohio.

I also made some velvety-smooth chocolate mint pudding, cranberry-carrot salad with orange dressing, and a pitcher of ice tea. Praying while I washed up the few dishes gave me that black-eye thought, as a small patch of scorched pudding taunted me from the bottom of the sauce pan. A vigorous scrub with Dawn dish soap and a trusty scrubbing pad brought the score to Wormwood – 1, Nancy – 2. 

Continuing on the offensive with Option #3, this little post gives away that rascal’s strategy to an audience around the world. Wormwood – 1, Nancy - 3. Game over for this morning. Thanks Coach. I’m headed off for a little post-game nap before getting ready for morning worship. It's another beautiful Sunday. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

LINKS

Screwtape on Stage near you  

Memorable quotes from Screwtape Letters  

Duet with Daisy

Age 2 at Halloween, Photo by Mom

MAGIC happens when a three year old comes for a visit.  Last week our granddaughter Daisy was with us for several days. That trail of Pixie Dust woke me early this morning with a smile as I recalled several "just the two of us" moments from that recent adventure . . .

Did you know you can make gravy with pink Play-Doh if you have enough apple juice left in your sippy cup?

Did you know Grandma's velvet-seat piano bench makes a perfect three-year-old height imaginary castle-like dining table? Perfect for spreading out the gravy . . . 

[Did you know Play-Doh cleans up without a trace? Even the bright pink kind.]

And many more lovely moments:  laughter at the park, peek-a-boo in a homemade tent, big appetites at the dinner table, lots of bubbles for the evening bath ritual, brushing our teeth together at the dual sinks in the Big Bathroom, playing checkers on the porch at Cracker Barrel, licking lollypops, tossing a ball in the front yard before supper.  

But the dearest moment of the week to me was at bedtime on Day Two. Getting a three-year-old to fall asleep in a strange, regular-size bed with Mom and Dad a hundred miles away is tricky. 

With a little night light on, stories finished, and crickets singing outside the window in the woods, Miss Daisy lay on her pillow with eyes wide open, fighting off the Sleep Fairy as only a three year old can do at 11:30 p.m. I sat at the foot of the bed on a chair, quietly praying for her and enjoying just being with her at the end of a busy, happy day. 

Feeling the muse myself, I started to softly sing a song for her that I'd made up when my kids were little. It's a make-it-up-as-you-go kind of ditty:

For Daisy, Lord we thank you.

For Daisy, Lord we thank you. . .

[sing 2 more times to round out the stanza]

She has happy eyes and a button nose

And a giggly laugh, and tiny toes . . .

[make up 2 more lines then sing the opening refrain]

At first she sat up, looked at me and said (loudly) "No!"  I suppose in her mind, grandmas don't sing. But I persisted and she snuggled back down and listened. Then I started the next stanza . . . 

For Daddy, Lord we thank you . . .

With those words, she sat up, crawled over the covers, crawled into my lap and started singing too.

For Daddy, Lord we thank you . . .

And so we sang. Me in the Key of G Major and Daisy in the Key of Pixie Magic. Me in rhythm and Daisy in the rhythm of childlike innocence. Me with a tear in my eye and Daisy with a twinkle in her eye at the thought of Daddy. Rocking back and forth. We sang together in a quiet house accompanied by the Cricket Band outside the window. 

For Mommy, Lord we thank you . . .

Angels in disguise watching as she slept

We finished with a hug and kiss. I laid her back down as her wide eyes looked at me with a world of love in their deep pools. For Daddy. For Mommy. For Grandma too. 

We were bonding, and it made my heart sing its own thankful song of deep and quiet joy.

And here I invoke the privilege of a grandparent and post . . . what else? Pictures!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

MUSIC LINKS

A lullaby for Daisy:

LULLABY FOR ELMO - Andrea Bocelli

A lullaby for Daddy:

LULLABY - Nickelback

A lullaby for Mommy:

SLUMBER MY DARLING - Alison Krauss & Yo Yo Ma

A lullaby for Grandma:

MY PRECIOUS ONE - LULLABY  -  Celine Dion

Another Duet by Daisy and Grandma:

NOCTURNE - Chopin