Last day of April

Tomorrow is May Day!

I remember when Jessica was small, she loved to make a home-made basket and put flowers (often nothing more than flowering weeds!) inside and leave them at our next-door neighbor's doorstep. The neighbors' elderly father lived with them. She would leave the basket for him.

Sadly, he no longer lives...but every May Day I think of him and the little girl that once lived here with us.

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Here's a poem I've been working on the past few days. Still not finished; I think there's more to be done with it.

No Worry

My favorite time of day,
late afternoon
with a light breeze
fingering my hair.
The birds are gathering
in the bushes. Some are
feeding, some are singing,
some are searching for sturdy
supplies with which to build their
nests. All are busy being
and not one of them worries
about tomorrow.

Spring is in the air!

Today was a beautiful day! The air was slightly cool, but the bright afternoon sun and clear blue sky made for a wonderful spring day. April is probably the prettiest month in Hays...with all the tree blossoms...various shades of pink, red and white. And they smell good, too!

I got the church newsletter done today. This is the first one I've done and it turned out pretty good and with relatively few snags.

Here is a poem I wrote awhile back. I sponsor two children through Compassion International. This poem is about the boy I write to in Rwanda.

The Prayer of a Child from Rwanda

I look at his photo placed
on my refrigerator; black-brown eyes
and solemn face speak of need
I’ll never know. He wrote me a letter
back in October which I received today,
the warmest part of this cruel cold day
in November.

The letter leisurely traveled
from Rwanda to Kansas
to tell me of their rainy season
and that they are planting beans.
And he—an eleven-year-old
with a name I can’t spell nor
pronounce—prays for me,

a middle-aged woman whose
middle-class life is wealth beyond
what this young child may imagine.
A middle-aged woman who
takes the time now and then
to send him pictures and write of
things he might never see

like snowmen, icicles and frosted
window panes. Always careful
to not suggest the disparity
of wealth between our two lives,
(though who am I fooling?)
even as I write to him,

daily he hauls water to his home,
to his loved ones ill with AIDS,
to the chickens and goats they raise
to eke out a living. He helps tend the beans
just planted, goes to school, learns to read
and sings about Jesus. And when he has time
he prays—for me.

We've been in Lawrence. Jessica showed us around the Arts and Design building on the KU campus where she takes most of her classes. We even got to go into the darkroom where she and other students develop their photos. Since one of her classes was in the Spencer Art Museum on campus, we got a little tour of a couple of the exhibits in the gallery. A real highlight!



Now that we're home, we're just praying for rain.

Bob and I are going fishing today. Or maybe I should say, Bob is going fishing and I'm tagging along--to tend to Maggie, read, write and just ponder. The weather should be nice.


We probably won't do this too often, with the price of gas nearly up to $3.50 per gallon! That's a rip-off for sure. Bob wonders what his dad would think about all this price gouging. His dad ran a little Conoco station in Larned when Bob was growing up. Things were a lot different back then.


Here is a something from Thomas Merton that I read awhile back.


Our minds are like crows. They pick up everything that glitters, no matter how uncomfortable our nests get with all that metal in them.


(New Seeds of Contemplation

Blessing

Here's a blessing for the day that I wrote a few days ago and wish to share with you.



May each precious thing you see today
be reflection of Divine imagination;
each sound you hear, a sacred
echo of Holy Presence.
May the words of your mouth
be a song from God’s heart
and the thoughts that you hold,
whispers
from the Loving Spirit.

First Day Here!

Can you believe, this is my very first day in trying a blog? How many years now has blogging been in existence? Guess I'm a late bloomer. Anyway, thought I would use this as my personal soap box, given that I'm good at using the soap box! I've been trying my hand at writing poetry this past year and will use this space to share some of it...not to mention to clear the air regarding any of my "hot buttons"!

Stay tuned for a few photos now and then, also.

In the meantime, here is a poem I've been working on regarding a guy I saw at a truck stop when we were in Texas!

Cowboy at a Truck Stop

Years of smoking seeped from his body; rowdy hair crowded
beneath a cowboy hat. Well-worn spurs adorned his boots.
His seasoned face revealed it all: too many days
of sun-soaked toil, booze and cigarettes.

Securing himself against the counter, he emptied
his pocket of loose change. Trembling hands counted
each coin, working toward the total that would purchase his prize:
a liter bottle of beer wrapped in a brown paper bag,

courtesy of the cashier. He thanked the person next in line for
her patience--his appearance unbecoming such good manners--
then picked up the guitar stacked by the door and went out to his living.
No one asked him where he was going; no one offered him a ride.

It didn’t matter, for the air hung heavy with assumption:
just another drunkard drinking up another day.