tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279216912024-03-08T03:31:10.760+03:00Let's Put the Kettle OnWe adventure and misadventure through life...lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.comBlogger587125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-26516896574985485122015-04-06T09:21:00.000+03:002015-05-08T13:42:18.447+03:00Images and Restraint<br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I remember that it was a rainy morning in Dublin. I was standing in the busy breakfast area of a buzzing youth hostel, balancing my cup of tea and plate of toast while scanning the area for two seats together where Byron and I might sit.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Glancing up, the 24-hour news cable happened to be giving coverage on the recent terrorist attack at Westgate mall in Nairobi. I had been in Kenya on the day of the attack. I was visiting my daughter at boarding school about an hour's drive from the mall. On the day before, I had jumped into my friend George's taxi and we had calmly discussed where we should stop to pick up the things Heather needed me to bring. We had considered Westgate, but decided another mall was closer to the route we wanted to take.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">What happened at Westgate was too close for comfort. As the events unfolded, waves of shock and grief washed over all of us. Too many friends of friends were directly affected. Heather knew people who hid from the gunmen, and others who lost relatives. Someone in our home group had a dear friend who risked her life to help save children of a slain mother. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">All of that was 100% real.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">What I didn't expect one month later was to look up at a big flat screen TV in the cafeteria of a youth hostel in Ireland and see images of masked men (walking through places where I have walked) randomly killing people and moving casually on. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">It was the elephant statue at Nakumatt that got me. How many times had I walked right by it on my way in for some groceries? Someone was obviously crouching behind it because a gunman paused and took a lazy aim, killing, I'm sure, the one who hid there. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I just remember thinking, "I would have hid behind the elephant, too." </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Suddenly, the tea and toast lost all appeal. I felt physically sick. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">It wasn't that the news was new. It was more that it was out of context and felt out of the blue. With no forewarning, I was confronted with graphic images of violence in a land that, to me, was not far away. Like everyone around me, I just wanted breakfast. But it wasn't<i> their</i> home on the screen above us all.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Tonight, I've been experiencing the same thing. Scrolling through my social media newsfeed, I'm enjoying photos of a friend's new grand baby, some silly cat thing, heartfelt Easter happiness, random comments about all manner of light and cheery things. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Then--BAM!-- a graphic photo of murdered Kenyan students.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I think of the Kenyan high school and university students I have known. I think of the years I spent (forever ago) meeting with different ones, building relationship, praying, laughing, finding fullness of life together. I think of the bright minds, the eager hearts, the depth of respect I still hold for them. I think of my Kenyan friends who, like me, have university age kids today. And I feel sick. I'm hoping no parent or family member of those slain students has to stumble onto FB photos of their loved one lying in death. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I appreciate that social media has, in many instances, brought my attention to things I needed to know. What I don't appreciate is graphic, careless, jarring images. I realize people are linking to pieces about this attack because they care. I'm just wondering if there is a way to be better editors as we put ourselves in this self-appointed newsman roll. I recall early footage from 9/11 showed live images of people falling from the towers as they leapt out of windows to escape engulfing fire, but fall to their deaths. Very quickly, broadcasters realized these images were too horrific and they stopped showing them. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I'm not trying to hide from the truth. I read the news and live with my eyes open. I am, however, interested in protecting my heart from being assaulted more than necessary by the reality of the world I call home. I'm having to block photos that folks who do not live in Africa don't seem to mind having as part of their status update. I believe folks are trying to show they care about this horrific attack in Kenya, but I find it very jarring to come without warning upon photos of the slain. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">It makes me want to be more careful in my own posts and re-posts.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">What seems distant to one of us, may be very raw to another. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">May we all proceed with caution.</span></span><br />
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I flew out of Tanzania on a warm March night. Clearing immigration 26 hours later at LAX, my parents whisked me home for a cup of tea and the world's fastest shower before I went directly to my friend's salon for a much needed hair cut. (Thanks, Laura!)<br />
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Next morning, we were on our way to Seattle where I had the great pleasure of helping with the wedding of<i> My Niece Elise</i> and her <i>Good Man Drew</i>.<br />
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As I enjoyed extended family, smooth roads, sweater weather, the Seattle vibe and umbrellas, Byron carried on <i>as per the usual </i>in Tanzania.<br />
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And it's <i>the usual </i>that has given me pause this morning.<br />
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The usual.<br />
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In the first 48 hours, Byron reported the following...<br />
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*He came upon a car that had skidded on loose gravel and rolled off our road. He attached a tow strap and pulled it back up onto its wheels. The people were shaken but not badly hurt. They were, of course, incredibly thankful for the uprighting. I'm not sure how long they would have been there if someone hadn't come along with a little gear and know-how.<br />
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*The dogs got into a ferocious barking fit and, upon investigation, Byron realized there was a rabid dog provoking them through the fence. They were all greatly intent on killing each other through the chainlink, and one of the most determined Jack Russells was just about to make it under. There is, of course, no one to call in a situation like this, so Byron went out and dispatched the poor rabid creature. He used what he had on hand, which was a fine old Maasai spear. <br />
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*Driving to work the next day, he passed a terrible bus accident on the road into town. The killer buses careen at high speeds and we can only shake our heads. This one did not manage to deliver its passengers safely to their destination. Very sad :(<br />
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What struck me was not the individual pieces of news, none of which are things we haven't seen before. Instead, it was the <i>almost</i> <i>ordinariness </i>of their occurrences. It wasn't that Byron was blasé about them, because he sincerely was not. It was more that they were part and parcel; par for the course. They fall into the category of unavoidable realities that you can't be shocked and stopped by or you'd be perpetually shocked and stopped. <br />
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But from this vantage point of comfort, this place where the bar for normal is set so very much higher, I read his texts and do wonder at the difference location makes in the "normals" of life. It's flabbergasting, really.<br />
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There is a calming kind of normal here that I confess I can't help but enjoy. Yet much as I appreciate the <i>absence of rabid dogs</i> trying to get through the fence, there are some <i>simple, rich realities</i> I'm pressed to find in this <i>developed</i> world.<br />
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Food, for instance... <i>Is it real? </i><br />
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Don't get me wrong-- I love the ease of tearing open packages of frozen berries, cut mango and other smoothie joys, but there's something viscerally assuring about the messiness of food that is closer to its original state. In Africa, I cut into ripe mangos, slicing the meaty flesh and dropping pieces into the blender as the sweet sticky juice runs to my elbows. Each chunk is slippery slick, and tastes sublime.<br />
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Unless, of course, I happen to get a bad one. Yes, there are times I find the wiggling presence of tiny worms and have to discard parts of the beautiful fruit, but local produce is warm and vital in my hands. Nothing looks perfect, but the blemishes remind me that life is bruising and rich, tasty and tarnished all at once. I can taste its fullness. The ripened and over ripened fruit, the freshly butchered meat (blood, sinew, feathers and all) is anything but pale and packaged.<br />
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The juicy, messy, richness of <i>real (</i>wherever we are) is sweet and savory, wormy and wonderful.<br />
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I could call it <i>almost ordinary</i>, but there doesn't seem to be anything <i>ordinary</i> about it.<br />
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<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-44780707755665858802015-02-17T11:45:00.000+03:002015-03-09T09:02:12.862+03:00προάγουσιν<div style="text-align: center;">
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I like that Jesus told stories. It's comforting to me that he chose to bring <i>Truth</i> and <i>Beauty</i> in simple language--plain but hidden, accessible but in need of some mulling over. While the religious leaders adhered to tightly defined rules that governed behavior, Jesus storyed <i>(apparently not a word my spell check likes)</i> generous grace, new life, <i>and</i> harsh judgement, leaving his listeners to puzzle it out. </div>
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There is something remarkably inviting about this approach. We are welcomed into the story circle where we get to talk it through together. We don't have access to the Spark Notes, and the teller very rarely explains his tale.</div>
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But rather than mull and talk it through together, we tend to want to explain, define and codify things.</div>
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(I wonder if that is really our role.)</div>
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Today I read three stories in the twenty-first chapter of Matthew and I'm puzzling around with a comment Jesus made.</div>
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In his response to the religious leaders Jesus said, quite starkly, <i>"...The tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Kingdom of God ahead of you."</i></div>
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<i>Are entering... </i>As far as I can tell, the Greek phrase is present tense. These "unsavory" folks <i>are entering </i>the Kingdom ahead of the seemingly savory ones.</div>
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<i>"How are they doing it?"</i> I wondered to myself. </div>
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Is it that they see and grasp the grace? Do they grasp <i>(understand)</i> it <b>and</b> grasp <i>(take hold of)</i> it? Without any sense of their own righteousness, do they simply <i>get</i> grace more quickly than the others? Unfettered by a sense of entitlement, are they faster to comprehend how it works?</div>
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I don't know the answer, but I'm inspired.</div>
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I'm inspired by a picture of people who understand grace as a <b>gift</b> <i>they choose to receive.</i></div>
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I want that for my days.</div>
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Yes, I receive the gift of grace today.</div>
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lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-53209172377395267602015-02-03T09:27:00.004+03:002015-02-03T20:12:51.816+03:00To lift my eyes...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm not gonna lie, Africa can wear me right out. See <b>Exhibit A </b>above, "The Road to Our House."<br />
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I'm not very good at remembering this, but it does dawn on me occasionally that I do actually get to choose where my eyes focus.<br />
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Here are five good things from the last few days...<br />
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1. I watched two Muslim women share their sandwiches with a Catholic Sister on the 6 hour bus trip to Nairobi.<br />
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2. I saw the setting moon hanging heavily over hills that would soon be lit by morning. The moonlight cast shadows on my 5am bedroom floor.<br />
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3. The crazy washed out bridge at the bottom of the long hill that connects us to the road to town HAS BEEN REPAIRED, AND a grader has been dealing with the other horrible bits on our way home.<br />
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4. I bought a great big box of fresh produce, (bright, juicy mangos, tangy passion fruit and much more,) for a very reasonable price, and shared motherhood tales with the slender young mama whose veggie stand I frequent.<br />
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5. Yesterday I enjoyed a long and pleasant lunch with someone who has prayed for us for going on thirty years. We had never, ever met before. Imagine!lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-39981176563954543912014-02-18T16:47:00.000+03:002014-06-13T17:13:13.882+03:00With Happy Thanks for Dorothy<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George and Dorothy, many years ago</td></tr>
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A dear old friend of ours, Dorothy Waterhouse Smoker, passed away in January and I'd like to honor her memory here. Dorothy was 97 when she passed and I hadn't seen her in many, many years. Still, my memories of her are close and vital.<br />
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"Uncle George" and "Aunt Dorothy" worked in Tanzania from 1943-1970 but Byron and I met them during their "retirement" to Nairobi in 1984. I say "retirement" because, after ten years back in the US, George and Dorothy relocated themselves to Africa to continue serving as extremely helpful volunteers living on their retirement income. <br />
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Picture this: Byron and Lisa are 25 and 22 while George and Dorothy are both about 67. We made an unlikely but fabulous foursome :)<br />
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Let me tell you why...<br />
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Byron and I were newly arrived in Nairobi. The organization we had come with was undergoing traumas and dramas and we were left to find our own way forward. George and Dorothy had decades of experience to draw on and tons of love and care to give. They lived around the corner from us and took us under their wings. We would bomb around Nairobi in their tiny car, laughing and soaking up their wisdom, sense of wonder and guidance. We had about three months as neighbors before we transitioned to a new organization "up country."<br />
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One evening, when we were back in Nairobi, we popped round to say hello and found them in the throes of leaving for the airport. George's health had suddenly taken a very serious turn and doctors were recommending their immediate return to the States. After all the help they had been to us in our first few confusing months in Kenya, we were thankful to be able to help them close their bags and get off to the airport. Cleaning up their little place before handing the key over to their landlord the next day was a small thing we could do for them that eased their minds as they hurried away.<br />
<br />
Uncle George's condition was serious and he passed away not long after their return to California. To this day, we quote George when we get into a conversation with someone about giving or not giving to beggars, how to make better compressed soil bricks and mortar, or how easy it is to make peanut butter. And I had just quoted some of Dorothy's bush medicine advice the day before I heard she was gone. <br />
<br />
Thirty years ago, George and Dorothy offered us friendship, counsel, laughter, wisdom, prayer and insight. Our window of time as neighbors was short but it has impacted the whole of our lives. We are two of the MANY who were blessed by them. <br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-87700907465373935562014-02-03T16:11:00.001+03:002015-02-17T12:15:09.983+03:00Coming Home to the Farm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvySH_xYM4UT0CW41hoGpLXo6je1nE12XD9_RGBPO32vEQbBhs3-HK2hHeBme_91-FTefqZkLaudsiSvG9GJhvPIM4HXoLJ-FPLdAK5R4b44OS3u_TyRIXsvhZRn4lPO_f5_LFmg/s1600/Lily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvySH_xYM4UT0CW41hoGpLXo6je1nE12XD9_RGBPO32vEQbBhs3-HK2hHeBme_91-FTefqZkLaudsiSvG9GJhvPIM4HXoLJ-FPLdAK5R4b44OS3u_TyRIXsvhZRn4lPO_f5_LFmg/s1600/Lily.jpg" height="391" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We were away from Africa for two months. It was enough time to do all we did. Enough time to celebrate Thanksgiving, multiple family milestone's including my mom's 80th birthday, attend fundraisers, speak here and there, connect with donors, revel in family and marvelous friends, work toward a second son's wedding, engage in Advent, give poetry readings, meet with our Board of Directors, enjoy (and also struggle with) Christmas in <i>America</i>, and finally, wonderfully, to help throw an outstanding wedding celebration. <br />
<br />
Careening out of those packed weeks... <br />
<a name='more'></a>I spent a few days in the UK and spoke 3 times, much enjoying the community and hospitality of all who hosted me. Before finally getting home, I spent a couple of nights in Kenya, visiting Heather at school. My last born and officially the youngest Borden to cross the globe "alone", she had rushed back to Africa after Trevor's wedding as her new term had already begun without her.<br />
<br />
Finally, Thursday was Going Home Day... We woke to a dead battery in Nairobi. We could roll a few feet and get it going, except at the border where we had to just keep it running as the two of us took turns dodging in and out of government buildings (filled with tired tourists) to get all our <i>this and thats </i>stamped and processed while relay teaming the guarding of the unlocked, running vehicle. Riot police were gathered near the border because local people were protesting something. The police advised us to wait half an hour. Mt Meru had an impressive fire burning on the side of her. Dry season meant the lower plains were blowing away and dust filled the air for miles and miles. But, finally, were were home.<br />
<br />
At a slightly higher elevation, the rain lily above greeted me on my Saturday walk. I am told her proper name is <i>Amaryllis Belladonna.</i> I startled a gorgeous male bushbuck as I climbed the bank to collect this sample. The buck and I regarded each other gravely and I wished him health and safety before I went on. A walk on this farm is a gift.<br />
<br />
So is the rain lily. She blossoms voluntarily after adequate showers. She is fragrant and has graced our home with her perfume.<br />
<br />
After so much busy, I am slowing down. I am thankful to have the time to marvel over this bloom.<br />
<br />
(Photo credit: Tait Flint)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-1928217601177405202013-12-25T20:21:00.001+03:002013-12-25T21:37:41.473+03:00Christmas Morning<br />
When Baby Jesus was presented at the temple, Simeon, said this of him,<br />
<br />
<i>"He is a light to reveal God to the nations." </i><br />
<br />
A light to reveal God... <br />
<br />
Now, that's a good gift :)<br />
<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas, friends! <br />
<br />
-lisaxolisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-32671381187158182272013-12-24T20:05:00.000+03:002013-12-24T20:10:11.954+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Twenty-Four<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold;">A Poem for Day Twenty-Four</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I cannot do this</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I cannot find words</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to capture or convey</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Language fails </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and I fall silent</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the silence</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Adoration</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">God incarnate</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">moved toward me</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Be still</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">with me</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And watch</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Light</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-lisa, 24 December, 2013</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-64709674807820361942013-12-23T19:06:00.001+03:002013-12-24T02:53:20.775+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Twenty-Three<h2>
A Poem for Day Twenty-Three</h2>
There have been moments<br />
I was sure<br />
the earth paused<br />
on her axis<br />
<br />
Moments<br />
indelible and<br />
eternally bright<br />
<br />
Four times I have held<br />
the newest life<br />
<br />
Four times I have<br />
peered into a face<br />
I had never seen<br />
but loved instantly<br />
more intensely<br />
than my breaking heart<br />
could bear<br />
<br />
<br />
And in those minutes<br />
that never never come again<br />
I was won<br />
<br />
Charmed completely<br />
I was intrigued by one question<br />
<br />
<i>Who are you?</i><br />
<br />
Yes, I know your origin<br />
and who you are to me<br />
but<br />
<br />
Who are <i>you</i>?<br />
<br />
On a scale beyond anything<br />
She must have asked the same<br />
<br />
This Advent<br />
I turn toward<br />
a face I cannot see<br />
but know I love<br />
<br />
My desire is<br />
to be undone<br />
<br />
Who are you?<br />
<br />
-lisa, 23 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-91785212340247524002013-12-22T17:33:00.000+03:002013-12-22T17:33:33.553+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Twenty-Two<h2>
A Poem for Day Twenty-Two</h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The days wear on</div>
<div>
<br /><div>
<div>
Grinding poverty</div>
<div>
and violence beyond comprehension</div>
<div>
have brought a darkness</div>
<div>
we cannot shift</div>
<div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The pain of ages</div>
<div>
accumulates</div>
<div>
and we are broken</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is time now</div>
<div>
it is time</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The hot pain</div>
<div>
wrapped and wracking</div>
<div>
threatens to overwhelm</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But you are not far away</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Redemption is a plot unfolding</div>
<div>
A mystery</div>
<div>
a promise</div>
<div>
a baby</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-lisa, 22 December, 2013</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-52474451949593820812013-12-21T17:32:00.000+03:002013-12-21T19:53:25.659+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day 21<h2>
A Poem for Day Twenty-One</h2>
<br />
The giving of gifts<br />
is a lovely thing<br />
<br />
An artful practice<br />
and kind custom<br />
of affection<br />
<br />
The well-chosen token<br />
pleases the giver<br />
and (of course) the one<br />
who receives<br />
<br />
But let's be honest<br />
<br />
There are times<br />
we find ourselves<br />
at a loss<br />
<br />
Out of time<br />
Short on ideas<br />
(not to mention<br />
cash)<br />
<br />
We follow through<br />
but feel a bit<br />
feeble about<br />
our attempt<br />
<br />
It is a rare joy<br />
to choose a gift<br />
so well<br />
we simply cannot wait<br />
to give it<br />
<br />
And in this vein<br />
I think of you<br />
<br />
The perfect knowing<br />
of our need<br />
<br />
The time and thought<br />
in preparation<br />
<br />
This gift<br />
It cost you<br />
<br />
Yet severity<br />
of toll<br />
did not<br />
dissuade<br />
<br />
You<br />
Spectacular munificence<br />
on display<br />
<br />
Reveled in<br />
the gift<br />
you gave<br />
<br />
-lisa, 21 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-75967444724977536672013-12-20T12:14:00.000+03:002013-12-20T12:19:28.824+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Twenty<h2>
A Poem for Day Twenty</h2>
As children<br />
our elation<br />
was epic<br />
<br />
Barely able to contain<br />
the hyper happy<br />
we danced for days<br />
<br />
And it was all<br />
about us<br />
you know<br />
<br />
Most definitely all<br />
about us<br />
<br />
We matured somewhat<br />
Pondered deeper things<br />
and learned to long<br />
<br />
Beginning to sense<br />
our brokenness<br />
we turned toward you<br />
<br />
And it was still<br />
somehow<br />
all about us<br />
<br />
Not surprising, really<br />
All about us<br />
<br />
Now Advent teaches us<br />
to yearn for you<br />
<br />
And, honestly,<br />
it's right we do<br />
<br />
But quietly<br />
it occurs to me<br />
<br />
That every day<br />
you long<br />
for me<br />
<br />
-lisa, 20 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-12607222234241320902013-12-19T12:09:00.000+03:002013-12-19T19:12:22.079+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Nineteen<h2>
A Poem for Day Nineteen</h2>
My favorite nights<br />
are under stars<br />
<br />
Bare headed<br />
to their light<br />
Warmth of fire<br />
at our feet<br />
<br />
We tell<br />
stories<br />
<br />
<i>Our stories</i><br />
<br />
Old stories<br />
New stories<br />
Stories that make us laugh<br />
until we cry<br />
<br />
Or cry<br />
until we laugh<br />
<br />
Stories of wonder<br />
pain and process<br />
<br />
Stories of failure<br />
fame and<br />
faith<br />
<br />
We tell the stories<br />
yes<br />
<br />
But the stories also<br />
tell us<br />
<br />
We know ourselves<br />
through them<br />
A growing clarity<br />
on who we are<br />
<br />
This season speaks<br />
<i>the most </i><i>gorgeous tale</i><br />
<br />
And yet I manage<br />
to mostly<br />
miss it<br />
<br />
Hush now<br />
Hush<br />
<br />
<i>Magic Story</i><br />
<i>true and unbelievable at once</i><br />
<i>Teach me</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I quiet down</i><br />
<i>and choose</i><br />
<i>to listen</i><br />
<br />
-lisa, 19 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-28572032868675692372013-12-18T20:32:00.001+03:002013-12-18T20:37:42.446+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Eighteen<h2>
A Poem for Day Eighteen</h2>
It's not what they expected<br />
Nothing at all like their dreams<br />
<br />
The implausible plot<br />
lacked pizzazz<br />
<br />
Her principle characters<br />
obscure, unknown<br />
<br />
And anyway<br />
it was boring<br />
<br />
For all the world<br />
a sure-fire flop<br />
<br />
<i>Do you know how many babies</i><br />
<i>are born in less than lovely circumstances?</i><br />
<br />
(Too many)<br />
<br />
No one would see<br />
this was rescue<br />
<br />
<br />
This morning<br />
the very plainness<br />
gives me pause<br />
<br />
The common elements<br />
stop me short<br />
<br />
<i>You are at work</i><br />
<br />
Even now<br />
Today<br />
<br />
You are moving<br />
dearly toward me<br />
<br />
in humble ways<br />
I overlook<br />
<br />
-lisa, 18 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-24932624069896987512013-12-17T19:25:00.000+03:002013-12-18T01:54:42.488+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Seventeen<h2>
A Poem for Day Seventeen</h2>
<br />
I'll tell you what<br />
it's really hard<br />
<br />
This cozy concept<br />
of dear devotion<br />
<br />
(easily attained<br />
in quiet dawn)<br />
<br />
Evaporates<br />
with the most surprising<br />
swiftness<br />
<br />
<br />
One foray into shopping<br />
one attempt to get <i>'er</i> done<br />
<br />
And I am rendered<br />
a grumpy mess<br />
<br />
Easily tried<br />
and short on grace<br />
<br />
I close inward<br />
to self protect<br />
<br />
And you are not<br />
appalled<br />
or even<br />
disappointed<br />
<br />
You grin a little<br />
and lift my chin<br />
<br />
Did I think poetry<br />
would perfect me?<br />
<br />
A traveler<br />
who is simply aided<br />
by the sound and shape<br />
of words<br />
<br />
I stumble toward you<br />
<br />
-lisa, 17 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-29671494690360411992013-12-16T18:23:00.001+03:002013-12-16T18:29:38.369+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Sixteen<h2>
A Poem for Day Sixteen</h2>
Somewhere in the silence<br />
I sense a shifting<br />
<br />
In this weighty darkness<br />
a low and lambent light<br />
<br />
The biting blackout<br />
begins to loosen<br />
<br />
Joy is coming<br />
Joy <i>is</i> coming<br />
JOY is coming<br />
<br />
Prepare with me<br />
to welcome<br />
<br />
Light<br />
<br />
<br />
-lisa, 16 December, 2013lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-64707399095653012482013-12-15T16:01:00.002+03:002013-12-15T16:21:51.734+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Fifteen<h2>
A Poem for Day Fifteen</h2>
There is a time<br />
in that long last hour<br />
we begin to believe<br />
it will always<br />
be night<br />
<br />
In the spreading pool of dark<br />
there is a silence<br />
so profound<br />
it carries<br />
weight<br />
<br />
And cold?<br />
It fills us<br />
<br />
Immobilized by<br />
this invading<br />
lack of<br />
light<br />
<br />
We are numb<br />
<br />
<i>Speak to the night</i><br />
<i>my heart</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Speak to the night</i><br />
<i>a word of hope</i><br />
<br />
This bitter blackness<br />
This copious and<br />
convincing cold<br />
<br />
<i>Cannot</i><br />
<i>Will not</i><br />
<i>Shall not</i><br />
<i>last</i><br />
<br />
Hold on<br />
to this<br />
<br />
Salvation<br />
comes<br />
<br />
-lisa, 15 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-56803912463003999282013-12-14T18:18:00.000+03:002013-12-14T18:27:08.354+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Fourteen<h2>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A Poem for Day Fourteen</span></h2>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is it dark enough</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wonder</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have we drifted</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sufficiently</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to understand</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">at last</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">how thoroughly</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">we are</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lost</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And not just lost</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">but getting more so</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tied to a course</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that leads us</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nowhere</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Each day</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It can't possibly </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">get worse</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">it does</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At what point</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">will we feel</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">our need</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and learn to long</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">for liberation</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-lisa, 14 December, 2013</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-39251005303216916512013-12-13T18:56:00.001+03:002013-12-15T15:00:16.421+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Thirteen<h2>
A Poem for Day Thirteen</h2>
<div>
Home is a feeling</div>
<div>
<div>
that can elude me</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wake in this house I love</div>
<div>
Love her people</div>
<div>
her spacious grace</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Only to find myself</div>
<div>
missing somewhere else</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And when I'm there</div>
<div>
I miss here</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The practice of thanks</div>
<div>
brings me back</div>
<div>
Settles me kindly </div>
<div>
where I am</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I am grateful</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not only for </div>
<div>
places of shelter</div>
<div>
But for the longing</div>
<div>
in between</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Surely you</div>
<div>
who weave all together</div>
<div>
for certain good</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Surely you</div>
<div>
are speaking </div>
<div>
this quiet </div>
<div>
wondering morning</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is truly why you came</div>
<div>
That I might find</div>
<div>
my home</div>
<div>
is you</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-lisa, 13 December, 2013</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-41213318898780037862013-12-12T18:40:00.001+03:002013-12-12T21:16:00.483+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Twelve<h2>
A Poem for Day Twelve</h2>
<div>
It's not that I don't want to know</div>
<div>
<div>
It's just that I fear the ache</div>
<div>
The gut kick of reality</div>
<div>
that comes with knowledge</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Life plays out</div>
<div>
like a <i>Eugene O'Neill</i></div>
<div>
churning my stomach</div>
<div>
with the pain</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, I skim and scan </div>
<div>
Not reading</div>
<div>
for understanding</div>
<div>
I browse the world </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Trepidation</div>
<div>
keeps my heart </div>
<div>
invested to the degree</div>
<div>
I deem <i>manageable</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Fear, it seems </div>
<div>
offers a safety rail</div>
<div>
Shields me from</div>
<div>
the unmet longing</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
O, long away,</div>
<div>
little heart</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Wake this morning</div>
<div>
to a pain-filled world</div>
<div>
and long away</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Do not fear</div>
<div>
an endless night</div>
<div>
This is Advent</div>
<div>
There comes a light</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-lisa, 12 December, 2013</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-70906141001060916172013-12-11T19:14:00.000+03:002013-12-11T19:29:21.899+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Eleven<h2>
A Poem for Day Eleven</h2>
<br />
There was a night<br />
as I carried Heather<br />
we had to flee<br />
<br />
Friends at our door said<br />
Come<br />
Hide in our village<br />
<br />
Bandits were close<br />
Our house<br />
the only nearby attraction<br />
<br />
Husband was hours away<br />
and I was there with<br />
three little boys<br />
<br />
We gathered and locked up<br />
Hushed and hurried<br />
a heavy mama with her brood<br />
<br />
Light fell as we<br />
followed the trail<br />
away from home<br />
<br />
Two clear memories<br />
remain<br />
<br />
We were safe<br />
Loved and<br />
looked out for<br />
<br />
Also, at seven months along<br />
I ached significantly<br />
on that cow skin bed<br />
<br />
Fifteen years on<br />
I wake to<br />
new-felt thanks<br />
<br />
With one tough night<br />
sheltered in that meager mud home<br />
little goats stirring by my head<br />
<br />
Perhaps<br />
(in the smallest<br />
way)<br />
<br />
I hold a memory<br />
that helps me<br />
enter the story<br />
<br />
-lisa, 11 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-88563518032829876502013-12-10T19:27:00.001+03:002013-12-11T19:29:50.799+03:00Thoughts For Advent: Day Ten<h2>
A Poem for Day Ten</h2>
When we were small<br />
the very word<br />
"<i>Christmas"</i><br />
made us a little faint<br />
<br />
There was nothing better than<br />
a present<br />
except, of course,<br />
a mountain of them<br />
<br />
And all on display<br />
under this champion of<br />
seasonal decorations<br />
A fragrant tree, bedecked and shining<br />
<br />
Christmas trumped all<br />
Birthdays, Easter,<br />
pool parties in the summer<br />
Nothing came close<br />
<br />
That it was about you<br />
was a given a solemn nod<br />
We loved that Baby Jesus meant<br />
this kind of loot<br />
<br />
Oh, we loved Baby Jesus too<br />
But he did get a little lost<br />
in all the wrapping<br />
<br />
It was a hard reality<br />
when Christmas<br />
ceased to make us<br />
ridiculously giddy<br />
<br />
That first year<br />
of lessened high<br />
we felt sadly grown<br />
and grieved our loss<br />
<br />
But we settled in<br />
Christmas was still lovely<br />
in this newly adult<br />
reality<br />
<br />
Now with the vantage<br />
of fifty years<br />
I'm revisiting<br />
that early wonder<br />
<br />
Wish me well,<br />
friends on the way<br />
Here's to the journey<br />
into joy<br />
<br />
-lisa, 10 December, 2013<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-80088564740852712652013-12-09T17:30:00.001+03:002013-12-09T20:49:20.060+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Nine<h2>
A Poem for Day Nine</h2>
<br />
This is a risky business<br />
this rising early<br />
to Advent with you<br />
<br />
What if I creep out of bed<br />
light the candle<br />
and don't find you<br />
<br />
What then?<br />
<br />
Even as I write these words<br />
I feel a giggle start to roll<br />
<br />
You who rended heaven<br />
to send a precariously helpless babe<br />
<br />
Allowed that one to be raised<br />
in this deeply broken place<br />
<br />
Let him grow to his full manhood<br />
only to watch him meet the bitterest of bitter ends<br />
<br />
All this<br />
<br />
All this that we might begin to know you<br />
To bridge the chasm that we might connect<br />
<br />
The fear that I could turn toward you<br />
only to be stood up<br />
strikes me this breaking morning<br />
as laughable<br />
<br />
Thank you for the soft reminder<br />
that, yes, one of us is prone to ditch the other<br />
And that someone<br />
isn't you<br />
<br />
-lisa, 9 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-16820031094869768732013-12-08T17:51:00.001+03:002013-12-09T00:33:04.245+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Eight<h2>
A Poem for Day Eight</h2>
<br />
It's amazes me how the smallest offense<br />
can lodge like a splinter<br />
in my heart<br />
<br />
A bit of pique and huff appear<br />
the outward signs of my<br />
displeasure<br />
<br />
And in my little righteous mood<br />
I turn my stubborn thoughts<br />
to you<br />
<br />
How awful if, like me<br />
you wasted time<br />
on indignation<br />
<br />
You, the real owner<br />
of every right<br />
chose not to claim even one<br />
<br />
Today's Advent lesson<br />
seems to be<br />
You moved first<br />
pursuing me<br />
<br />
-lisa, 8 December, 2013<br />
<br />
<br />lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27921691.post-67482507715360638932013-12-07T15:12:00.000+03:002013-12-07T15:12:28.712+03:00Thoughts for Advent: Day Seven<h2>
A Poem for Day Seven</h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We moved recently</div>
<div>
Packed our bags and drove out of town</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sounds very neat</div>
<div>
when put that way</div>
<div>
A tidy task of transportation</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In reality</div>
<div>
We struggled hard</div>
<div>
to shift our stuff</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mountains of belongings</div>
<div>
a landslide of accouterments</div>
<div>
an explosion of paraphernalia</div>
<div>
Even after paring down</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's embarrassing</div>
<div>
(How is it possible</div>
<div>
we<i> need</i> this junk?)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is a symptom of</div>
<div>
an overweight heart</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As days of Advent accelerate</div>
<div>
the pull to purchase </div>
<div>
powers up</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Slim down</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Perhaps this Christmas</div>
<div>
we can learn from you</div>
<div>
and give each other</div>
<div>
the gift of presence</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-lisa, 7 December, 2013</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467859215672771501noreply@blogger.com1