Brick by Brick: Rebuilding the Broken

This post is more like I planned to write for the holiday, but then I wrote more than I could possibly put in one post. So when life is whirling all around you and nothing makes sense - there is one truth to hang on to, one truth which holds in any storm life throws your way. When we have an anchor, we may get tossed overboard and feel we are going under, but it stays the course and keeps us safe. This song was about all I could cling to when our world went black. Perhaps it will give you a glimmer of hope as well.   You turn the key Then close the door behind you Drop your bags on the floor You reach for the light But there's darkness deep inside And you can't take it anymore 'Cause sometimes living takes the life out of you And sometimes living is all you can do Life is hard, the world is cold We're barely young and then we're old But every falling tear is always understood Yes, life is hard, but God is good You start to cry 'Caus

This weekend is Easter. It was my plan to write a daily thoughtful theme to prepare us for another holy celebration. Then life kicks me in the shins yet again, and I am forced to just read others' thoughts for the week. Still one niggling fragment to ponder remains -  how much do you think about the phrase - Good Friday ? Good Friday  - how is this a good thing? I have always loved the Easter holidays. As a child, I looked forward to Palm Sunday. The day Jerusalem thought Jesus came to conquer the Romans. Palm Sunday to a child was intriguing because we would march up the aisle waving palm branches singing Hosanna. It felt like a parade for little people. I imagined I was back in the day, following Jesus on a donkey, and I felt so much smarter than the crowd back then because I knew something they did not know. Only a week later, the crowd changed their tune. The very same crowd who sang Hosanna, turned into an angry mob. Their confusion as to who Jesus was made them bli

I will try to break it to you gently - you came a little broken.  I am not perfect. By now, you have probably guessed you aren't either. Fixing broken things isn't always easy. Especially if everything falls apart at once. Many times, at our house, anyway, appliances break down in threes. Or any variety of common human inconveniences that come in such untimely ways.  We can usually fix those. Until we can't. Not everything that breaks can be fixed. Or we try and fix them improperly. Have you ever broke a knife because you couldn't find the screwdriver? (asking for a friend!) But I didn't come here to tell you how many ways there are to fix your favorite chair. When you have found the best restaurant in town for mouth-watering burgers, do you keep that a secret? If you found a cure for cancer, would you only use it to cure your own? Would you tell no one?  Like it or not, we are living in a world of brokenness. Pain, sorrow, tr

I don't know about you - but I'm not normal! (It has been said, it's just a dryer setting anyway!) During one of my nightly  "I can't sleep because the pain is coming from all directions" episodes,  I came up with all kinds of stories to write about. But then, the pain is too great to bother getting up and writing it down, so I just hope they go 'round and 'round my head enough times to dig a groove, and stay there until needed! I have decided my brain is an overstuffed glove box.  You know, those tiny, little compartments in your car, to hold ALL your essentials. Like maps and pens and paper, and the car manual and official papers, band-aids, flashlights, sunglasses, a stocking hat, lip balm, extra change, dry socks, Cheerios, oh, and uh, gloves!  (Am I the only one that tries to stuff that bugger as full as possible, and forget what all is actually in there?) They really need to make them larger! Oh. Right. They used to. When I actually ne

Note: if you have lost a baby, I am so very sorry. Please feel free to skip this one.   Lullaby, and goodnight...Anyone out there actually know the words to this tune? Well, I didn't. So my children got a tune something like this: "Lullaby, and goodnight, the stars in the night sky. I don't know, this song, too well..." Yeah, we shall just not finish that one?  Thanks to Google - I found real lyrics: " Lullaby, and good night, in the skies stars are bright. May the moon's silvery beams bring you sweet dreams. Close your eyes now and rest, may these hours be blessed. 'Til the sky's bright with dawn, when you wake with a yawn." There's more, but you get the idea. Besides, when you have a fussy baby, who has time to remember a whole song? I made up my own. Easy to recall at a moment's notice and accurate every time!  My first child didn't need a whole lot of rocking to sleep. He just wanted to hold our hand outside the c

One of my favorite poets has to be Emily Dickinson. A talented and unique writer, who wasn't afraid to bend the rules of poetry. She was known for "imperfect rhymes" and "rough rhythms". Her thoughts seem so jumbled at times, but they come out so beautifully when you just pause and mull it over awhile.  Like savoring that first spring stroll outdoors, after being cooped up all winter, the fresh air hits you and hope is renewed. You have been so used to a cold chill in the air, sometimes it takes a moment to sink in, just how great that sun really feels. Take a break with me here, have a cup of tea (or coffee :) or what have you) and  read a bit of Emily's writings that have spurred me on to appreciate playing with words. VI   Part Three: Love IF you were coming in the fall, I ’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spurn, As housewives do a fly.    If I could see you in a year,         5 I ’d wind the months in balls, And p

Holidays Henry Wadsworth Longfellow , 1807 - 1882 The holiest of all holidays are those     Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;     The secret anniversaries of the heart,     When the full river of feeling overflows;— The happy days unclouded to their close;     The sudden joys that out of darkness start     As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart     Like swallows singing down each wind that blows! White as the gleam of a receding sail,     White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,     White as the whitest lily on a stream, These tender memories are;— a Fairy Tale     Of some enchanted land we know not where,     But lovely as a landscape in a dream.