Perspective in the Pandemic

The words jumped off the page! 

At any other time, I probably would've skimmed right over them, but during the Covid-19 culture they became the very essence of hope.

Perhaps I should back up a bit. Careful to follow the protocols handed down by governors and health advisors alike, I found myself with a scratchy throat and a hoarse voice. I lined up my usual beat-the-bug potions on the counter, fully expecting to be fine after a day or two. Just to be sure I took my temperature. Days turned into weeks with symptoms coming and going (none of which were on the C-19 list, I might add). Finally, I made an appointment, which turned into several more. I think we're finally almost to the end of this road.

All that to say this: Between the ever-darkening newscasts and my own fear of somehow infecting my 84-year-old dad, I felt anxious . . . really anxious . . . and even guilty. What was wrong with me? Why didn't God intervene? I couldn't bear it if I gave something to my father. And what if this was something serious? 

My usual take-what-comes manner flew right out the window, and fear and frustration began to take root in my heart. And that's when I read these words:

"And no inhabitant will say, 'I am sick';

the people who dwell there will be forgiven their iniquity" (Isaiah 33:24).

Can you imagine a day when not one person will say "I am sick"? Isaiah wrote about judgment and captivity to a nation who forsook God's ways, but he also penned poetry about God's promise to bring about the messianic kingdom, a kingdom the redeemed will one day enjoy.

Even in the the midst of a worldwide pandemic, herein lies our hope. Sickness will be banished. Sin will be forgiven. And the LORD will be our judge, lawgiver, and king. He will save us (33:22).

"Say to those who have an anxious heart,

Be strong; fear not! Behold, your God . . ." (35:4).

Paper or Plastic?

"You're turning into Mrs. Walter, Mom!"

I had to chuckle last week as one of my daughters surveyed the basement void of nearly thirty years' worth of clutter, videos, and old catalogs. Instead, the built-in shelves house many of my husband's books, neat and tidy. The floor looks large and nearly empty.

Mrs. Walter. . . Barry did yard work for the dear old lady, and she adopted the rest of us, more or less.

For a while we (four-year-old Elisabeth and I) took her grocery shopping. On the weeks she found it difficult to get out, we dropped by to pick up her list. Always in her careful handwriting, always specific, always brand name items. One day we were looking for a can of Green Giant vegetables. Elisabeth, always a ready helper, quipped, "There it is. The green Philistine!" 

A widow, former tennis player, and avid reader of the classics, Mrs. Walter was sharp as a tack. She kept her home and yard just so. Conversant in subjects ranging from philosophy to gardening, she carried an aura of youth about her slight wrinkled frame. She listened well, offering just enough to make you think you could change your corner of the world.

When we shopped together, a pattern emerged that disturbed me:

"Does she want paper or plastic bags?"
The question, directed toward me, by-passes the little lady,

     Change purse poised, list in hand.

Oh, I know the answer.

We come here every Tuesday.

She waits for me by her door with hat and sunglasses,

     Outfit neat, in different colored Keds every time - 

Then hoists herself up onto my van seat.

At the store, we walk together . . .

     As though I am the usher

     And she a guest at a grand wedding.

I lay her produce on the grocer's scale.

I search for cans, often tucked in where they don't belong. 

When we return, I unload her treasures and carry them in. 

We put them all in their proper places.

And all the while,

She listens as I weigh out pros and cons.

     She gives me clues when solutions seem obscure.

     She shares my load when life feels overwhelming.

     We put it all in its proper place. 

"Paper or plastic?"

"Paper," she says.*

I made it a point never to answer the questions misdirected toward me. Mrs. Walter answered them just fine. And if my daughter wants to compare me to our spunky friend who kept her home sparse and tidy, I'm okay with that.

Just let me do the answering!

*Poem written December 2002

Fun With Poetry

Today I went back to school! 

Photo by Jenny Brock

There's nothing like sitting with preschool and elementary school students, reading poetry to them, and chatting about writing. Many thanks to Abington Christian Academy in Northeast Pennsylvania for inviting me to their 100th Day Event. Several others from our community also came and shared their expertise.

Today I read a few poems I've written along the way. If you're young at heart, you might enjoy them, too.

Morning Tangles

Morning tangles
Mazes in my hair
Secret Snarls
Undercover nightmare

Brush it! Comb it!
Tug of war - OW!
"Could I please do it later
Instead of just now?"

Morning Tangles
Aggravating spots
Bottle of detangler
Sprayed on all my spots

Brush it! Comb it!
Snarls start of move
Tug of war's over
Finally smooth!

 Hiccups

I brought my hiccups with me.

They never left  my side.

As Mom and I went shopping,

They tried to hurt my pride.

I hiccuped by the broccoli

And near the peanut butter.

No matter how I tried to stop,

Those hiccups made me stutter.

I visited the drinking fountain,

Held my breath, and counted.

Those hiccups stayed - determined

And very much undaunted.

And so I brought my hiccups home.

My insides felt so shaken.

I promise you - This was no joke.

I really wasn't fakin'!

So if the hiccups find you

When you go into the store,

I'll meet you by the broccoli.

Let's keep score.

Coming Home

 

Gather up towels, swim suit, and sneaks.

Zip up my sleeping bag. Roll it up neat.

Laundry bag, camera, flashlight, and jacket -

Scramble to pack it - Ricochet racket! 

Voices echo, "See you next year.

Please write soon. Don't forget your gear."

Chattering car ride - So much to say:

Hiking, campfires . . . Wish I could stay . . . 

Home for Mom's supper. Yum. What a treat.

Finally, the favorites I love to eat.

A bath tonight? Okay. Feels warm and good.

Bedtime already? I'll go when I should.

Snuggled 'neath my covers like a bird in its       nest . . .

Camp was fun, but home's the best!

Treacherous Ride

old bike

red paint

black seat

wide tires

down the street

no hands

no feet

too fast

flip over

land hard

wind gone

next time

hang on!

*Photos from bing.com/images

Morning Tangles

When's the last time you just needed to take some time out and get organized? 

Today was one of those days for me. Over the past several weeks, I found myself lacking focus and feeling frustrated--especially while working on my computer. Over the last year or so, as I hurried to meet deadlines, I didn't always take the time to organize my files. By day's end, it felt good to finally have my documents in order. 

And I found it to be a little like cleaning a closet when you find a forgotten gadget. I discovered a piece I'd written years ago when Elisabeth, now eighteen, was in elementary school. One summer while I sat poolside watching her swim, I scribbled down some poetry--just for fun. Here's one your family might enjoy, especially if you have girls with long hair!

 

Morning Tangles

Morning tangles
Mazes in my hair
Secret snarls
Undercover nightmare

Brush it! Comb it!
Tug of war - Ow!
"Can I please do it later
Instead of just now?" 

Morning tangles
Aggravating spots
Bottle of detangler
Sprayed on all my knots

Brush it! Comb it!
Snarls start to move
Tug of war's over
Finally smooth   

 

So I hope you'll take some time to do a little organizing this summer. You never know what will turn up - and it may be just the thing to bring back some good memories and lighten up your day.

Photos from bling.com/images

Penned Without Ink: Behind the Scenes # 1

Last time I told you about my book, Penned Without Ink: Trusting God to Write Your Story, which will be published late this coming summer by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Thank you for your wonderful support and comments both here and on Facebook.

I also mentioned that I would be blogging about the process--giving you a behind-the-scenes look at how this book went from a wobbly idea with several false starts to acceptance for publication. I hope, in the process, to encourage you to pursue your dreams. It will most likely take hard work, perseverance, and patience. The outcome may look very different from your original goal, but God has a way of directing our steps. His timing is always perfect.


In the next few months, I plan to give you snapshots of the process. Today, I'll begin with a confession. I happened to be a kid who labored to write in school. I just couldn't get the hang of it. Finally, in my last year of high school, my English teacher made us write a character sketch every week. Every week! Little by little I began to improve--enough to do a pretty decent job writing term papers in college, anyway.

Fast-forward twenty-plus years. By this time, my husband and I had two teenagers and a three-year old. Busy? Stretching? A little crazy? All of the above! I decided to take a local evening poetry class for a few weeks, just to get out a little--and actually enjoyed it. The next summer I brought my humble offerings to the Montrose Christian Writers Conference and made an appointment with Marlene Bagnull, who patiently read my work and encouraged me to keep writing.

So I did. And I had the nerve to send my work to editors. Some publications, online and print, accepted my poems and articles. Some did not. But all along the way, I was learning how to write (I still am!), how to follow writers guidelines, and how to wait.

After our car accident in 2003, I wrote bits and pieces about our experience. In 2005, Horizons published an article titled "Ready for Anything?" (September 18). In it I discussed "several areas of preparation--essential in the event of a crisis of any kind." I'm still passionate about this topic.

From there, my interest in writing escalated. God continued to open doors for me to submit short pieces. I never dreamed of writing a book until later, but I needed these years to learn the craft of writing, to find a writing group, and to appreciate the process.

Next time, I'll let you in on a scenario when I said no and then eventually said yes. No matter what your gifts and abilities, God has a plan for you. Maybe you're like me, the kid who couldn't---you fill in the blank. He equips us all with experiences and gifts to bless others and bring glory to Himself.

I'd love to hear the beginnings of your story . . . 

 

Decisions, Decisions

bing.com

So, how are you at making decisions?

 

I've had to make a lot of decisions over the last few months. And I'm not finding it easy. I've agonized over replacing my old car, deciding what to keep, what to pass on, and what to save, and everything in between. How did Barry always seem to know what to do?

 

How often I've cried out to God to help me over these weeks. I'm learning that making a decision is a little like crossing a river, taking one step at a time.  

 

Decision

I size up the rushing river

 overflowing its banks, full of unknowns,

the other side far away and obscure.

 

Alone now,

with only distant dreamlike memories left,

I wring my hands and pace the shore.

 

What if my foot should slip?

What if misjudgment sweeps me downstream?

What if ignorance pulls me under?

 

I feel the hand of time upon my back,

driving me ever closer to the current’s edge.

-

My heart beats fast.

Tears escape their hiding place.

I cower at the brink.

 

 “Oh dear God, please help me.

I need your grace.”

 

First one foot. Then the other.

And as I take each faltering step,

the Red-Sea-waters part.

Just enough for me to take another step

and then one more.

 

On dry ground

 

Slowly

Slowly

 

All the way to the other side.