The Completed Puzzle

Sometimes, on a cloudy, and rain-drenched day,

It is dark, and your watery eyes can't see.

The heavy ladened heart, it wants to say,

"There's no one who really cares about me."

Listen not, it's a deep-trenched tale untrue.

Deep within lies the truth that's much greater.

One still wholeheartedly believes in you

His love extends out sooner than later.

It presents as little jigsaw pieces

Tender moments together connected

Gradually the vision increases

Until at last, the whole view erected!

Look! Now you can see, it was always there!

During dark frustrated times you still see,

It connected piece by piece, everywhere,

And connects throughout all eternity.

Commentary:

This was written after being challenged by someone recently to write a poem using a jigsaw puzzle and the message of being loved. I was unsure about being able to do it. I feel like my mind hasn't been working at its ultimate strength because of the years of high stress I had dealt with, but that is beginning to be long enough ago that my mind should have recovered at least a little since then. Challenge accepted. This was written as a result.

I was thinking about how we feel the love of God in our lives. I think that there's a misunderstanding out there about what really is evidence of his love. Hearing about the stories of the past, we're often told of the miracles that happen as great momentous experiences, but I'm guessing that the reality was that the majority of those moments just looked like normal occurrences to those who don't look at things in religious terms. In reality, it's the every-day occurrences, such as a kind gesture, a helping hand, a word of encouragement, and so on that provides the little pieces of evidence of God's love, and as they gradually fit in all together into a whole and complete picture, we begin to see in a much clearer view how beautiful and complete His love really is.

It's a little like this puzzle I got for Christmas once. All I was given was the bag of puzzle pieces. I had no box with a picture, nor a copy of the picture on a paper, to guide me. All I could do was work it out by sorting the colors. It was quite a challenge, but as I went through piece by piece, I slowly began to see the picture. Look at the adorable result!

Someone guessed correctly that I was a kitty (cat) person! 💖💓💗😻😻😻

My completed puzzle

A Holy Home

It's a special, beautiful day.

Our home is become a holy place,

For our Lord is come for a visit.

My sister, mindful of our guest,

Begins the tasks to make it presentable.

I look at her in awe,

As she goes around the rooms,

Seeing to it that needs are met.

What an admirable person!

Yet, as I look to my guest, I'm torn.

I know I should help,

But the business feels distracting.

The yearning within me desires

That I should stay with my guest,

To listen to him as he speaks,

To learn of his words and teachings,

To know Him.

How can I leave His side,

When His food nourishes better than mine? 

My sister, in her business,

She's not so happy with me,

But He knew how to comfort us both

In one simple thought

That causes us both to think,

And want to be better.

What a blessed, wonderful day!

That the Lord came to visit us,

To make our home holy indeed.

Commentary:

It's been a while, but on thinking about my now deceased brother, I was thinking about one bible story, and I wanted to write something about it, but this one popped into my head immediately afterward, and it began stewing within my mind. Perhaps that other story will be referred to at a later time, but this one really caught on. I was thinking about this story (of the sisters Martha and Mary), and remembering my mom, plus several other women state that they felt like they related a lot to Martha--the busy one, and it seemed like it often stopped there. No one really seemed to understand, or at least talked about what it was that Jesus was pointing out in this story. I've always asked the question, What did Mary do that was so admirable? No one as far as I can remember has ever discussed it, and I always felt like I was a little bit out of the norm in thinking that I could relate more to Mary, thinking how likely it was that I would prefer to be with my guest and not fuss over the mundane tasks, and most likely would be chided for not helping. Since I was of a different perspective, I thought I would try to sit down and write this out on behalf of Mary and what she might have been thinking in this story.

This attempt may have left some things out, but the general idea is there. This is the results of my reflection on this story, and perhaps there's more to learn from it, but this is as I have come to understand it at this moment.

A rainbow from earlier this year.

It is Not So

In the stillness and silence of the night,

My sleep is disturbed, I'm awakened.

Thoughts begin to stir within my mind,

And my heart, it speaks.

It's heavy, burdened with grief.

So many changes in such a short time,

Loss still makes life too surreal.

I feel so lost without you.

Who am I? What good am I anymore?

How do I move on, without you nearby?

Alone: I feel so alone.

No more comfort hugs for you and me.

No one to talk to when I need advice,

Or to just have someone's presence near my side.

Directionless. Stuck. Lost.

The groan from within, a mourner's call,

It takes over, and fountains fall.

Let out shameless at full power.

Am I forgotten? I cry out.

From all this pain, it certainly feels so,

But when after the emotions have all worked out,

And the quiet has again returned to my heart,

I am reminded.

As alone as it feels, it is not so.

For even though your presence is gone,

And it's not always easy to feel,

You are still here with me.

As the environment stillness grows,

It lightens the heaviness of my load,

Calming my soul as I listen.

The quiet, it speaks in a comforting tone

In its powerful stillness, I know,

As alone as it might seem, it is not so,

And for whatever confusion I may face,

I must remember not to diminish the reality

That worthless was never the value of my soul.

Comment:

This was written in the middle of the night, one of those moments most, if not all, people have at some point, when the heart felt heavy. I'm not even sure it was for one specific reason, but it was triggered by something from the previous day. It was one of those nights when a cry was necessary to unload the burden, and the need for expression came out in this manner. 

I don't think all of the struggles I expressed here were ones I was dealing with in the moment, but it was a prime example of what went through my mind in the following months after the passing of my disabled brother. It was only 1 1/2 years since the death of my mom when he passed, so it came as an extra whammy in the adjustment compartment, and we were really close; It felt that way anyway. It's almost five months, so things are still a little tender.

Beautiful Funeral Flower Arrangement

The Worth of Tenderness

It seems to be so much easier,

To block everything out.

Not letting anything in,

So self-preservation controls.

It's easy to assume no one cares,

That it's gone all stiff,

Solidifying under pressure,

And becoming an stoic stone.

On the other hand, what would happen,

If in some miraculous manner

Permeation was still in effect?

Such a wondrous difference!

For in its dry sponge-like state,

It's so small, it's practically nothing,

Yet as the emotions pour upon it,

What an extraordinary expanse!

It grows to an impressive size,

Two, three, four times from its original dimension,

Perhaps even larger.

What a difference it makes!

But with its size is an increase of heaviness,

Large and heavy, filled to full potential,

And of course, it weeps,

Oh, how it weeps!

But even in this impressive state,

A presentation of the most beautiful expression,

Gushing out from the very soul!

An intimate and inspiring act to witness!

For even though it saturates all:

The extremely difficult sting of pain,

The exhilaration from those moments of joy,

It's far better than taking in nothing.

In this world, is tenderness worth it?

When any moment could bring it remarkable pain?

It's indeed a difficult journey, requiring courage,

But yes is the final answer, again and again.

Commentary:

Several years ago, I was using an object lesson explaining the difference between a hard heart and a soft heart. In the lesson, I took a rock to symbolize the hard heart, and a sponge to symbolize the soft heart. I had the children pour water over both to see what happened. The hard heart got wet, but otherwise wasn't affected at all, while the soft heart grew and expanded as it took in the water--and it took in a lot of water! After doing the experiment, I found myself not able to verbally explain the lesson, and found it a little frustrating that I couldn't do it properly in the moment, but here I'm able to put some of my thoughts about that demonstration into words. There was far more to my point that I put into the poem, as I was trying to explain how receptive people are to learning and understanding when they allow themselves to receive inspiration, which can be quite vulnerable.

This is by far a reflection of my more positive thinking, since some of my most recent entries have reflected a little bit more on my melancholic state when it sets in. That's just being human. We all have to have some moments of melancholy at some time. But, as I always say, whether melancholic or not: Life is good.

The Small Flower Shop

The small flower shop,
It’s all Abuzz.
From the first cracked open door,
Business.
Red rose upon red rose,
Tied together with a decorative string.
Inspected and wrapped,
And set on the table.
Customer after customer,
Usually a young man,
Enters to pick up his bundle.

A young woman passes by the shop
She sees the table
She sees the roses
But no one sees her
Even those who passed by
Carrying their bundles,
Smiling in anticipation.
But is there no smile on her face?
There’s no expression there,
But within the eyes a depth,
An expression of melancholy.
Pausing to watch for a moment,
She then walks on.

Commentary:

This is based off of a specific memory of mine. There was a time when I would go on walks in the afternoon, and many times I would pass this little flower shop. I'd go in there once-in-a-while to look at some of the miscellaneous items they sold in there, such as cross stitching patterns and scrapbooking items (not that I was ever really good at those, but I liked the collection, and some of the scrapbooking papers came in handy for printing out my poetry at Christmas). Their busiest time of the year was during Valentines Day.

This particular memory occurred on Valentines Day. I was walking past the store, and they'd had so many orders of red roses that they had them out on a table outside their door. There were several coming in to pick up their flowers to take home, and as I watched, I couldn't help but feel a little bit of a pang inside of me. Here were all of these beautiful flowers destined as an expression of love to someone who holds a special place in this person's heart, and I wasn't one of them. Not to worry, though, despite the momentary reminders of that missing segment of my life, I've learned to redistribute the focus to those loved ones in my life rather than those who are not. But there are others who may still struggle with it, and this is just small a way to express that.

The Same Degree of Value

I see them

But I'm not seen

I hear them

But I'm not heard

I know them

But few know me

I understand them

But I'm not understood

They lead

I support

They are the spotlight

I am the shadow

People want to be near them

I'm in the corner, alone

They are energetic and witty

I'm subdued and quiet

They are celebrated

I stand back inconspicuously

They are noticeably beautiful

My beauty lives an invisible existence

Two opposing worlds

Both so exceedingly valuable

Commentary:

I had to write this to let some things out that I've been dealing with today. It's a cycle I have to go through every once in a while. Poetry has its way of cheering me up, or at least helping me express myself. I know better than to devalue the things I've learned as being the person in the shadows/background. Yes, those who are successful and admired often have great reason to be recognized, but that shouldn't be good cause to make me feel less important. My successes aren't so visible, but worth celebrating, whether I'm the only member of the party or not.

It seems to be a position to hate: always being in the shadow. It does have its moments of loneliness, and, as I've often called it, that perpetual sense of some sort of unfulfilled longing, but it also has its advantages. It has provided me a keen sense of empathy due to my ability to asses environments and often individuals. It has given me time to be more familiar with myself and deal with my emotions, which can go extremely deep. I could go on, but I'm not here to write an essay. Seen or not seen, there's much to be appreciated, and I hope you understand that no one is worthless.

Thank you.

Taking care of my disabled brother.

A Chance to Live

I made a mistake,

And I knew better.

They are angry.

I see it in their faces.

I hear it in their words.

From them, I'm ostracized.

Few friends, if any remain.

How could I have been so unwise?

I feel so humiliated,

And find little comfort from my new friend:

Loneliness.

Voices, they are everywhere,

Shouting, accusing,

Reminding me in a continuous cycle,

My guilt and shame.

All I can see is darkness.

I grope around for something to grasp,

But I can't.

Despair has taken it all:

The hope I can only dream of.

I know my life is doomed,

And my days, they're counted.

Brought before the mightiest of all,

A spectacle of ultimate shame.

I look down upon the powdery dust,

Knowing and feeling my unworthiness.

That I did not deserve to share the dust,

Upon which His finger traced.

I dared not look upon Him,

Only heard him.

And only dared to look up,

As I heard one by one,

The accusers leave.

What was happening?

I watched in awe as step-by-step,

My darkness began to dissipate,

For as each one left,

My chance for life brightened.

Was hope returning?

Calmly, He looked upon me,

Knowing my wrong.

But from those eyes, a different look;

They lacked hatred,

And bore no coldness.

Even though He, of all,

Had that right to condemn me.

But he didn't.

And what bewilderment that caused!

For though I was brought to die,

I departed with the chance to live!

Commentary:

I was in church this week, and for some reason the bible story of the woman being brought before Jesus after being caught in an act of adultery, and it occurred to me that this could be anyone. I'm not saying that everyone is guilty of being unfaithful, but in more of a symbolic manner. For in a way, aren't we all being adulterers to God by breaking His commandments? That was an interesting insight to me anyway, and I thought it to be the perfect for my subject for Christmas this year.

For those of you who don't know, I had a tradition of writing a Christmas poem every year and sharing it with others. These poems tend to be primarily religious focused on Christ and subjects of inspiration. Sometimes, if I've caught the poetry writing bug, I'll write something else a little more generalized for the season (usually nature related). It's all fun, and I love it when I can sink in a little and think about things in preparation for these.

So here's my contribution for the moment. I've been enjoying these, so who knows? Maybe another is on its way.

Enjoy your holiday season!