Trusting Observations (Poems from Spring)

I Finally See Her, Unknown Name

 Darkest skin, voice thick

With the sound of another nation

She speaks of cancer the enemy,

Which had no distinction of race

When it took her husband and

Left her sons lonely. Her anguish displays

With a wetted cheek in front of me. 

She encourages, and I see power

As she speaks to the women with

Authoritative firmness

 A tested trust pours

Out with her words of a God that

Sustained her through death.

I realize I never truly saw her

Never let my observations run deeper

Than her beautiful skin and voice.

Walked by after church with a smile and wave

Not remembering her name, but

Thinking that fine, until the moment

When I first hear her and wish I remembered.

Vocabulary Enlightenment

 Not more better, just better

Being a good friend to someone

And for someone are different

How? Explaining is hard

You cannot cook good

But you can cook well

Even if you might

Have a good recipe

You can like someone

Or be like someone

Separate thoughts

Changed by preposition

The strongest words

Are simple and precise

Such as the powerful

Uncomplicated “I love you”

English is crazy?

You may be right

Letter From Dominican

 The one inspired in country remote

Is tucked beneath the pages of my journal

I smile when I see the simple blue lines on

A half sheet of white paper

Filled with his well-ordered script

That was the one where his meaning was lost

Words like “love” and “sister” intertwined

His imperfect English deciphered and now

We jest with the well-read note taken out to play

Now that we know

We were just starting that time-old revelation

Of the possibility of like, and of love

Nothing declared when he left on a trip of twelve days.

Doubts accumulated as time stacked silence.

He forgot me, he doesn’t care, my insecurity built

Excuses for the quiet that came across the water.

An inaccurate homebound date

Made me think that my wondering

And missing was not shared.

I was a solitary admirer unsure.

Trust

My friend advises, and I halts my anxiety

 As she claims, “That boy is going to contact

You as soon as he arrives on U.S. soil.”

I allow the words to wash my eyes to

Sleep the night before he comes back.

From Puerto Rico a text arrives and

Seconds erase days of waiting wonder.

No declarations of love, or of like, but

The simple words “I miss you”

Cause my heart to hurry to hope.

The day after, he rips the page containing

Sermon notes and my letter in half. He

Apologizes for its presentation, but as

I take the note from his hands, I assure

Him that I only care to know I was in his thoughts.

My Kids Not My Own

I sit down carefully

Balancing the newborn babe

Not my own, to sleep.

Her siblings are mine.

I did not birth the three.

Nor have I acquired

Them as such by any

Other means than by

Being their nanny.

That time ended many months ago

And I wonder if I will ever

Know the one in my arms

Though I had hoped and prayed

For her arrival with the protectiveness

Of one who saw the pain of

Lost babies in my employer’s womb.

The afternoon rays flow from the window

And I shield her pink face from

The glow. “My, she looks like Lucy,”

I think in a motherly way, as I

Notice the cheekbones and eyes

That mirror my former youngest charge.

My last day as help has come.

Even tonight on a plane is a girl

Who will fly in, and take

Lodging in my former domain.

My oldest girl Stella, in a

Concerned voice tells me

I should be their nanny

Again. And if I don’t, I won’t

Know her baby sister Elise.

The one I hold in my arms.

Her observations cut down

Into a place I was not aware of.

I inwardly sigh and explain

Another nanny will soon take

My place, but I secretly

Hope she never does.

Unexpected Not Surmised

 Expected: White boy curly hair loud.

Unforeseen: Honduran, quiet, steady.

More romantic than I? Yes, that

Is certainly a wonder.

“I’m going to marry you Hillary Walker,”

He tells me and I laugh at his cockiness

And candor. I challenge

His confidence with eyebrows raised,

But his gaze doesn’t waver.

I want to trust the assurance he has

Of our ability to weave language and culture,

But the time is not yet here when I reveal

To him my hope that what he says will happen.

At time may come when my doubts are cleared

If the months turn into a year, and a year turns into a wedding.

Just a Trip

 Across the wooden worn café table

A “no” hangs on his lips but doesn’t emerge.

I want to keep the word in, to keep him from denying me.

He longs to say yes, as much as I want him to, but he stops.

Tears that I hate form underneath my lids.

Manipulation is not my game, but I wish it were.

Must I give up control again, and again, and again?

It is just a trip, but my sister and I have made it into a pilgrimage

I want him to journey on. To do what he said he would do,

When he claimed he would take me to the moon.

I do not require that distance, but do seek from him

Some form of adventure across the miles.

Our wills diverge, and the word does not fall

From his lips. But I know, to maintain

A future with the man across the table,

I must establish a place of safety.

A secure ground for him to say “no.”

Mouths Closed Eyes Open

 A quiet person’s greatest gift

Can be the gentle gift of observation

When lack of spoken words propels one

Into the place of uncertainty

Then realize that the time stacked

With silence gives the ability

To see deeper that those whose

Mouths never stop moving.

 A Barrier of Words

 I sit on a well-worn cream couch

In the living area of his family’s house.

His sister’s weekly rearrangement of furniture

Causes me laughter every time I step inside.

It is here that the family surrounds me

Every look, gesture, and facial expression now become

An intense study as I grapple with understanding

The elusive language that circulates around me.

Sometimes we banter, mixing English

With Spanish, and I enjoy the challenge

Of piecing movements with words to

Disclose the mystery that is their conversation.

At these times I am confident that one day

I too will participate with the

Vigor and knowledge that they have attained

Of a mother tongue not their own.

Other times I remain an unrecognized

Object in the room. Another piece of the

Furniture rearranged they forget me

And my inability to understand.

My limited knowledge fails

And the exchange becomes like a

Thousand-piece puzzle in front of me

With only ten pieces given to my hand.

Before I build my frustration to

An unreachable height, a solid hand

Surrounds my own I look into the face

That always remembers me. 

He kindly reminds them of my presence.

I am no longer an object, but a person accepted

They step into my natural and their unnatural,

And I hope that someday I can do the same for them.

What He Calls Us

It is every so often that I learn some deep insight while taking care of the children. This time it was amongst their squabbles that new revelation came forth.

Stella, Everett and Lucy are the most imaginative kids I know. I remember being that way when I was young. After every new movie, or every new story, a whole host of new possibilities arose for whom we could pretend to be. Recently the kids are Anakin, Ahsoka and Princess Leia from Starwars. During playtime a need will arise for someone to play the "bad guy". I try to tell them that there can be an imaginary bad guy, but the kids, Everett especially, refuse this option. The bad guy must be played by a real person apparently. Of course no one wants to declare themselves the bad guy, so it usually happens that a, "you're the bad" guy war irrupts, which often leaves one or more kids in tears.

Today such a outbreak ensued and two-year-old Lucy ran to me in tears crying, "Everett said I the bad guy!"

To comfort her I asked, "Lucy who is in charge?"

"You are Miss Hillary."

"Yes, I am in charge, and Everett is not. So I say you can be the princess, and you should stop listening to Everett."

How often do we listen to the voice inside of us that tells us we can't do or be something that God the Father already calls us? Too often. We need to remember Who is in charge and who He says we are, not who the world or the enemy says we are. 

Writing Exercise 1

“Sometimes, even now, I have no idea why He chose me. You read all of my work?”

“Yes, I am happy to say, especially since I have this chance to talk with you, that I have read it many times. In fact, I have spent hours studying your books.”

 “That is still so strange to me, to think of my work being studied by so many people.”

“Yes, millions of people, well actually it would be more accurate to say billions.”

“Yes. Yes. So strange. Even when I was faced with my first supernatural event, I still tried to talk Him out of choosing me. In my eyes I was not good enough to be a leader, especially for so great a people as His. I am just not good with words, my tongue gets tied and nothing comes out the way my mind wants it to. At the time, speaking in front of a large group and debating over something as important as people’s lives brought such a fear in my heart. Thankfully He sent my brother to help me. What did you think when you read that part of the story? The part where I asked Him to choose someone else?”

“Oddly enough the fact that you have that as a weakness, but still accomplished so much, is encouraging to the rest of us. Me especially. I often have trouble with words; I find writing is much easier than trying to get my thoughts out loud. I think that is why I am so glad I am able to talk with you. You obviously are a great writer, having written such a large portion of the book.”

            “Sometimes I was not sure who was writing, me or Him. I believe part of why I was honored to write so much of the history was the amount of time I spent with Him. You read the story, the people had a chance to draw near to Him on the mountain, but their fear held them back.”

            “That is the part that is hard for me to understand. I just don’t see how the Israeli people could have witnessed such great signs in Egypt, watched the Red Sea part, and yet still turned away from the One who did it all. I think you must have been the most patient man in history. I think I would have given up on them at the first opportunity.”

“I would have if He had not been there with me. I think He must have known my heart way before I had any ability to lead.”

“And I often grow impatient leading even small groups of five to ten people. But I hope to get better. At both my leadership abilities as well as my writing skills How were you able to remember all that you wrote about?”

“A man cannot help but remember the words that God speaks to him. But I also would say to write often, and then write some more. Keep track of everything. My culture had a very strong verbal history, if you tell the story frequently it will become engrained inside of you.”

“I have so many stories inside of my head.

“If I were to give any advice to you about writing and leading I would say this: to become a great leader, you must go to the Source of all leadership, to become a great writer you must go to the Source of all words. Remember this and I think you will do just fine, whether you become tongue-tied or not. A good leader is not based on words but on actions.”

            “Thanks, I will remember that…”

            “So, you must know, what happened after Deuteronomy? After I left off?”

            “Well, someone else wrote about your death. Unless God told you what was going to happen and you wrote it. But, since you are shaking your head, I will tell how Deuteronomy lets off and what I can remember about Joshua…” 

While at the Cabin

The sun reflects off the water in a line that heads straight towards where I am sitting on the rickety dock. It is a beautiful afternoon, some parts of the lake are already encased in shadows, while other parts are still touched by the suns rays and have a reddish tint from the afternoon light.

The trees are stripped of their summer leaves, exposed, naked against the chill of the breezy november air.  As I sit here they look vulnerable as they stand, waiting for a blanket of snow to cover their barrenness. I am sitting here, with mittens, shoes and a fleece jacket, yet I too am cold. Exposed.

It is places like this where I feel the most open, the most vulnerable before my Creator Just as He lays bare the wilderness, He is causing me to lay bare my heart before Him, before others. It is so much easier to remain hidden, to keep my heart to myself. My mind thinks that's where it will be safe, secure from life's hardships and calamity. But deep inside I know that keeping my heart closed in relation to others is unhealthy. Because it is through others that I seem to find out who I really am. And it is through God that I find my true worth.

I am one who has dealt with many insecurities in Life, yet He counteracts them all, and in this still and quiet place. With the wind playing in my hair, I feel so very open and free to any possibility that God might have for me. New places, new relationships, my heart longs to be open and I want to let it be as free as it can. I think this place represents a conversation I had with a friend about what it means to have a pure heart before God, because of the way His creation so closely follows God's plan as the seasons change just as He directs. It is purity itself, as the trees seamlessly shed their leaves before the winter snow comes.  They stand exposed and open before He comes to cover their vulnerability.

I feel a calling, as I have felt for the last few months, a calling from God to come to the same vulnerable place as these trees. Where I lay everything bare, and keep my heart open. He is bringing me to a place of such honesty before Him that it might hurt a little before He comes in again to cover me with His presence, as He covers the barren trees with snow.

It is such an odd time in November, the transition period between fall and winter. Some people call it ugly. I used to be one of them. But as I sit here on this dock, contemplating the seasons, I find this place and time beautiful, enchanting, peaceful.

So I am.

I am at rest, anticipating what He is going to bring next in my life. I know it is coming. I am as certain of it as I am of the soon to be approaching winter's weather.

Great Quotes from Carrie Walker

Carrie tells Em and I,

"Sometimes, the only thing that gets me out of bed is the fact that I have a great outfit planned for a day."

"And you are so humble" I replied.

"Well if you looked this good today that'd get you out of bed too!"