Tag Archives: faith

reminders following a three hour commute to work ~

29 Tuesday Aug 2017

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Once safely here, I was reminded of a snippet from Sunday’s message.

The speaker talked about perusing Facebook to look at all the pictures taken during last week’s eclipse. What he saw was something we all witnessed. Millions of people, without regard to politics, race, belief, gender or opinion – all doing one thing –

looking up………

Let us not be fooled into thinking we need a sign…..

 

Author’s Note:  Photo taken from atop of our office parking garage during totality on Monday, August 21.

another almost this ~

27 Thursday Apr 2017

Posted by in home, Poetry, Storytelling

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I dreamed
beyond the edges
into a thicker deep
where buttercup and lilac
weaved a spot of shade
of one more
ever after
one more winter past
rocking chairs
wherein my laughter sits
reminders of another day
another almost
this
nights when not a one
were stars
we made

. . .

Author’s Note:  Many years back, my sister gifted my daddy with a concrete bunny for Father’s Day.  It sat in the grass next to an aging bird bath, with one exception.  When it was time for mowing, my daddy would lift the bunny to sit atop the bird bath so that it wouldn’t be accidentally forgotten, damaging both the bunny and the blade.  For almost two years now, it has sat atop the birdbath.  Though time has passed, we know the hands that put it there and have no desire to displace it.

How often do we need reminders of love?

. . .

it won’t feel like Christmas until ~

22 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by in home, Poetry, Storytelling

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thesmokies

You’ve heard it before. It seems everyone is asked to complete the sentence from time to time – even as the final moments sneak by on Christmas eve.

I personally love the answers. Some wait for a certain movie to play (It’s a Wonderful Life, my favorite) or they wait for snow, the first Christmas card, a call from across the miles. Regardless, for most, there is a trigger that pulls them (sometimes kicking) into the spirit of these days.

Last weekend, I spent an uncomfortable amount of time at Home Depot. People were beginning to think I worked there. In fact, I helped one lady by pushing her cart to the registers.

And while I am rarely without the Christmas spirit (even in June), I was losing my taste for home renovation options!

But as I was searching for the appropriate aisle for molding, I realized the music had changed.  O, they were playing Christmas music, albeit most of it was what I refer to as ‘retail’ Christmas music. But then, on the aisle between hinges and paint thinner, it changed – Joy to the World began playing. It was only the music, but I recognized it immediately. It was enough….

I’ll admit that I am a terrible singer (and a worse dancer), but I couldn’t resist. I began singing and the more I sang, the louder I became, and the more I felt Christmas cooling in my bones.

From one aisle to the next, I sang……..the first verse and then again (the only verse I knew for certain the words).

Since then, a co-worker gave me a tiny picture frame ornament; another, a sand and driftwood candle; and still another – a new birdhouse (guess they’ll be moving out of the grill), feeder, and ten pounds of wild birdseed.

Just this morning, as I made the turn beside a church on my way to work, two does stopped in their morning walk to watch me (hey you).

I feel it everywhere, but right here (pointing to heart) the most. It’s in all I do – hope, faith, family, angels, my daddy, the Smoky Mountains, evergreen, music, and love (always love).

Christmas is come………and I was home!!!

Merry Christmas to you. May your heart be filled to overflowing.  Joy (sweet joy) to the world!

Evermore,
Bobbie

swimming in circles ~

09 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by in a time for telling, Poetry

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bebebe

This morning, as I arrived for work and exited my car, I heard something – an almost silent droning – like a distant lawn mower, but closer.

It was sweetly familiar and before I found the source, I knew already what I would find. In the bushes to the front of my car, I saw a discarded coffee cup sitting upright in the mulch, obviously left behind by landscapers.

Inside the cup, a bumblebee.

The cup was probably about ten inches tall, and I knew instinctively what would happen if I did nothing. The bumblebee would die in the cup. He would swarm and swarm in circles, the excessive flutter of his tiny wings echoing off the cardboard, filling the summer air with the sound of jet engines on idle. He would never think to look up. It’s their nature – to search frantically in circles for a way out where none exists.

To be honest, I used to think it was the same way with tiny birds trapped in my garage, until quite by accident, I discovered a perfect little nest inside the plastic armor that protected the garage door opener.

But back to the bumblebee. I was immediately reminded that sometimes we are the same way.  We can wear ourselves out looking for something (a way out) that doesn’t exist and never think to reach beyond our habits, beyond our preconceived notion of how things should work. It may just be a different way of frying cornbread or it could be in the way we look at love. Perhaps our clearest vision exists beyond the reach of our understanding.

“The world is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

reach beyond
this dusty view
into the heart
of all I am –
where mountains
stretch
to meet the clouds
where wings
unspoken soar

NOTE: For those who might be wondering, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I hadn’t knocked the cup over. Some things are worth the risk of being stung (ahhh, and there another story)…….

. . .

beyond the firelight ~

03 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by in a time for telling, home, Poetry, Storytelling

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If you know me, you’ve come to understand that much of what I believe to be true I learned early, nurtured by love, and surrounded by nature. I rarely read anything without finding another perspective, one in which the lesson is made clearer, sweeter, with a foundation as dear as old roots and ancient stars.

Yesterday, I read something about grief and immediately determined another point of reference (simply of love).

Some of my favorite childhood memories are of camping. Earlier this week, mama and I talked about some of those times, those which are as near today as they were then (close your eyes, brother).

One such endearment lies within the process my mom and dad had for getting us to bed at night. Mom would take us to the bath house earlier in the evening (before dark), and we would return to sit around the fire after supper. As it got later, at some point, daddy would fill a dishpan with warm water and would, one by one, wash our feet and carry us to the tent. What a wonderful memory!

Truly, in retrospect, I’ve come to understand that this was likely an effort to protect the tent from dirty feet…………yet, still……..

The thing I read about grief compared death to the extinguishing a lamp before going to bed. But my immediate point of reference was to nights around the fire. If you’ve been camping, you know that people tend to retire slowly rather than all at once. I recall lying in the tent, listening to conversations taking place around the fire, mesmerized by shadows dancing on the canvas.

What a lovely thought, to think of those who’ve gone on, knowing they are as close as the next room, just beyond the canvas. While we linger around the fire, tending to life, they have retired to dream……….where they wait for us………….

For another dawn, with air so clean it surely is the breath of God, and of bacon frying over an open fire!

. . .

beyond the will
where living still
a fire burns
the brighter

. . .