fragile thoughts soon forgotten

new blog

2006-07-29T22:28:00.000-07:00

folks -- i wanted to direct your attention to a new blog my husband and i have developed for the purpose of tracking our upcoming trip to korea. you can read along here:
http://snapshots-of-life-overseas.blogspot.com/.

please know, i will still be updating Fragile Thoughts, but for those of you who know us as a couple, you may be interested in purusing Snapshots of Life Overseas upon occasion.

we will be starting to update it more frequently after our arrival to South Korea on August 21.

love em.

addicted to the sky

2006-07-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

i am a lone lark, circling fields of canola, trying desperately to land without causing a stir.

my wings carry me far from feeling, far from needing anyone, keeping me afloat above a world of hungry people.

i make patterns like an airplane, feeling high on ideals and low about myself.

to need someone; to let myself fall... to cut my wings so i might feel the gentle stroke of a human hand. to be lifted up.

so many are so good at walking the earth -- can't i just stay up here alone, flying haphazardly in circles forever? in the end to die, fall, at the feet of no one?

confused i beg God to cut my wings for me! i am addicted to the sky.

transition...

2006-07-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

the awkward balancing act
between
moment and time
between rhythm and rhyme
tenderly stepping down
on a wire rope
tired with hope
daring to scope
new horizons

thunderstorm

2006-07-26T08:05:00.000-07:00

the sky's green eye
shifts warily
its heart groans
white jagged lines
crack under pressure
the wind's forceful hand
takes hold of the night
twirls it with passion
lightning strikes a pose
then dances up a storm

in a nutshell

2006-07-23T19:47:00.000-07:00

wild rapids
intimate discussions
God appearances
miracle happenings
caribbe wonders
pooltime ponderings
mealtime musings
mountains
rodeos
volleyball tournaments:
"you've been served"
hugs by strangers
love from friends
long bus ride
short in view of eternity
young life camp -- in a nutshell

the next 8 days...

2006-07-13T16:56:00.000-07:00

this is us, at camp, 2 years ago.

as of tomorrow, we'll be taking another 40 kids for a week of mountains, music, miracles and memories.

pray for these beautiful children. pray their hearts would unfold in the warm sunshine of God's love, and blossom in his glorious grace.

bless you for caring :)

finish line

2006-07-12T08:26:00.000-07:00

moonlight moves the curtains
a muse of a melody floats upward
from our guitars
voices blend
glasses clink, we toast to
blogs and bands
friendship and fun
korea and california
closing this life-chapter
the words are slipping away
i'm straining to memorize the
final sentence
don't want this time to end

'wheel' love

2006-07-10T20:28:00.000-07:00

the other day i caught a whiff of love. it sprang from the embrace of a man in his wheelchair, clutching his girlfriend who rode in his lap. they sped down the road unaware of the stares only of the acceptance of the other. i watched in wonder, jealousy, conscious only of my OWN handicaps. my own inability to accept. to love.

love. a white smudge on a grey canvas. a dove bearing peace against a stormy sky. a man in a wheelchair holding on to the woman of his dreams. an elusive concept slowly solidifying before me.

my favourite moments ...

2006-07-09T15:00:00.000-07:00

sitting on my backstep after a long run soaking in fresh air

strumming my guitar in harmony with a bird's song

watching sitcoms with my husband, curled up in his farmer's build

getting really dirty then having a long shower

biting into something surprisingly delicious

having my doubts erased

painting a beautiful picture

laughing so hard my stomach wants to scream

resting fully in the fact that my life is a dream...

and heaven is reality

someone

2006-07-07T22:55:00.000-07:00

how i long to speak words never before uttered
to compose a poem never before read
to devise a concept never before conceived
to sing a song never before sung
to write a story never before plotted
to plant a flower never before sprouted
to dance a jig never before seen
to wear an expression never before deemed.

yet why do i not long to love those who've never known love?
for this would make me truly someone.

prayer

2006-07-06T09:44:00.000-07:00

dear God
i embrace today and
all you lay before me
i stand up tall and
refuse to fall for evil
i'll reach down low and
love the ones you show me
i'll fight for right and
defend the light before men
then i'll lay my head
let my soul be fed
by you alone.
amen.

lonely people

2006-07-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

look at all the lonely people. i beg of you Lord: embrace them. that sad wrinkled woman, head bowed, missing her husband. the man eating in a restaurant by himself, hiding behind a newspaper. the teenager scurrying along trying to find some place to fit in. the single mother, tired of being undesired. the crack head boy sitting on a curb trying to remember who he is. my heart breaks aches shakes with sadness over it all. use bruise choose me to fill in the holes that loneliness has created.

mona lisas

2006-07-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

character is painted by the brush strokes of rejection.

recently i've become a walking mural.

some weeks are layered in the negative. it takes hope-filled pupils (in both senses of the word) to recognize slants of sunshine in a stormy sky.

yet, despite the impending darkness there are moments no pupil can deny: moments when the sky cracks and Jesus pours down white light so clean and fresh it keeps our spirits from dying.

we are God's canvas. His world is our audience. His trials are the paintbrush. and, if we let him guide the strokes, in the end we'll all be mona lisas.

marvelling

2006-06-30T06:59:00.000-07:00

last night standing on hot pavement i watched the world walk by. a woman with hair as long as a horse's mane; another as large as a helium balloon with tiny hands eating a waffle cone. a stuffy man in a black suit pacing, racing against time (unaware that it was standing still). five asian girls in brand name clothes, laughing. a car rattling afar with ghetto beats. two young girls whose asthmatic mother died at 30 from sniffing paint thinner and smoking anything that would make her choke. another whose mother pretends to be dead so her own daughter won't contact her. two middle aged women with pants too-tight begging the world to notice them before they sink into wrinkles.

this morning running on cool pavement i saw a group of jaybirds gathered 'mongst flowers in a garden jibber-jabbering with one another and i thought, how different are we from they? all clamouring for attention, no one listening to the other, everyone begging to be heard.

an ideal world

2006-06-29T06:51:00.000-07:00

forgive me if i come across as cynical. perhaps it's the grey clouds smudging the early morning sky. or my anxious thoughts. or the empty canvas at home begging to be filled. or my filled up calendar begging to be emptied.

i find ideals tiresome. yet, by desiring a world without ideals, i am, in a sense, being idealistic.

lately it seems my husband and i have a lot more 'admirers' now that we're going to korea. standing in line at a bank to exchange canadian dollars for korean wons, i am suddenly thrust into conversation with an over zealous teller, soon to be joined by other tellers who look jealously upon this 'adventurous woman' daring to cross the seas.

my sister tells me she wishes she could say she was going to teach english in korea. and i ask, why? to satisfy strangers' quota for excitement?

when my husband and i enlisted in youth work three years ago, the reactions were "oh, that's nice." "that must be challenging." "when are you going to get a real job?"

meanwhile, the last three years have been stocked as high as a 20-floor apartment with adventure. it's people who breathe life into us, not places. it's quality, not distance. it's about charity, love, and faith -- not culture or tourism.

the funny thing is, those tellers won't remember me from a hole in the ground when i return. but our youth will.

finding ourselves

2006-06-28T06:54:00.000-07:00

we're all looking for ourselves. God must laugh, as his people turn inside-out trying to uncover the 'real me'.

when all it takes is one step away from the mirror, and one step closer to the dirt.

because that is what we are. dirt.

we were made from it, and to it, we shall return.

instead of looking for ourselves, look for the creator who makes such inquisitive creatures from ... dirt.

he continues his role as potter. taking this piece of dirt, making it into seeds of kindness; taking that piece and making it a particle of 'peace.' implanting both in our hearts.

for we are nothing, without him who made us.
and in finding we are nothing, we find him -- and ultimately,
ourselves.

portrait of a lady

2006-06-27T06:56:00.000-07:00

i didn't find her in a gilded picture frame or perched upon a throne. i didn't find her on a magazine cover or squeezed into a dress size.

i found her in the sandbox with her children, in the kitchen basted in flour, in the garden dusted with dirt.
in a soup kitchen laughing perseveringly, in her bedroom weeping over something she's said to offend, in a coffee shop reading to restore herself.

"i can choose to rejoice in my life and its everyday moments, or be constantly disappointed," she told me, pouring me some water.

"every day i take advantage of every second, and see its potentnial. i lower my expectations and raise my hopes. i rest completely in knowing i have the power to choose how i respond. and i choose to celebrate."

in that particular moment, i found myself face to face with the portrait of a lady.

my last week

2006-06-23T06:59:00.000-07:00

traffic trickles by while Bono sings about love on my stereo. it's my last week of work. my last week of driving past the big man on the tiny bench reading his book. my last week of roaring silently at the crawling pace of the cars, or the impenetrable presence of a slow-plodding train. my last week of laughing with co-workers, marveling over their ideosyncracies, fuming at the low-grade technology or my low-paid salary. my last week of staring out this window onto pavement, watching the sun paint rings on the grey slabs and dreaming of a day when i no longer have to work. my last week of gluing together words, sentences, paragraphs, of breathing new life into God's old story. traffic trickles by and my tears trickle down at the thought of my last week.

sister

2006-06-22T07:04:00.000-07:00

giggles erupt
the room recycles
paint-fumes and the
art of conversation.
brush strokes across canvas,
thick colours,
blending like the
blood we share.
relating on
paper and in life.
sister, youthful semblence
of me
yet completely her own.
sipping cups of tea we
simmer and steep,
deep, confiding,
letting the paint dry.
a picture-perfect hour.

ice-cube moments

2006-06-21T07:02:00.000-07:00

i want to give up! my screams electrify the night air. rustle my husband's hair. i run barefoot into blackness gasping daring life to stop me.

the little girl yelled at me, hung up the phone. for trying to excavate my heart. for spending three years on my knees saying pretty please love God.

she spat in my face, turned on her heel. denies love is real, demands to be steel in the face of human kindness.

i've always believed people can change. for the first time, i felt someone was beyond hope.

shake the dust off your sandels, keep walking, my lover told me. wrapped arms around me, a soft blanket in that ice-cube moment.

reminding me i am but a sower in a long stretch of field. keep sowing. don't look back. someone else will come along to water, and another, to harvest.

she's but a seed, fighting against warm Sonlight. dare i believe she'll one day flower?

Sonrise serenade

2006-06-20T07:13:00.000-07:00

orange flames rise in the east
backed by a canopy of blue
morning doves pull up yellow rays with their beaks
with their wings they scatter the clouds
it's a sunrise serenade

i sit absorbing, praying
send doves of peace to lift up
my soul, pull up yellow rays of joy
scatter my fears to the east and west
make my life a Sonrise serenade

hope

2006-06-16T07:27:00.000-07:00

emily dickinson says hope is a thing with feathers.

i say hope is intangible. featherless, weightless, formless. completely spirit.

hope arrives in rain-drenched days through a bow of colours striped across the sky.
in the face of a chubby baby chuckling.
in the eyes of a hungry man who's been given a free meal.
in my heart when my husband whispers, 'it's all going to be okay.'

whether i am a published writer, an accomplished artist, or an unknown soul, i find hope in the spirit.
in knowing i was created, i will be looked after, and that moments of rainbows and chubby babies will follow me forever...

like a thing with feathers, only better.

signed, Jesus

2006-06-15T06:58:00.000-07:00

i've poured myself out, puddles on the pavement, tears of blood pooling around your feet. i've signed my name in red ... can you see redemption's handwriting? crimson inkdrops from heaven; the thorns still crush my brow ... i am yours if you'll read my love letter. but hurry, before the writing is washed away and you're left standing alone on grey pavement.

simple prayer

2006-06-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

sustain me
propane my fire
contain me
restrain my desire
to run away
help me stay
close to you today
hem my frays
curb my ways
sweet Jesus
i pray, amen

worlds apart

2006-06-13T07:16:00.000-07:00

i've often wondered how God can hear each of our prayers, and answer accordingly, balancing out pleas with petitions and praise?

how can he say yes to the farmer needing rain, and yes to the farmer needing sunshine -- both of whom are merely miles apart?

then the thought occurred... in our finite understanding, we see one world. in his infinite genius, he sees millions of worlds. so in the 7 days of creation, he may have created the earth... and yet for him, that implied one world per person.

which would mean that when he sent his son to die for "the world," he sent his son to die for me in particular. Jesus died to save my world. and yours.

Him and us alone, bumping into other people's planets. He is the creator of millions of little worlds, orchestrating an intimate connection with every single one. praise Him.

God's footprints

2006-06-09T06:53:00.000-07:00

his footprints are sketched across the sky
God's water-coloured feet leave a path
my eyes follow
circling the earth i seek their destination
only to find
the footprints end inside my heart
i could have stood still the entire journey
and found what he was looking for

farm-boy angel

2006-06-08T07:09:00.000-07:00

angel of mine in farm-boy garb
you grip my hand so gently
lead me through the dark
bring me flowers wild and free
make me happy sing to me
in a voice so kind and deep
it lulls me right to sleep
just let me stay with you
my love forever true
till heaven's gates swing wide
and we're loving God inside
His perfect home

liquid sorrow

2006-06-07T06:45:00.000-07:00

she laughs
my little girl with bruises on her face
she squirms and talks
unaware of the fairytale horror
she's living
i want to skip to the ending
reading the final sentences of her life
will heaven await this girl
whose days are hell?
living water
wash away her liquid sorrow
give her
the strength to fly away from
this glass bowl of empty promises

when time stands still

2006-06-06T06:55:00.000-07:00

i refuse to wear high heels. i refuse to wear shoes that make me feel grown-up. velcro for me please.
i refuse to wear lip stick. i refuse to look older than i am. age is a wrinkly worm whom i don't have to coax.
i refuse to stop laughing. to stop hiccouphing in public. to stop skipping along the streets past the grown-up teenagers smoking in the alleys.
maybe they'll join me. this carefree child who refuses to acknowledge her age. we'll make a long string of silly children playing in the sun challenging time to stand still.
we can only pray.

blanketed in stories

2006-06-02T07:03:00.000-07:00

our lives are patchwork quilts. some squares are dark and torn. others are splashed with bright colours. some people wrap themselves up in their blankets of woe. others wrap up their friends in the warmth of their tales.
"i've had a hard life but i wouldn't want it any other way" a teenager tells me.
stiched together by time and the gentle fingers of our heavenly seamstress, our quilts envelop and develop. they assure us that, in the end, this too shall pass -- becoming just another square to share with others.

bike rides and popsicles

2006-06-01T07:07:00.000-07:00

summertime is delicious. stretching late with amber hues rising early to bathe the garden in yellow rays, its brilliant blue eyeball smiling down, warm. summertime is bike rides with no hands, smoky fires, digging into the sand making castles digging up dandelions growing flowers digging deep into daytime finding joy. summertime is water fights popsicles sweat and suntan lotion. summertime is poolside conversation splashing like children making waves finding ways to stay up just a little bit longer. summertime is here.

belle of the ball

2006-05-31T07:31:00.000-07:00

step in time with
the world's weary waltz
its unforgettable faults
liven the pace
pick up the grace that
trails behind and
lace it around you
like a shawl
at a ball where everyone
falls and no one
calls out for
help
be the belle who dispells
all signs of hell
and ushers in the face of
heaven

early morning beauty

2006-05-30T06:51:00.000-07:00

i am barefoot on our lineoleum watching the sun steal across our lawn listening to the quiet hum of our refrigerator knowing you're asleep deeply completely warm under shadows i take a sip of coffee breathe in the early morning beauty of being alive lift up my arms twirl in the lemon light of today

painted prayers

2006-05-28T21:36:00.000-07:00

pressing
brush to board
head to heart
covering canvas in trickling twilight
awkward artist
contented only by this cause:

surfacing stroke by stroke
rainbow rivers of redemption
(like oil on water)
painting prayers of peace
for His people

ropes of riddled frenzy

2006-05-26T10:04:00.000-07:00

i've been told: cast your cares upon him.
i'm casting Lord --
with every glance, gesture and heartbeat

i'm still caring,
still twisting, my mind knotted into
ropes of riddled frenzy

desiring to help all
unable to even untie my own knots
ease this stomachache
make new this old wine skin
fill me fresh with spring-time air
so i might help and be helped --
without knowledge of either

splashes of light

2006-05-25T06:55:00.000-07:00

he's a blind begger
weathered by life's storms
stooped on a bench
living in the blackest dark

she's a young girl
in a purple hat
eccentric and bold
living for laughter and light

she takes the blind man's hand
helps him across the street
tells him about the gurgling baby,
the old wrinkly butcher
the young couple buying ice cream
the world of greens and reds whizzing by

she paints colour on his black world
giving him vision for one more day

people watching

2006-05-24T08:13:00.000-07:00

childhood birthed in me a love of people
watching them splash around in the ocean of life
i 'found myself' in their subtle ideosyncracies
related to their randomness
laughed at their quirks,
impassioned by their perks

no doubt, 'we' disgust me
(it's an ugly world)
but overshadowing the black waves is a
shaft of sunlight
that's what i watch:
golden rays of people's goodness dancing together
making glorious an otherwise dull day

flying free?

2006-05-23T02:43:00.000-07:00

i am an artist who prefers to paint in silence

i am a butterfly who flies freely, boldly, alone

who shrivels back into her cocoon at human touch

her wings flapping ferociously inside a self-made grave

desperate for the air they share

too scared to show off her colours

i dance in the night when no one's looking

the stars and moonlight are my sole companions

i weep by day, sheltered by the shadows,

longing for someone to notice my colours

peace, be still

2006-05-21T23:22:00.000-07:00

fear is a vase bearing dried flowers.

fear is the wind in my hair after i've gone bald.

fear is the net i use to catch butterflies ... beauty held captive.

fear is the angry little man who stomps on my childish dreams.

fear is afraid of a God who stills storms.

point of no return

2006-05-18T07:01:00.000-07:00

there's a saying: Give until it hurts.

i want to give, not only until it hurts, but until it goes beyond pain. i want to give until i hurt enough to produce joy.

after all, what's so noble about giving until it hurts? that only proves our limitations, our selfish boundaries. it's like saying: i'll give until it's too hard and then i'll stop.

no, we should give until we break ... until our skin cracks open and our spirit filters out, free and laughing.

the point of no return.

the point of being one with Christ.

silent song

2006-05-17T06:57:00.000-07:00

watering my garden in my flip flops wet mud squishing between my toes hot sun breathing down my neck gentle breeze lifting apple blossom scents wafting sweet perfume makes me stop, drink in the day, thank God for the way he smiles through creation's silent song

thunderstorm

2006-05-16T07:03:00.000-07:00

puddles of liquid light
metallic shivers
silence
crack of cloud, slice of sky
bright like
pistachio pudding
warm blankets
an angry canopy
stretched
snarling
candles flicker, flit, fade
i feel your face
soft skin
makes me breathe again

akiane

2006-05-15T10:46:00.000-07:00

this artistic child prodigy is my new heroine.

www.artakiane.com

looking into you

2006-05-15T06:52:00.000-07:00

the man in robes is talking
we're facing
future
fears
new names
new skin
new time
i look at your hands
(calloused, brown)
i look into your eyes
(bluebirds, sincere)
i look into the sky
(canvas of yellow and white)
i look into the crowd
(smiling weepy eyes)
the man in robes is asking
i look into my heart
'i do'

grey-cloud day

2006-05-12T06:59:00.000-07:00

raindrops streak my window
apple blossoms glisten
(like pink-cheeked ladies with green hats)
i'm standing in my yellow kitchen
eating a slice of orange
letting the juice soothe my throat like
water on dry ground
inside my heart is resting
full of rainbow colours
on this grey-cloud day

fresh laundry, open windows

2006-05-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

we giggle, sit down on the linoleum and gasp at the windows.

shafts of light play with our hair. our marriage is a comfortable pile of clothes, multicoloured, clean yet wrinkled with tears and time. our fingers lock, our heads bow and we peel open the gates of heaven approaching the throne of grace.

we cannot see for the windows! we cry. there are too many. it's too bright. give us answers, point us in the right direction. you may have closed one door but ... which window should we climb through?

we lie there as the morning sun shifts its rays and the shadows fall, silhouetting our lives on the walls. in the glow of the mid-day sun, a window glistens. God's finger points and we climb to our feet, ready to open its latches.

a wrinkled pile of laundry being shaken out, freshened up, and prepared to be worn again.

em's web site

2006-05-11T06:59:00.000-07:00

hey guys! my brother made me this wonderful web site:

www.canvaschild.com.

just thought i'd share :) i'll be updating it with my paintings as the days/ years pass!

stepping back

2006-05-10T07:19:00.000-07:00

audrey hepburn
crossed my path at 2 pm
hair coiffed under a
huge happy hat
sunglasses large, black
face white, gentle smile on
playful lips
slight build, stylish shoes,
tip tapping on the pavement
the light turned green
she took one step forward
as if she owned the world
and
i stepped back
into the store for some sunglasses

storm

2006-05-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

shaking like an elm leaf
she stands in the rain
stained by man’s old game
blaming herself
shaming herself
for being a girl
not seeing the pearl for the oyster
she runs to me hides in my sweater
I let her
we stand there getting wetter
fettered to the other for the sadness in this world
God’s crying I whisper
she folds up in sobs
a fetus finding faith
in the dirt
she believes despite the hurt
washed white, weary, worn
i’m her anchor in this storm

seeds and weeds

2006-05-08T07:07:00.000-07:00

ordinarily i love gardening.
rolling the tiny seeds between my fingers
drinking deep the fresh spring dirt and
digging even deeper for grubs...

ordinarily the day is not so stormy
-- nor our moods
with spade and trowell we set out in windy rain to plant
what we supposed were seeds of hope
begging open the soil
we snapped at the weather, then at each other

seeds spoiled, flung, forgotten in a pile of hurt feelings
he drove off and left me sitting in the rain
searching for seeds
pulling up weeds
crying out for growth
and begging the sun to return

fantasy flower

2006-05-05T07:17:00.000-07:00

"you need an orange flower
with a pink middle
bright enough to cheer up the blackest of days"

she declared then rolled away on her bike to
bring me back the most brilliant flower

... only all of the petals had blown away

"all you've got left is the centre," she wept

"that's all i need," i whispered "the petals were merely orange wings helping the flower fly to where it belonged

"now that it's here, they're free to go. "

my little friend smiled, tucked her blond head into my shoulder, and we pretended to play "he loves me, he loves me not" with the petal-less flower till the sun ducked down

and she biked home. it was the brightest of days.

formal invitation

2006-05-05T07:11:00.000-07:00

I would like to officially invite each one of you to come to a Silent Art Auction June 10, from 6-10 p.m. at the Saddlery Gallery, 10137-104 St., here in Edmonton, AB. All proceeds from the auction will be benefiting The Alberta Cancer Foundation (www.endcancer.ca). Over 120 items for auction will be on display, including a COUPLE of my own oil paintings. Admission is FREE. As you know, my mother has been battling brain cancer for the past few years; it would mean so much if you showed up to demonstrate your support of this cause. "Together We Can" end cancer -- to quote the weekend's slogan. For more information, just call me (465-7941) or leave a comment. God bless.

flickering candles

2006-05-04T07:05:00.000-07:00

we're lonely travelers
(floundering)
in the tunnel of life
gripping candles
(flickering)
feeling the walls
finding hands
to help us stand
holding on
following the shadows
(frightened)
prodded on by the mystery of the
light

em's art

2006-05-03T07:06:00.000-07:00

i'm not sure if you can view my art by clicking the link below, but we'll give it a shot. if you can't see it and want to, write a comment and i'll e-mail the album to you. peace!

http://ca.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/philosopher_queene/album?.dir=78c5&.src=ph

Guppy's Photos

2006-05-03T07:01:00.000-07:00

check out my friend Agapi's photography -- she's so gifted. i met her through young life.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/91026560@N00/

young life

2006-05-02T06:59:00.000-07:00

smuggling solace from
grey swarms of smoke
they huddle together
cuddle forever
cradled in coccoons of self pity

we grip hands
surrounding them, eyes lifted
begging golden grace

"come engage them
have your way
save them from their demons"

(scaffolding
and
scarring such
sad souls)

"make them bright like a brand-new day"

fickle feelings

2006-05-01T06:59:00.000-07:00

gliding
abiding on
this tree swing
pushed by the power of
Emotion
i knock you down
ignore your fall
reaching higher and higher
for a branch i'll never grasp
yet my
fickle
feelings
push too hard
make me
land in the
sand beside you
staring (guilty) into
eyes that love me
promising to stay
on the ground beside me always

fallen ballerina

2006-04-28T07:09:00.000-07:00

she's a breathless pirouette
a tiny hurricane
storming the stage
thunderous applause

she sticks out her foot to curtsy
falls

face in hands weeping
the strings have snapped
the puppet collapsed
she's a fallen ballerina

practicing day and night
twirling swirling curling up the floor
with her pointed toes

she's forgotten
how to dance while
standing still

sky of bleeding souls

2006-04-27T07:55:00.000-07:00

heaven feed us today
fling down
golden grains of hope
upon your people
kernels of wisdom
nuggets of truth

then lift us up, give us wings to fly
in a sky of bleeding souls
and broken minds
so we too can donate
wisdom hope, and truth
to the hungry hearted

blowing over

2006-04-26T06:43:00.000-07:00

the wind is an angry child
waving whirling wildly in the air
screaming at the walls which hold him back
looting laundry across the grass
...
his temper calmed, quelled
solely by the sun's embrace

little legacy

2006-04-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

feet dangling over the bed
i stare down at my polka-dotted socks
and ponder legacy

i want to be remembered
(yet not for who i am)

i slip and slide in my slippers,
dig in the dirt
prune raspberries, scratch my arms
scrub my toes with soap and water,
play poker in the moonlight

all the while wanting to be recalled as
a stylish lady
a woman of class
a graceful girl

tripping over my own ego
i dismiss any thoughts of grace
and curl up beside a man who thinks i'm perfect
(in a polka-dotted kind of way)

i'm his little legacy

of mice and men

2006-04-24T06:55:00.000-07:00

some days i spit out the marrow, discard the core
sink in the shallow end, cruise to the door of
greed,
wishing i owned an SUV, the finer
fancies of life, dissing the past from which i've derived my
heart
then i see:
old man, silver head bent back, sitting in a grocery cart
i think he's dead, then he laughs
bearded and burly his friends push him onwards
old lady, brown skin, mumbling
young girl sticking something in her arm
tiny children (naked jaybirds) playing in garbage
i want to float by upon this sea of faces
puncture pity, rid of graces
but i can't, won't divulge pathetic pursuits
instead
i suck on the marrow of life
walk down the street and live among those
who need nothing
but each other

blue apple tree

2006-04-21T07:29:00.000-07:00

i have a blue apple tree.
my girls painted it
three autumns ago.
i have torn lino, torched carpet
broken things of beauty
scarred sentiments
a
bankrupt sleep account
bruised ego and
cigarette burns in my car.

i have a blue apple tree
but when it blossoms
i remember the way you opened up
shed your hard hell and
welcomed the kiss of heaven
and i embrace my tree
thanking it for bringing you to me
and for everything in between

4-20

2006-04-20T06:50:00.000-07:00

today is 4-20. for most of us, that's either a time or a date. for my sister, it's her birthday. for teenagers, it's just one more reason to light a joint.

the term began as a reference to smoking at a particular time of day -- 4:20. it's also the day that jimi hendrix, jim morrison and janis joplin died -- all of whom were known for being partial to the joint (or worse). supposedly april 20 is also the best day to plant marijuana, and when the Grateful Dead toured, they always stayed in Room 420.

when my girls reminded me of their 'national holiday' yesterday in the car as we foraged through fundraising, i stopped in my tracks with the incriminating fact that: we had planned club on National Weed Day. as youth workers, we had forgotten to be in 'touch' with our little friends and simply stuck to our 'schedule.'

'no one will be at club, emily,' my girls kindly informed me. 'we'll be ripped out of our minds from morning till night.'

i sat there wanting to rip out my mind and asked myself, why again do we think we're qualified?

if only these tiny adults could catch the waft of the spirit; pot would lose its allure and they would come running, intoxicated by the love that had drawn them.

picasso birds

2006-04-19T06:51:00.000-07:00

mother-of-pearl
clouds sweep across
a sanguine sky
picasso birds fly
haphazardly
green blossoms budge
bloom
dogs bark at the trees
sneeze at the breeze
and play with the laundry hanging
red yellow and blue
i sip my chamomile
tea
in my old-lady rocker
wishing for more
of these
lemon-custard days

mama

2006-04-18T07:22:00.000-07:00

starched cotton aprons, homemade bread, Jergens lotion, bandaging wounds, laughing praying, spending strength through your cobalt-blue eyes, soft lights guiding the vehicles of your children: gentle mama ... cold metal machines swallow you up every day now, spitting you out in silence: i want to know, will you be okay? will you one day unwrap that scarf, swing your new hair in the air and prune your roses again? you lie there so sleepy so kind so peaceful, while the disease eats you up inside, like an angry little person stomping on your brain and i want to hurt him but all i can do is cry, begging Jesus to make my mama better.

resurrection

2006-04-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

rise
beautiful betrayed buried brother

rise
literal labouring learned lover

rise
merciful martyred misunderstood man

rise
surrendering speared sacrificial saviour

rise
gracious generous glorified God

resurrect yourself
in me

bleeding sunrise

2006-04-13T07:32:00.000-07:00

(this is a story i told my young life girls awhile back; one of them asked me to write it down for her, so here ya go)

shattered on the floor. his cell phone lay in pieces, i stood over it letting little tears escape. pathetic remorse for what i’d done. his phone made me do it, i told myself. a symbol of his work, i’d felt ignored, hurt, and so i’d hurled it. across the room, into the wall, it had snapped.

he stood silent, my lover and friend. he must be angry, so furious. what would he do? i cowered by the computer tears drip drip dripping on the key pad. fearful. anticipating: rage. finding: his arms wrapped around me, voice whispering, ‘i love you.’ redemption: like a sunrise, bleeding orange and red. remorse wrung my heart dry. his grace made me want to try, again.

ecclesiastes

2006-04-12T06:48:00.000-07:00

everything is meaningless
history repeats itself
nothing is new under the sun

but i swear i've never seen a soul so pure
a face so wrinkled in kindness
a back so stooped with service and
feet so gnarled with miles

nothing new under the sun?
only evil gets old

every act of mercy is unique
every day you recreate the meaning of love
with your human touch

making people beautiful in your time
your habit inscribes the dirt with a
signature that lives on
long after you're gone

stopping history in its tracks:

mother t.

Em's Good News!

2006-04-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

Hi friends and family! I am bursting with joy... a novel I submitted to The Word Guild Contest for possible publication has made it to the finals! I'm pasting the news release below. Love y'all! Em.

SEVEN WRITERS SHORTLISTED FOR BEST NEW AUTHOR AWARD
Toronto - Seven Canadian writers who are Christian are competing to get their first book published in the Best New Canadian Christian Author contest. This award recognizes the most promising book-length manuscript in either fiction or nonfiction genres. The winning book will be published by Castle Quay Books Canada in 2007.

The competition is open to any Canadian citizen or permanent resident who affirms the Apostles' Creed, is not currently under contract with a publisher, and has never had a book published by a royalty-paying publisher or on a work-for-hire basis.

Thirty-one entries from across Canada were submitted, up from 28 in 2005 and 19 in 2004. Four non-fiction works and three novels are vying for first place.Three writers, Donna Carter, David Donaldson and Nan McKenzie Kosowan, have been shortlisted for the second time. The Best New Author contest enables entrants to revise their manuscripts based on judges' critiques of their first draft, and to re-enter the contest. Last year's Best New Author, Deborah Gyapong, won on her second attempt.

The shortlisted finalists are:
Donna Carter of Calgary for nonfiction, The Blonde Leading the Blonde
David Donaldson of St. Catharines, Ont. for nonfiction, Before There Was Hannah: One Family's Journey Through Teenage Pregnancy
Nan McKenzie Kosowan of Uxbridge, Ont. for nonfiction, Listening to the Sound of His Voice: From Childhood to Grandparenthood
Marcia Lee Laycock of Ponoka, Alta. for a novel, One Smooth Stone
Keith Marward McDonald of Greenwood Village, Colorado for a novel, A Time to Mourn, A Time to Dance
Emily Wierenga of Edmonton for a novel, Canvas Child
Vi Wilson of Durham, Ont. for nonfiction, Child of Grace - With a Dirty Face

The winning author will receive an advance of $1,000 and a book publishing contract.The winner will be announced on June 14 at The Word Guild Canadian Writing Awards Gala in Mississauga, Ont., the premiere black-tie event honouring Canadian writers who are Christian. The Gala will feature a worship band, celebrity presenters, recording artists, excerpts from shortlisted work, book signings and reception. The public is invited to celebrate with the finalists, their families and friends.

praying together

2006-04-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

...
is like a kiss between souls
a spiritual embrace
raising voices quieting minds
we look to the heavens
our feet lift
our hearts
bow and
the warm light of God floods
our faces
vacuuming worry
enforcing rest

simple words
divine encounter

cake batter days

2006-04-10T06:53:00.000-07:00

some days are rich
(like chocolate cake)
spilling over into the morrow
covering up mistakes of yester year
their memory only smudged when
the bowl's been licked
the spoon stashed and
the cupboard door closed
stored away
until the next cake-batter day
rises to the occasion
overflowing, delicious

heartfelt

2006-04-07T06:56:00.000-07:00

walking along life's
streets of sorrow
my heart shatters
glass teardrops falling
on the ground,
people gather round
pick up the pieces
hold them close
close their eyes thanking God
for their newfound piece
for their newfound peace
i stand there covering the gaping hole in my
chest
praying God keep me alive
for these people need my heart
more than i

rockabye lady

2006-04-06T07:08:00.000-07:00

cradeled
in the arms of
misconscrued meaning
she rocks herself to sleep
dreaming of a better
life
praying the cradle
will fall
stall

all the king's horses and all of his men
from putting her back together again

this baby's now a lady who knows how to rock her own world

alone

madeleine l'engle

2006-04-05T07:30:00.000-07:00

the woman behind A Wrinkle in Time
she battled a decade of rejection slips
wrote late into fatigued motherhood
wept ferociously in her tiny room of inspiration
bled sentences, bore penance for her passion
until one day
the words for The Wrinkle poured forth
Time stopped
and a fantasy was formed
that would
lift her into literary invinsibility

my father's world

2006-04-04T07:04:00.000-07:00

we live in a collage of similar strangers;
everywhere, reflections of the familiar
no matter the distance i find myself
or someone else
mirrored
in the hue of a cheek, the sparkle of an eye
the lilt of a laugh and it's not so hard to see

there's one father for us all

fighting failure

2006-04-03T06:44:00.000-07:00

learning to laugh when i fall
to fight the wrath of failure and
rejoice in tiny victories

to be a pink-cheeked child trying to walk
tumbling, eyes big and starry
pushing herself up, bum first, trying again

to be resilient, able to bounce back from shock,
depression
resolute, determined to conquer the thing that's
conquering me
resting, knowing i'm perfect as i am

blemishes and all,
i'll gracefully fall
and remember the call
upon my life
-- to fight

mountaintop moments

2006-03-31T06:52:00.000-08:00

white icing drizzled on jagged stone,
western mounts, our rocky home

swishing, slicing slipperly slopes
fleeing fears, hastening hopes

fresh spring air on rosy cheeks
mint-green pines, snow-capped peaks

we stop, lie down in perfect powder
sing to God, in voices louder

than ever before, his name adored
we bow in silence, prayers are poured

in humbled heavenly wonder

bruised beauty

2006-03-30T08:04:00.000-08:00

i like to be beaten
she whispered into the phone
on an extension cord from yellowknife

i like when he hits me
probably most of our fights could have been avoided
if i hadn't egged him on
(he enters the room, she giggles, he flirts, leaves again)

he's the only one taking care of me now
i love him
but some days he nearly kills me

(i cover the phone and sob)
you're but 16;
what do you know of love sweetie?

he enters again, she hurriedly lies about who i am,
returns to the phone, keeps talking
and i crawl deeper and depper inside the hole that is my heart
trying to dig up wisdom for this
bruised and beautiful begger

roots and wings

2006-03-29T06:53:00.000-08:00

seep my shadows of their sorrow
give me hope for my tomorrows

turn my head and feed me truth
plant my faith and give it roots

help me sing without a voice
learn to laugh despite the choice

to cry, i'll die and learn to live
in you my Lord i'll love, forgive

be free

the skinny santa

2006-03-28T07:04:00.000-08:00

pipes in hand, chain smoking / reacting
the girls
startle me
with moments of mercy
downtown calgary: paved, expensive, modern
a middle-aged man with a beard and no belly wanders the bridge
lonesome, lost
the girls stop, turn to me eyes wide
"oh the poor man! he looks like Jesus,
no,
a skinny Santa. he has no food, the poor man,
what happened to him?"
then he
turns the corner and they
return to their pipes and i'm left
stunned
silenced by youthful
sympathy

korea's call

2006-03-27T06:58:00.000-08:00

as we prepare to unwravel the next scroll of our lives the excitement is building. korea's sweet call is ringing in our ears and we're overwhelmed by offers. do you want a dog? let us pay for your airfare, your housing... a city enfolded in mountains? coming right up! four weeks of paid vacation so you can visit the cultured corners of the Orient? don't let us stop you!

praise the Lord my soul is singing, what an adventure lies before us! last night trent asked me if i had to choose between a place where God could use us, a place that would be best for our marriage, or a place with ideal amenities, which would i choose? i opted for our marriage, as only then can God use us.

the fire in my bones is fierce and once again i'm digging my heels into today, trying to hold myself back from hurtling headlong into tomorrow.

lunar litany

2006-03-24T08:14:00.000-08:00

life pokes its weary head up over the horizon
a single moonbeam in the blackest of nights
i'm reminded
i have to dance to be happy
joy won't find me on its own
and so i twirl in time with my tears
mourning till morning
begging you God to make my spirit
rise with the sun

overboard

2006-03-23T06:49:00.000-08:00

afraid to step out of the
boat
i stare at my reflection in the
water
ashen white
skin
butterfly
hands
i see his footprints on the
waves
the back of his head as he walks
away
suddenly i'm
overboard
skimming the
surface
chasing the man i claim to
follow
so desperate to see his
face
i forget my own
fears

spring storms

2006-03-22T07:29:00.000-08:00

sunlight trickling
new blades of grass
songbirds serenading
bare feet in rich black soil
apple blossom fragrance

...

yet outside curtained minds
the stone-faced snow still blows
and spring storms sadly close
this misfit month of march

daily devotion

2006-03-21T07:07:00.000-08:00

angry words meaningless drivel enfolding of the arms forgiven? stepping back observing the one we fell in love with conjuring up new meaning for old feelings finding room to welcome them back in to start over, again. daily devotion walking in step with an ever-flourishing love that sometimes trips us sends us sprawling seeking shelter finding none? except in each other, another embrace, reminiscing days of easy loving.

mosaic of miracles

2006-03-19T22:57:00.000-08:00

strangers made friendly
by red strings of pain
we're gripping -- brown black white hands
bleeding hearts beating seamlessly
enwrapped by yellow threads of grace
mosaic of miracles
patchwork picture of pain
we walk the earth
carefully -- so as not to cut the cords

fruit balad

2006-03-17T07:32:00.000-08:00

drained of poetic juices
shriveled on the shelf
pitted, left to dry in the sun
waiting to be planted, to flourish
again

bed sheets

2006-03-16T06:59:00.000-08:00

don't move, my love. you might jostle the
moment and then it will be gone. cling to the
bed sheets, don't look outside. the sunlight bathes us in
lemon custard; we are warm, in love. outside it's cold. outside are
strangers who do horrible things to Jesus' little children.
outside are people who kill to live, who steal to eat,
who hate in order to feel loved. if i step out that door i'll become
someone i don't like. so stay here with me. love me for the judgmental coward i am.

zion girl

2006-03-15T07:32:00.000-08:00

rise up within my mortal mind
rise up despite my self despise
rise up, make me a zion girl
rise up sweet God as i lay still

rise up and make me yours today
rise up, defy this broken clay
rise up i crawl i beg i fall
you raise me up, you give the call

i stand - forever - risen

forgiven

2006-03-14T06:39:00.000-08:00

flesh to dirt
i crawl face down to your
throne
scarred feet are all i see
i kiss them with dirty lips you
lift me off the ground
i cannot raise my eyes
you dust my garb wipe my tears
kiss my cheek
beautiful man-God
your eyes are flaming jewels
your arms strong
you carry me back down to earth
embrace me tight
curse my fears
'forgiven'
you whisper
and slip into the darkness
until all i see is one eye
shining like a star

cheers

2006-03-13T07:23:00.000-08:00

a place where everybody knows names
a judgment-free zone
a spot in the metropolis where people got excited
because others existed
feeding tears, draining fears
toasting to the heart of 'cheers'

today a throng of nameless nobodies
cheers is gone
Love strolls the streets like a lonely man
in pursuit of that dumpy old bar
that friendly joint
where they made a point to care,
to pull up a chair and ask for your name

my bird flies away

2006-03-10T07:31:00.000-08:00

i am holy ... so you be holy.
(snow crunching underfoot, heart palpating)
but i'm an artist, i want to express myself
to create as you do to join in the whole beautiful process.
(wind in ears, cars whizzing by, God's breath on my neck)
i am the Creator; you are the creation.
(creation nearly collapses, collects herself, keeps running)
What about everyone whom I told I was getting a tattoo?
who are you serving; me or them?
(jagged branches catch my hair i scramble away from this voice of conviction)
i am the only one who's equipped to make the
permanent decisions in your life.
(God plants his foot before me, makes me trip, shudder, stop)

and the tattoo bird i've clung to struggles free in the morning air, flies back

to its Creator

wrapped up in words

2006-03-09T06:52:00.000-08:00

whirling weathered
winds
wrap my weary woes
in white whisps
wiping away woolen worries
whispering
whimsical wonderings
wooing this wide-eyed
wanderer
into a winter
wonderland

beaten for being

2006-03-08T07:29:00.000-08:00

they're calling it the teen beat.

he was a long-haired artist with a tattoo on his wrist. a shy man who always looked for beauty in spite of ugliness. quiet customs like sitting on the bus with his walkman, watching the scenery, imagining the world on fire. reviving the earth because anyone knows true art means rebirth. he'd scribble and study and forget about the pain of his childhood.

until it all came rushing back upon his scull with their fists and their bats. an angry mob of teens from the back of the bus too hard-up to notice his scars, to see his artwork to look into eyes of eternal youth. too hung up on something someone said or did which meant more than sparing a life.

there was nothing beautiful about that night.
but today the long-haired man is watching himself become art incarnate. Jesus has given him rebirth. and now he sits, quietly scribbling the earth below, his tears falling on those four forgiven teens.
http://edmsun.canoe.ca/News/Edmonton/2006/03/08/1477924-sun.html

substance

2006-03-07T07:05:00.000-08:00

as the yellow moon curls its fingers around the black hole of stars
i too curl into a fetus
and scroll back over my day
jam-packed with jelly filling
powdered with sugar
energy-driven
leaving one ... empty
and i hunger for substance

as the scarlett sun rips open letting heaven shine through
i too rip open my soul and beg
God to make this a day
of food most fulfilling
thoughts most drilling
people most enthrilling
that i might go to bed
sufficiently fed

clay pot

2006-03-06T08:24:00.000-08:00

rod-straight
hips poised
like an african woman balancing her pot
i wait
for the world to tumble around me
crumbling clay
so i can calmly step over the pieces
and keep on walking

why then am i the only one
shaking?

banana pancakes

2006-03-05T17:18:00.000-08:00

flurried days of busied loneliness

awaiting your return

splattered paint on my nose i listen for the knock

saying you're home

tomorrow let's pretend it's the weekend

make banana pancakes and

listen to the rain drizzle outside

jack johnson says we should

em's friday night flick pick

2006-03-03T11:46:00.000-08:00

elizabethtown...

oh to know the freedom

he discovers on the roadway to failure

the love he finds waiting at the end of the path

and the philosophies gained along the way

woman of the earth

2006-03-03T07:20:00.000-08:00

if i could paint my mother
she'd be a humble queen of her flowers
an english vine stretching, winding
around her visitors like warm embrace
aromatic beauty
dirt on her nose watering can in hand
she'd stand for hours pruning roses turning soil
woman of the earth
soft silk soil smooth soothing to the sole
i'd paint it large
canvas plastered from one end of the room to the other
still -- illequipped to capture her
garden love affair.
carnation in hand
smiling she's pullng me close the paint is smudging and suddenly
i'm in the picture
digging dirt with my mom
canvassing the art of bonding

(praying no one notices the abandoned brushes and dirty footprints)