Glance out the window beside me

See dull gray of sky behind my dogwood tree,

Behind the gray is peeking white

Reminding me years ago of the sight,

Rick and I on our 25th anniversary in Hawaii.

 

There we were on a sunset cruise

The Hawaiian sky was of grays, not blues,

It wasn’t what one looks for in hues

and it didn’t go with dream vacation views,

Yet there were depths to intrigue out in the sea.

 

I made do with the gray, that day

I laughed at the book title, of gray in only fifty shades- what a play,

For now I could clearly see so many gradients in the far away

From dark to near-white, the uncountable sight of gray’s colors holding sway.

 

By the time I finish this poem I glance again outside

And the gray has turned to white.

And isn’t that like life

If you wait long enough, God makes everything all right.

I love a good puppet show. I’ve always wanted to write a little script and make it the coolest puppet show, ever. I love the stage on this puppet show- it’s my favorite.

I like this puppet show too…

But here again, is the greatest puppet show that almost happened, put on by my two grandsons!

 

So I had this dream once. In it, I was trying to prove the existence of God; that He had created everything. In the dream we were outside, me and the person I was arguing with. All around us in the Pacific Northwest, there was greenery: leaves, fern, bush edges, grasses and trees. Pause a moment and consider our eyes that God gave us, that we can differentiate a thousand shades of green.

Plants can be grown, my opponent pointed out. Their genetic material examined under a microscope. Plants can be grafted into each other and even new varieties of rose bush created. In fact, she told me, humans can create and master all of the building blocks of our planet. There’s no need or proof of God.

In my dream a sudden passion rose up in me. I reached out and snatched off a big leaf from a neighboring tree.

“Can humans do this?!” I cried, tearing the leaf into pieces. I closed my fingers over the leaf bits and then looked at my fist. When I opened it, I wanted to show her that only God had the power to knit atoms back together. He was the creator, and He could mend the leaf before our eyes. It was a small miracle I was asking Him to do. It wasn’t going to affect anyone but us. Like when Elijah tested the false Gods in comparison to the real One by pouring water over the altar. (1 Kings 18: 20- 40) We humans had challenged. We had insisted that God was real. Now it was up to Him to prove it, or leave us hanging with a wet altar and torn bits of a leaf in our hands.

But I knew He was with me, and that He wouldn’t let me down. In my dream I appealed to Him and then opened my hand.

And God did something beautiful. He hadn’t just mended the leaf; He’d made it three times larger.

When I woke up I was zinging with electricity as if I’d actually had that confrontation and the touch of God happen instead of dreaming it. I knew this was one of those spiritual dreams that Christians are supposed to have sometimes. (Joel 2:28; Acts 2:17) I wondered, who was I supposed to tell it to?

But then I realized that this dream wasn’t just about proving God’s existence to a doubting world of humans. This was a dream about faith. We’re not here to do carnival tricks with a magical God. If you want to see His magic, just take a look outside or a glance in the mirror. We’re here to believe in Him, and then to love Him, and then to hold on when our faith gets tested. That was the real miracle my dream was describing.

So there I was, at 18~ And across this man I seen;

His eyes straightforward, kind~ And a friend I find;

We squabbled, fussed~ But he was someone to trust;

I heard it from the Lord, above~ This man is mine to love;

It’s been good. He’s been my friend, and every now and then~

One of us wins an argument.

I love my husband!

I had a great time at my friend’s book launch tonight! Here’s the cover of her book!

I always chicken out at the thought of doing a book launch for one of my books- all by myself. I’ve so far just hitched a ride with other people. But while there tonight I was visiting the table of the talented artist who did the art on the above cover- Leslie Moon. I was so excited to find this print to buy!!!

You see, I so associate with this song. In the one daydream I’d have of maybe doing a book launch, I saw my son-in-law, Ryan, up on the stage singing this song for me. I’ve stepped back in my writing goals, but if I were ever to put out another book, maybe I’d ask him to sing it. Meanwhile, the dream resonates. Other artists connect with me on special evenings like tonight. Here are some links!

https://lesliemoon.wordpress.com/

Okay, I was supposed to put this out in a blog post, so I am- ha ha. My book, Black Poodle Over Seven Hills, might be a just perfect gift for Valentine’s Day!

From my published book; Sunrise Meets the Star~

‘Now look across the street,” said the doctor. “You see that door, painted shiny black?”

Verone saw it. Across the street was an unending line of buildings, each of different sizes and built by different crafters, and yet each corner of wall meeting the next. In the middle, in a building shorter than the two that surrounded it, was a shiny black door, and on each side of it two windows shone with clean glass and were hung with white fluffy curtains.

“I see it,” said Verone.

“Inside that house lives an old woman. She has white hair, but its still thick and curly. She is thin, and gracious. She has a few servants, who know just how she likes things done. When you meet her she is so polite that you wonder if she has ever sobbed or shrieked in passion in her whole life. And yet, do you know what?”

“What?”

“When I was a small boy, running like an urchin in that crowded marketplace that so affected you, I used to go to that shiny black door. That old woman would open it, herself, and give me a smile and a warm cinnamon bun. She would straighten my collar and call me, ‘young man,’ just like I’ve been calling you. And then, she would ruffle my hair. We didn’t have a lot in common. I hadn’t read any of her books or been able to remember more than a part of her life. And yet, when she smiled, I felt as if she and I were the same person. She has a kind smile. Later, that woman paid for me to go to school so I could become a Doctor.”

Verone stopped staring at the door and stared at the doctor instead.’

Of all things to write about, the great expanse;

Of love, the senses, of war and romance,

There’s landscapes and histories, physical prowess and art;

Food different around the globe and similarities of the heart.

~    ~    ~

But think of it from a newborn’s point of view;

or a shut-in, unable to see something new,

When the world becomes closed in and small;

No books or television relieves the color of the wall.

~    ~    ~

When one climbs in bed to lay down at night;

One shuts the bright eyelids like one turns out the light,

Memories come, and hidden fears, the insecurities mean;

Repetitive processing, body aches, and irritants glean.

~    ~    ~

One sees the great expanse in a differing way;

One realizes the plans made don’t always hold sway,

Dreams and hopes make demands and refuse rest;

All the things we can’t do fills a valley of impossibleness.

~    ~    ~

We’re a newborn again, unable to move;

Depressed we don’t own and convinced we can’t prove,

Open our eyes the room is blue forms and thick shade;

Shut them and see the expanse of Sentient’s cave.

~    ~    ~

To a newborn there’s peace, it isn’t her fault;

A puppy dog just wants to protect and chase balls,

Here in the dark of an unfulfilled mind;

Vastness of storage connects to a glimpse of divine.

~    ~    ~

This is the place that God is needed most;

Our lifetime ends in coma- and there’s the heavenly host,

At the end of the valley, expansive road pointing all the time;

Blue skies of Heaven, say, ‘Come child, I’m yours and You’re Mine’.

 

 

A snippet from the beginning of my milkman story; on a more fantastical world than I usually write. Darrius is a 1950’s milkman, snatched from his early morning route into another world with his milk truck. Here they’re telling him why they took him.

“Darrius, my people want a country of freedom. We don’t want to assert slavery over others.”

“In my world there’re a lot of people who would take advantage of a power like yours.”

“Yes, we’ve heard legends of your world. You must be all great warriors.”

Darrius felt alarm.

“I hope that’s not why you sent for me,” he cautioned. “I’m just an ordinary man. I’m no warrior.”

“Of course! That’s what we wanted!”

“I don’t understand. What could I do for you? Why am I here?”

“Because of the legend!”

“What legend?”

“Ah, and now we come to it,” put in Birke.

“Here is the legend,” said Ojorno, and he leaned back and quoted.

When the Jacarunda and the Prowess unite,

When they bring the Diminutive to light,

When the one with ordinary might,

Comes from the land of distant sight,

~          ~         ~

When these four combine to do,

When their hearts are to one task true,

When they allow each one to contribute their due,

They cannot fail to bring the message through.”

Ojorno had a fine, theatrical voice. He seemed very proud of what he’d just said, and the other two were staring at Darrius and nodding their heads. They seemed to expect him to be impressed.

“Uh… nice poem,” he said.

“Don’t you get it, man!” stormed Ojorno.

“Get what? That’s just a verse. You have a war to fight, don’t you? Why don’t you join some rebellion, or…”

“Darrius, try to understand. We are the rebellion.”

Darrius looked around.

“Where?”

“Right here. The four of us.”