This is an anthology of poetry, short stories and rantings of my mind. They speak of humour, intrigue, love, adventure, anger, sorrow, joy ... the emotions of a soul longing for more than what this life can give. Some were written long ago (and have simply been updated & improved), others are much more recents cries of my heart.

My Sister and My Friend (for Alison)

The bond we have as sisters,
a bond which will never end,
has grown and made us friends.

Though life may keep us far apart,
there will always be a place in my heart
inhabited by you.

In you I always can confide
(when fears are constantly at my side)
unhindered by the miles.

You are the person everyone wants,
​one who listens, one who sees,
and understands their needs.

To you, who lives so far away,
consider my attempt to say,
​my love of you will never sway
for you are my sister and my friend.

Live the Lie

Life is a lie.

As we run through the days
at high speed,
trying to be the best,
reaching for the stars,
our beliefs and values
are shattered
by hypocrisy, by selfishness
and we realize
that all we worked for
is worth nothing.

Loved ones get sick;
death knocks at the door.
Bad things happen
to good people
and we wonder,
"Where is God
when we need Him?"

Life is a lie.

Beans and My Mom

I snip the ends off the beans, getting the ready for blanching and freezing and my mind is drawn outside and I see my mom and I sitting in the backyard (looks like our Barrhead house) at the table chatting while I snip the ends off beans from my parents garden. J Snipping beans makes me think of my mom.

And a conversation starts in my mind between my mom and I.

Mom: Jen, don’t forget to snap them in half!
Me: I know, Mom. (with a smile)
Mom: Not to big, eh? But not so small either! Or they won’t cook evenly!
Me: I know, Mom! Don’t worry, I’ve got this! (Thinking “not that it matters what size they are as you always cooked the snot out of them anyway.”)
And she smiles at me across the table as she watches.
Mom: Some of those beans should have stayed on the plants a bit longer.
Me: Yes, I know but it wasn’t me who picked them. And, you know, chores done “incorrectly” still bless the home. I’m learning to accept that.
Mom: Those sure are nice beans though! They’ll be nice in the winter!
Me: They sure will, Mom!

And even though she doesn’t say it, I think behind her smile and her words are “you’re doing good for your family, Jen. I’m proud of you.”

I sure miss my Mom! But I love memories that turn into conversations that never happened (but could have because I know that’s exactly what my mom would have said if she had seen me snipping those beans today) that leave me with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

Called Home

He is calling you home. It hurts, being torn from this life. A life of suffering and even death is suffering. But you are being ripped from the world you were born in, in order to be reborn in the world you were made for. 

Embrace

verb em·brace \im-ˈbrās\
: to hold someone in your arms as a way of expressing love or friendship
: to accept (something or someone) readily or gladly
: to use (an opportunity) eagerly

The above is the definition of “embrace” according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, or, I should said the definitions. There are 3 after all.  I’m going to be focusing on the first two: “to hold someone in your arms as a way of expressing love” and “to accept someone readily or gladly”.

The last time I saw my Mom was in July 2012. I went down while pregnant with my second child and I took my first-born with me. It was a lovely visit with my parents – spending time with two people whom I loved (and love), and great for my daughter to get to know them more! But every night when I said I was going to bed my mom asked for a hug and a kiss – an embrace. This often irritated me – I was tired and just wanted to sleep and this was just delaying that for me. I sometimes begrudged her of that “lost sleeping time”, that time when I wanted to just be able to do my own thing. Selfish, eh? “Why does she always want a hug and kiss? Like I’m a child!” would be the thoughts in my head. (Why was I being this way?! Didn’t I love my Mom? YES! I loved her (and still do) dearly! ) So why did she always want a hug and kiss? Why did she want this embrace (for that is what a hug and kiss quite simply are)? To express her love (and to feel mine), and perhaps to also know that I accepted her (and to let me know that she accepted me). I think there was hurt between us during my growing up – maybe because we’re too much alike. J I couldn’t always understand why she judged me the way she did – was I not good enough for her? And then, sometimes I didn’t accept her for who she was either – going to Dad for advice before her (and I know that hurt her more often than I guessed).  But I WOULD give her that hug and kiss every night. And that last night I did so cheerfully but also with sadness … I was going home again.

And then in December 2012, suddenly, she passed away. And OH how I wish I could embrace her one more time! How I wish I could show her my love and let her know how readily and gladly I accept her and all that she is! Let her know how I want to be like her! OH how I wish I could hold her one more time!

A week ago we were at some friends’ house for Bible study and the wife, as the kids were getting ready to go to bed, called for her eldest to come give her a hug and kiss good night. He kind of seemed embarrassed, but he did it! And there was teasing (which likely embarrassed him more). But I wanted to say, “Don’t be embarrassed! Embrace your Mom! Embrace this opportunity! Because you don’t know when the opportunity will be gone forever and how much you’ll miss it once it’s gone!” So I say to him, and I say to you, embrace your Mom (and Dad), embrace them! Really embrace them! Hold them close! Let them know your love! Show them that small honour at the very least!

Home

Driving down the dark avenue, I look in their windows...
I see them, gathered together ,
Families ...
Eating, playing games, talking, laughing
And I think, that is not my home.

Driving up to my house, I look in the window...
I see my husband, waiting for me,
My family,
Eating, playing games, talking, laughing
And yet I think, this is not my home.

One day, walking down the streets of gold, I will look into mansions,
I will see them, gathered together,
Families...
And Jesus, will turn to me and take me in his arms
And I will be home.

Love

Love is hugs and kisses.
Love is wiping noses and cleaning up vomit – and remembering the sick girl cuddles.
Love is cleaning bums and clothes – and praying over the girls that own them.
Love is cooking dinner – and praying blessings over your family.
Love is cleaning up … again – and listening to the echoes of laughter, and sometimes, shouts and tears, that fill the walls of this house.
Love is folding laundry – and remembering the reasons they got dirty, the active imaginations of girls growing.
Love is wiping down the bathroom – and remembering the long journeys of potting training (and dreading the future potty training for the one still in diapers).
Love is hugs and kisses – for sweet girls that grow too fast, just wanting to hold them young a second longer.

Perhaps

Perhaps you’re right
perhaps I’m wrong
perhaps this has
gone on too long

Perhaps I love you
perhaps I don’t
perhaps you’ve hurt me
more than you’ve known

Perhaps I’m sorry
perhaps you are too
perhaps I’ll see you
out of the blue

Perhaps you’ll smile
perhaps I’ll frown
perhaps this whole thing’s
turned upside down

Perhaps you’re wrong
perhaps I’m right
perhaps we can end
this foolish fight

Whisper

“I love you”, she whispers,
but shouts “one more hug!”
She giggles and hides in her sheets.
“It’s camouflage,” she says as she burrows in,
I tell her she must be a bug.

“No!” she laughs “Guess again!” she demands.
“A strawberry? A Tree? A pile of dirt?
A rock or a rabbit all snug in a rug?
A tree or maybe a bear?”
A tickling hand finds her, laughter erupts!
“It’s Annalise, my dear little squirt!”

Hands

Fragile hands folded gently in prayer, firmly trusting.
Teaching that fold of trust to children at her knee,
singing “Now I lay me down to sleep…”
Words,
        fragile hands,
                        guiding.
Fingers gently turning thin Bible pages,
        pausing here and there to read a verse;
Reading promises, hope.
A crooked finger admonishing;
        a gentle touch of grace and love.
Hands in kitchen – cooking, guiding, teaching.
Teaching skills and teaching heart.
Teaching to embrace this role.

This is what her hands have done.

A Small Poem

Small is the kisses of my daughters
Small is my kiss for them
Great is our love for each other!

Small is the toys we trip on in the dark
Small is the spilled food at the table
Great is my affection for my daughters!

Small is the words the say
Small is the songs they sing
Great is my love as I listen!

Small is the hug I can give them
Small is the word of encouragement
Great is their growth in our love!

My Friend?

Who are you?
I know your name
but ...
who are you?
I know what type of person you are
but ...
who are you?
You say you're a Christian
but ...
who are you?
We spend time together
but ...
who are you?
Just a person?
Someone I talk with more than others?
I need to know.
Who are you?

Don't You Understand?

Don't you understand
that whatever affects you
affects me too?
Don't you understand
that talking is my way
of expressing my need for you?
Don't you understand
that, as much as you don't want to loose me,
I don't want to loose you?
Don't you understand
that I love you?

Let it All Out

Some days I just want to die
    to crawl in a hole and let the storm waters
            fill
                drown
What's the point of going on when
    every
        damn
            thing
    is a struggle?!
Balance life
    balance "chequebooks"
        balance faith
    I'm not a freaking trapeze artist!
And this people pleasing is stupid - 
    you be yourself and you get snide remarks
        - and laughter -
            laughter that hurts
    but you be some one else,
        someone more like them,
            and you get disdain.
    Wait. Is that how they see themselves?
        With disdain??
Back to being myself.
    I like me ... so screw them!

Hold

And I feel broken, crushed…
but You pick up the pieces,
hold them gently,
breath life into them and
I am whole again,
fragile
but whole.

And when I feel lost,
You hold my hand,
lead me along a path less travelled
softly lit with hope,
quiet,
joy.

And when I rejoice,
You hold my hands
and we dance
in the meadow.
pure.
bliss.

Light Overcomes

Light, hope, peace
shines bright
laughter, joy
Opposes darkness

Darkness, fear, confusion
black, dull,
tears, despair
can’t overcome

Mighty

Mighty is … the seas churning in a storm
Mighty is … the mountains stretching to the sky.
Mighty is … the prairie reaching far as the eye can see, hiding beauty within.
Mighty is … the hawk soaring through the blue summer sky.

But that is the world.

In my heart,
Mighty is … God’s grace that he gives every day
Mighty is … my husbands kiss when he comes home
Mighty is … my daughters’ hugs and “I love you”s .
Mighty is … my daily chores that serve my family.

Paint

Pigments squirt into a palette,
            colours of the world.
A brush sweeps and swirls across the canvas,
            apparent chaos but, in time, a masterpiece emerges.
Beauty.
            Beauty in the majestic, the simple, the pretty
            BUT beauty also in the old, the rotten, the desolation
Beauty in the broken.

And God, with His magnificent brush strokes,
            creates beauty in THIS Broken
This canvas of my life, but a small piece of the canvas of the universe,
            intertwined together
            seemingly chaotic until I look back
And I see beauty.
            Beauty in the joy, beauty in the hardships
                        dark, harsh colours where hurt made its mark
                        bright, joy-filled colours where peace and joy have touched.

My canvas,
my sweeps and swirls of the brush,
my mixing of pigments,
just a cheap imitation of what God has already done
Showing beauty in my life as best as I can.

And “when I [paint] I feel His pleasure”.

The Messenger

He strides purposefully down the dark hall
a mission prompts his step
Sent by his King,
he obeys without question

He goes out with courage
willing to fulfil his task
at all costs

The words he speaks
are not his own
Words of hope
        strength
                war
                      condemnation

Reactions depend on his words
Will he be killed for a negative word,
honoured for a positive?

He’s tangible evidence of the King’s rule.
Without a name,
he’s simply known as
The Messenger.

Where Do We Find Our Identity?

So often we find ourselves wandering through this world feeling lost, like we don’t know what we’re here for or where we’re going. It’s an unsettling feeling – especially when it seems as though everyone around us seems to know exactly who (where) they are and what they’re doing. Feeling lost is hard to cope with, it’s hard to get out of, particularly when we think that, in order to accomplish that, we need to “find ourselves”. I wonder if that’s the correct idea to hold? I guess it all comes down to where (or in whom) we find our identity.

As Christians, our identity first needs to be found in God. “I am a child of The King.” That is of utmost importance! If that is our identity, than we also know our purpose – to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. If that is our identity and our purpose, then it is also a measuring stick, so-to-speak, which we use to make decisions in our daily life.

A job opportunity comes up – in taking it will I glorify God?
An opportunity to move to a different city/province/county arises – will making that move glorify God?
A new activity is suggested for your children – will participating in this activity glorify God?

And the list could go on…

If we find our identity and purpose in God, we will never be lost.

Whisper

They demand our silence,
we’re lucky if we can manage a whisper.
But I don’t want to whisper,
I WANT TO ROAR!!

“Freedom of Speech”!! they spout,
           when it matters to them.
But as soon as your opinion differs,
you’re not granted that freedom.
Instead,
            you’re accused of hate,
                        of phobia (phobia?! I have nothing to fear!),
                                    of intolerance.

BE TOLERANT OF EVEYRONE AND EVERYTHING! they shout.
But they aren’t tolerant of you or your thoughts and beliefs
                        when you choose to express them.
What they really mean is
“You must accept and embrace the choices I make!”
            … choices that are so profoundly against God and His Word?!

How can I accept and embrace that?! How can I not speak out against it?!

I don’t want to whisper anymore.

I WANT TO ROAR!!

Calling

Calling…
an echo in your soul
… a word forgotten?
His word,
            your task … your calling.
Answer, fulfill,
            Make it sure.
Spirit’s assurance within
            then,
Live it out.
Evidence assures,
            confirms outward.
            Move towards it
Hear the resounding Word
            It echoes no longer
                        It lives in you.
Calling. Answer. Be His.

Capture Me

Capture me;
            capture my memory.
But …
it fades away over time
            a glimmer of light
                        a taste
                                    a scent
                                                a sound

there,
just beyond my grasp

until … 
that scent returns
or the sound is heard
or the taste is experienced anew

and it floods back
filling me
filling my memory.

It captures me.

Fly

These legs hold me to the ground
                but I just want to fly
This life, it’s weighing me down
                  but I just want to fly.

My arms reach up
         reach out
                  stretch far
                           tip toes
                                    I try

Let me fly!
Let me feel wind through my hair
         caressing my skin.
Let me smell sweet breezes
         and soar through the blue
                  without a care.

This life, it’s weighing me down

                  I just want to fly.

Identity Crisis

She looks in the mirror,
“What do I see?
Some stranger’s face
staring back at me.”

Vaguely familiar
yet so very odd,
the mask she wears,
it’s just a fraud.

Trying to be someone
great or someone small
but, with the weight of that,
surprising she can stand at all.

More faces appear
“Be like me”, they insist,
“be like him, be like her”
Will she resist?

She tries to appease them,
her failure is great.
They get what they want,
but what they want, they hate.

She cries and she shouts,
“Just let me be me!”
One by one, the fade,
‘til just her face she can see.

This one is simply perfect
(though, of course, it is flawed)
this one she can love,
it was a gift from God.

Some days she still battles,
those faces and clamour,
but peace and relief surge
if she holds true to her demeanour.

Because in the end,
what matters is being true
to the character God made,
the incredible, unique you!

Serenity

Waves roll in
kiss the shore
tickle our feet
recede once more.

In undulating peace,
constant, faithful,
returning to shore,
gentle, playful.

Its blues and its greens,
its consistent rush,
unbroken swell,
its tranquil hush.

Silence

Silence
golden
holy
peaceful
Silence
ugly
sorrow
despair
Silence

Storm

Swirls and whirls of fallen leaves,
wind roaring ‘round the house.
Rain drops pound the walls,
            knocking on window panes
The storm rages outside.

Heart pounding in apprehension
anxiety grasping for a hold.
Tears threaten to break through
            knocking at the window to my soul.
The storm rages inside.

But there’s a calm, a centre
            peaceful, reassuring
Strength fills, calms storms.
The storm quiets.

Untitled Poem

I hear the silence and I despair
Where are the words that once came so freely?
Where is the peace that poured out of desperation?
Is there no need? Have I found a new source?
Where is the relief? The tears? The laughter?
When will I speak again?
I am muted by overload of thoughts.
Mouth opens, no sound can be heard.
Stutter, pen can’t move.
Where is the hope? The joy? The peace?
Why won’t it pour out of me?
When will the silence end?

An Offering

What can I offer?
What can I bring?
Without you I have nothing.

I offer my worship,
though it misses the mark,
Will you accept it?
It comes from my heart.

Your offering was much more,
so beyond my capabilities.
Your life for mine
so I could be saved.
What more could I offer
than all that I am?

So fragile and frail
as my life now might be,
sinful and callous,
(sanctify me!),
I offer my worship,
I offer my thanks,
I offer my life,
I offer me.

Unity

A child
hiding in the background
afraid to catch the eye
of the one she disappointed

A father
presses through the crowds
picks her up and holds,
looks her in the eye and speaks:

I gave my son for you;
you are mine.

A child
steeps in peace,
in the love of her Father,
in the strength of His arms.

The Longing

A tearing of my heart,
confusion in my mind,
a stirring in my gut,
a tingle down my spine.
A thirst for living water,
hunger for the Bread of Life,
a burning in my soul - 
the longing
for Jesus to take me home.

The Longing II

As lightning danced across the sky
and thunder roared in pleased reply,
the rain sang its song of praise;
the wind, also, its voice did raise.
The rainbow glowed in promise
​and longing filled my heart.

Journey

Gently the last leaf floats to the ground
and the little girl breathes her last breath.

The north wind blows the leaf to the river
as her soul waits at the Jordan.

The cold of death whips behind her in a frenzy
and the warmth of life gently coaxes her ahead.

Leaf and child are victims of battle;
child and leaf are victors of life.

The Making of a Man

Sitting here
waiting
for inspiration 
that doesn't come.

I turn to
writing
a story and hope
for something better.

Sitting here
waiting
for inspiration
that doesn't come.

I turn back
again
finishing this poem
with thankfulness.

Where Can I Go?

Where can I go 
to be in Your presence?
And with Your Spirit,
where can I fly?

When I go to the mountaintops
I cannot find You.
And the depths of the sea?
I can't find You there.

I look in my heart
and see that You've been there.
I look in my Bible
​and there You appear.

Where can I go
to be in your presence?
And with your Spirit,
where can I fly?

I look in my Bible.
That's where I meet You.
Down on my knees
our friendship grows there.

Down on my knees
I sing hymns of praise.

How Long?

How long, oh Lord,
will this linger?
This distance I can't comprehend?
I search but find no answer.
What of Your promises - 
        seek and it will be found,
        ask and it will be given,
        knock and it will be opened?
I've done all this
    and yet
        it hasn't been found,
                                        or given,
                                                       or opened.
        Perhaps I've been blinded.

Show Yourself, oh Lord!
Open my eyes that I may see!
    In my loneliness and fear,
        comfort me in Your presence!
Don't leave me alone!

Thief

Thief!
Striking unexpectedly,
stealing whatever
your hands can grasp.

Thief!
Preying on those with plenty,
but not forgetting
those with little.

Thief!
No respect for old or young;
never satisfied
with what you have.

Thief!
Disregarding the love of friends,
selfishly fulfilling
your heart's desires.

Thief!
Leaving survivors to mourn,
while you hunt for more;
so full of greed!

Thief!
You, who are thought of as death,
have stolen a life
with no regrets.

The Death of Childhood

​The death of childhood
is the loss of a friend,
​the dying of fantasies.

The death of childhood
is facing reality,
worrying about the future.

The death of childhood
is facing new experiences,
becoming more responsible.

The death of childhood
is insecurity;
then, finding out who you are,
becoming an adult.

Six Years Later

Childhood has died
but
my fantasies still live
an uncertain future still exists
​there are more new experiences waiting for me
insecurity always lurks around the corner.
Now I'm an adult
but
I'm still not sure who I am.

Inspiration

Inspiration is
a flood of passion releasing peace,
the Northern Lights dancing with stars across a black velvet sky,
​a word spoken in love,
a spider's web,
a father weeping for his children,
a Saviour dying for His world.

The Piper

Shots ring out
        blood pours out            floods the plain
    A man falls
                            death
                                        smoke
                                                    fire
                                                            gas
        Run! Run far away!
                                                But where?
                                                        We cannot run!
For through it all
    the Piper calls
                        And we must follow.

In the Sky

Souring through the pale blue sky
where peace abides with you and I
until the enemies start to fire
and we, in the sky, fly higher and higher.

We gain our altitude and our speed
then, with our leader taking lead,
we dive toward the enemy planes
holding death tight in our reins.

Then, letting go, we fire a round
and watch a planes fall to the ground.
Flying home we wonder, "Why
must death come in the peaceful sky?"

Comfort

My Father and I used to walk hand in hand.
We walked everywhere together.
I never let go of Him;
He never let go of me.
And when it was time to sleep,
He would carry me to my bed.
He would tuck me in
And He would kiss me goodnight.
And then He would sit by my bed and watch
He never slept!

Life was almost perfect.
Not completely perfect because
there were problems, of course.
But nothing my Father couldn't handle.
Sometimes I would stumble
but Father would hold onto me and pick me up.

There was one day when we walked
a mountain was in our way.
Father told me not to worry,
He would carry me over it.
But I wanted to walk over it myself.
I didn't want to be carried anymore.
He loves me so He let me walk.
But on that mountain there were many bumps,
one right after the other.
I stumbled on each one
And I fell.

Ashamed,
I let go of Father's hand,
instead of holding tighter
and I lost my Father.

I hear Him calling
but I can't reach Him.
I feel all over the ground.
There are more bumps
but no Father.

Finally despair takes hold.
I sit down and I weep.
My Father is still calling but I don't answer
I can't answer! I don't know where He is!

But His voice is soothing.
Gradually my weeping quiets.
And I hear Him,
"Look up, look up, my child!
I am here beside you!"

I open my eyes and look.
There with His arms around me,
is my Father.
He was there all the time.
He never let me go,
though I let Him go.

My Father and I walk hand in hand.
We walk everywhere together.
He carries me in HIs arms
and He will never let me go.