My inner poet has gone missing. I know she is still close by. On occasion, she pops in through the door unannounced and joins in the conversation at the most surprising moments. Or I'll hear her clear her throat from another room in the inner recesses of my thoughts. She wants to speak but withdraws, shrinks back behind her well designed utilitarian cover. There is safety in usefulness. In ink stained hands hidden under kitchen gloves.
Perhaps the bold reappearance of Spring has made her shy. His masterpieces mesmerize and steal the show, as they should. But, she forgets. She, too, is His work.
So, today I will not force, cajole, or shame her out of hiding but will let her simply be until the warmth of the Son's rays melts her fear away and gently awakens her own Spring emergence,
His handiwork.
Loved this. Added it as a bookmark on my page... that line about ink stained hands being hidden in kitchen gloves, the poet merges with the practical... a liturgy of the ordinary- I loved it. :)
ReplyDelete*when I say my page, I mean my blog. Just to clarify... <><
ReplyDeleteAhhh! Just typed a long comment, but Blogger wasn't able to process for some reason!
ReplyDeleteAnyway, as I was saying :), I also *love* your "ink stained hands hidden under kitchen gloves" words as well. I love the picture of you going about your daily work without losing the essence of who you are. It's easy to lose yourself as a mother, isn't it?
And I also love your Sunday Supper link up! I wish I could contribute, but we don't do *anything* exciting for Sunday lunches. Usually just something really easy and quick like sandwiches because we're all *starving* by the time we get home from church. ;) Maybe I'll learn a few tricks of the trade and rescue my family from boring Sunday lunches?! ;)
Gorgeous photo and even better words. My inner poet is struggling. Waiting is just so hard at times. This encourages me greatly!
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