Turn Back

I am an old fashioned girl, I guess.

Still a bit new to being an old lady;

I’ve lived long enough to see a few things.

I’ve learned a lot and I know what works,

And what doesn’t.

 

I remember many things that are now, forgotten.

 

I’m still quite taken with chivalry.

A man who offers me his coat when I’m cold,

Opens the car door for me.

He respected me enough to marry me,

Before I gave him a baby.

 

I still like that now discarded word, wholesome.

 

Values that stand the test of time;

Boundaries, manners, appropriate, even etiquette.

Masculine, feminine, equal but different.

Family formed to raise children,

“In the nurture and the admonition of the Lord”

 

“The hand that rocks the cradle rules the nation.”

 

A mother’s job is the most important.

Nurturing a stronger nation, shaping its leaders,

Reward more valuable than money:

Respect and families that stay together,

Bound by mother’s unconditional love.

 

“Wait in your room until your father comes home!”

 

The man who puts a roof over your head!

Food in your belly, clothes on your back; honor him!

Accept his strong discipline in healthy fear.

When you grow up be like him!

Work hard, take care of your family.

 

“Fashions come and go but the classics never go out of style.”

 

Yes, I’m old now and time softens the edges.

It wasn’t perfect back then, it wasn’t like Ozy and Harriet!

But everyone knew what was right and wrong.

In our high ideals there was consensus,

Truth was upheld, good wasn’t evil.

 

“When evil is exalted the innocent become prey.”

 

In this new century there is little desire for Truth.

Free morality held in by tight government regulations on everything else.

More government requires more taxes!

Working mothers can no longer rock the cradle.

Corrupt leaders rise; sociopaths, megalomaniacs!

 

God, they say is like me, old fashioned. They’ve removed the old landmarks.

Confusion is rampant and people are angry that America’s promise is gone.

While old ladies like me pray that America will turn back and bless God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paper Tatters Flying in the Wind

Write the number of my days on fine rice paper.

Tally them, and tear…

Delicate hand molded sheet into bits and caste it in the wind!

I can no longer understand the sum of those days nor transcend,

The heartbreak of futility or tragedy’s rude temper!

This calamity I fear…

Shattered my existence by the hand of happenstance I can’t bend,

Into a shape I can’t cope with, I can’t make my scattered mind comprehend,

How or why God allows evil’s continued mad caper!

In emptiness so clear…

I tremble in askance in the presence of my horror from which I can’t fend!

I’ve lost all surety of knowledge of just who I am in this ominous moment self-end!

Blanketed by sorrows I feel my faith’s diminishing taper.

Father rescue me here!

Without You, I am only tattered delicate rice paper flying in the wind!

 

 

 

 

 

Sustaining Joy

Every day new worlds rise! And old worlds fall apart.

I am told this is only, a matter of perception.

What do you do when your world is taken all apart?

Is good attitude, a positive thought of deflection,

Able to override calamity? Or mend a tattered heart?

Is faith only energy? Form of magic imagination?

 

I believe that true faith hurts and bleeds very red.

Because when Lazarus died, “Jesus wept”.

Then He called him and raised him from the dead!

I know that in Jesus, my sad soul is kept.

Though my old world crashed down upon my head!

Jesus is here with me; my need is met.

 

Herein lies my joy! Whether I be happy, sad, even mad,

If I be abandoned, crushed, battered, or stoned,

Should persecution come, the enemy steal all I’ve had!

Jesus paid the ultimate for me; my sin is atoned.

Even though in this world I find little to make me glad,

He understands; in my heart never be dethroned!

There He rests, keeps me warm, when all’s gone so bad.

 

 

 

 

Heart of Blue

I cut this heart of blue,

From special paper I saved for you,

In love’s cooler hue;

Trim in fine lace, used time as my glue;

Binding of hearts true;

Ribbons weave through and through,

Defining edges anew;

Now, tiny hearts of pink and baby-blue!

My how our years flew!

Happy Heart Day! True love share with you!

 

On the Day She Became an Old Woman

On the day Carol became an old woman, she shed several tears. Standing in the threshold of the last days of her life filled her with certain uncertainty. Though life is tenuous at any age, when old age comes everyone knows what comes next and there is no way to dodge death. This dreadful day came so suddenly yet also, gradually. Somehow, she didn’t think it would happen to her. Carol never could picture herself with grey hair and never accepted it. In fact she did everything in her power to remain young looking and deny the passing of time but on this day, reality couldn’t be denied. Would she live long enough for her hair to turn white or worse, fall out? Carol didn’t want to die but she didn’t want to be elderly either.

Carol gravitated toward the bed and overcome by this strange season in life, laid down and absent-mindedly, stared out the window, upward into the perfectly blue sky. It was early afternoon, she was tired and it felt good to lie down. She remembered when she never felt tired during the day and how hard she’d worked all of her life; all that was required of her to obtain this familiar, beloved place to relax and gaze at the sky, as she loved to do. Now, she had to think about letting it all go and down-sizing. Tears filled her eyes to the brim when she thought of the children and how far away they are now. She worked so hard at raising them, at doing for others, and now, that she is less capable of serving it seems she is mostly forgotten. Her life once noisy and full is now, quiet. Carol needs quiet at this age but misses companionship, camaraderie, and most of all, being needed. These days she and her husband had to focus on self-care and every day it became more time consuming. No matter the reason, a self-consumed life is a lonely life. She reminded herself to be grateful that she still had her husband and felt a bit of relief in the act of counting a blessing. Then she thought of the inevitable final good-by and the brimming tears over-flowed.

Sunshine streamed warmth through her bedroom window to relax Carol’s sore, stiff muscles and joints. She could see the very tops of the trees swaying in a gentle breeze, as she ebbed into a sorrowful sleep. Carol drifted into dreams and felt herself as she was inside, at the prime of life. It was a bright summer day in a special place. Towering mountains surrounded a valley with a lake in a green meadow. Just beyond the shore-line lay a beautiful forrest, with every kind of tree. The trees nearest the lake bore various fruits more luscious than any she’d ever seen or tasted. There was such peace in this place, a benign but powerful presence that quieted her every anxiety. Birds in free cacophony filled the air with the music of gratitude. Music so beautiful that Carol found herself also, singing. The lyrics flowed through her from the Presence and washed away every sorrow. Suddenly, she was aware of her husband standing beside her and taking her hand in his. Their eyes met in glowing smiles, they kissed, and then realized they weren’t alone. This beautiful place was filled with content, joyful people, all in the prime of life. It was evident there was no sickness here, no aging, no decay, and no death. “This is my home” was her final thought before she found herself awake.

Outside Carol’s window, the sun was fading in a peach and blue display and the tree tops were still. The atmosphere of her dream lingered in the feeling of that powerful Presence and she heard in her spirit; “Trust me Carol. You must let go of this world before you may enter this better place I allowed you to visit in your dreams. This isn’t the end but a new beginning, a revealing of eternity that is new to you now, but a reality that has always been. You belong to Me and everything you love and must let go of here, I will replace and multiply when you are finally home. Until then, continue to serve me. Reach out to others as you are able and point them to My Son. Though you must rest often now, give that time to prayer and meditation. I still have My purpose to work through you here. I won’t abandon you and I will see you safely, through every step of letting go. Then I will safely, see you home.” Carol’s tired, sad heart flooded with the surety only, a beloved child knows and an acceptance of her circumstance that comes only, by trust in the Divine. Refreshed and revitalized, her thoughts turned to Jim, and as she had done innumerable times before, she got up to cook his dinner. Grateful that Jim was still with her and required this of her but also, reassured that should he pass on before her, she would never be alone. Their best days were yet to come.

La Vieja and The Magpie

Way down in old Nuevo Mexico, as the Crow flies, towards the river,

La vieja sits under her Cottonwoods, never-to-mind bickering Magpie!

Contentedly painting images of crows in colorful high-top sneakers;

In defiance! Of Death, Crow is said to bring on a black-winged-quiver!

Small-round-old woman, tough-as-nails, true-blue as enchanted sky;

Worn by west-blowing wind she bends as east-leaning wind breakers,

To nurture, protect life growing in harsh desert; la vieja is a love-giver!

“Mi casa es su casa.” Ancient tradition of welcome for all passers-by;

Old adobe home, sky-blue door open, red chili ristras hung on cedars;

Ojos de Dios watch! Blessed Rio Grande home! Oh, Mighty Life-Giver!

Feast on tortillas, enchiladas, papas, frijoles; No green chili? We cry!

Enchanted by crows wearing sneakers to taunt the continuous Magpie!

 

Key for Non-New Mexicans: la vieja=“the old woman”, “Mi casa es su casa!” = “My house is your house!” Ristras are red, dried, chili pods strung together that are both purposeful and beautiful. Ojos de Dios=Eyes of God. Tortillas are an unleavened, flat-bread. Frijoles=beans, in New Mexico they are Pinto Beans. Papas=fried potatoes. Enchiladas are a casserole dish made of meat, cheese, and/or beans, rolled in corn tortillas, and baked in red or green chili. Green chili of course, is the staple of life in New Mexico, a common source of good health and happiness!

 

 

 

 

 

The Breach

An old woman sits on a bench, placed against a south facing wall, enjoying the sun as it melts aches and pains away. Lost in the bright warmth on her face, she begins to dream in reverse. Riding the rays of the sun, she finds herself transported to that special place, sitting on flag-stone, beneath the blooming bows of the old Lilacs at Grandma’s house. Such a sky on this day in early May; a vast dome of the bluest blue that only a child’s eyes can see! The scent of Lilac permeates everything, with the bushes themselves joining overhead in an embrace that provides protection for two little girls, immersed in imaginative play. With tulips and other spring flowers turned upside down to become dolls dressed in ball gowns; these happy girls dance the day away. Light gleams on the hair of the cotton-top girl’s curly hair, as if in competition with the sun. The older girl is darker and even this bright day only manages to pull a few golden highlights from the ashen, darker waves beneath. Sisters in deep contrast to one another but locked together by blood, trust, and love.

Lost in the dream of her memory, in the past as important as now, the old woman sighs as from this point in time, she starts to dream forward. She begins to roll away from this heavenly moment, this snippet of blissful harmony, down her road of life. So many rough spots, navigational mistakes, mud-holes, missed stop signs, and confusing intersections. Somewhere on the way, harmony was lost and the contrast became glaring. Blood wasn’t enough to hold these sisters together. Trust was broken. Love does remain but only, as a reminder of the relationship that once existed; but now, is a relationship severed in a fierce misunderstanding. Pride over-rode the bond of blood and to this day, frustrates love.

A dark, wet cloud passes overhead, blocking the sun. At the same moment, the old woman’s heart sinks with grief and her eyes flood with tears of loss; if only, they could go back to that happy day and find a way to blend the contrast of their personas. Though one child was assigned to be golden, and the other to be twilight, in that happy moment, the contrast worked as compliment. Was it jealousy that loomed and turned sisters to adversaries? Or was it as it seems to this old woman; that the golden child wanted to rule over the child made of twilight and when twilight came into her own, the one who shines even in competition with sun, couldn’t abide it. She knows deep down that neither of them can help the role they were assigned. For each there is no choice but to play it out. In heart, the old woman embraces her little sister, that cotton-topped little girl, and lovingly, forgives her(again) . Then more tears flood in realization that her forgiveness isn’t enough to restore them to sisterhood; it’s only half of what needs to be done. On the other half she must wait and never give up hope in the waiting.

When the longing is too much, she drifts backward to the moment that is part of her now, and warms her aches in the trust that only, loving sisters can know. Though trust is broken and takes two to mend, love remains. Where there is love, there is always hope for reconciliation.

Hope Eternal

In the blush of a young child’s cheek,

And in the wrinkled smiling face

Of a kind old woman,

Hope is seen with no need to speak;

Good banishes evil, leaves no trace,

A journey to transcend;

Aged kind face, youth’s blushing cheek,

The Alpha and the Omega lace,

And form the eternal;

When child and grandmother, so meek,

Bonded in God, by His Grace,

Embrace and strengthen

Each; to overcome evil despite being weak.

Sonoran Whisper

Delight in the whisper of a warm Sonoran breeze!

Conveying its secret of an early spring;

Conical hills don green velvet despite lacking trees;

Song the bright Red Cardinal does sing,

Rejoicing in Saguaro’s flowered crown prophecies!

Barren land to bloom, colors amazing!

Yellows and reds and purples; every hue to please

The Snow Bird’s hungry eye by gazing

Vista! A spring paradise kissed by Sonoran breeze!

 

Joyfully, I Fly Away!

Brrrr! Baby it is cold outside! The beauty of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains has a down side. How blessed this old bird is to fly south! I am trading these ice-bound mountains and bare grey branches in for the rainbow landscape with low mountains covered in green velvet found only in Arizona. I’m leaving snow and wind behind me as I head for a hideaway in the Valley of the Sun. In The Valley, I’m sure to find the warmth I need to melt my pain and the bright colors I adore to lighten my mind. Arizona is paradise for people like me who love to study how colors harmonize and collide. It is a place designed for the grey-haired set, looking for a place to celebrate the stage of life referred to as golden. It is a refuge for me and as I pack my bags, my heart sings, “He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, in the midst of a dry thirsty land, and covers it there with his hand.” This old desert-dweller belongs to Jesus and my Father so faithfully, works all things to my good.

There is a time to gather and a time to let go. I’m standing at the end of my gathering time and with sorrow, I must let go of people and things important to me. Endings are a time of mourning but beginnings are a time of joy. As I prepare to leave my familiar life behind, there are tears as I gaze backward; but then, I look the other way toward my future that is beginning, as tears of sorrow evaporate in joy. Some would say that I am at the beginning of the big END-ing but I belong to Jesus and my future is eternal in Him. As I travel toward a land where the sun shines warm in winter, I contemplate the big BEGIN-ing that waits at the end of my golden years. Today, I am joyfully, leaving the cold and my pain behind, heading for the perpetually, warm green desert that blooms and offers healing time for my sadness. On a someday that may come any day, I will joyfully, fly away to that “Rock that is so much higher than I” and leave all the cold, pain, and sorrow of the world behind. In Jesus, even when I lose I win, and with everything I must let go of, He restores and multiplies.

With songs of joy in my heart, I hit the road to follow the sun to the land where the Bougainvillea always blooms and winter is only, a word. I am a vagabond, a time-traveler, a tourista’ on a perpetual holiday and the road stretches endlessly, ahead!