This Bit of String...

This bit of string to which we cling

But cannot tell how near or far

Until it slips beyond this blip

Where all of living’s moments are

Does not waft, soft somewhere aloft

In forgotten obscurity

But it is laced through Love’s embrace

And held by Hands we cannot see

Today the dawn had pinned upon

Its blue lapel, a shiny moon

Before the sun had quite begun

To climb its stair of air to noon

Yet He who guides the vaulted tides

And sets in motion, everything

Holds carefully and tenderly

This bit of string to which we cling

Time’s awesome thread of hope and dread

Trembles with triumph and despair

Its seamless surge where moments merge

Shortens the span twixt Here and There

Its quick click, click is not a trick

To mock us in its dying sting

Oh no, we climb this thing called Time

To meet the One who holds the string

© Janet Martin

It's a blurry-flurry morning...

To Live Like We're Dying...

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To live like we’re dying

Is to touch with awe

The wonderful wonder

Of moments from God

Blue, deeper blue

Winter-dusk spills its sigh

Covering earth

Like a sea from the sky

Then, what was new

But a short while before

Will slip into Past’s

Vast never-more

None can one’s number

Of moments foretell

Time’s pendulum swings

Twixt heaven and hell

And we, the partakers

Of mute moment-grace

Showered with kisses

From God, touch his face

…if we with humble

Endeavor but ask

To live every day

As though it were our last

© Janet Martin

We cannot count moments,
but we can make moments count!

Tim McGraw sings about it, Ann Voskamp writes about it and Kara Tippetts tells us how it is...

You know what?  Suddenly,

Leftover leftovers...

laundry piles...

 

Messy sinks...

leaky doors...

...never looked so good!

Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Ps. 90:12

Old 'New'

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Dawn, with impartial whisper wakes

Familiar fellowships and breaks

The bars that lowered deep until

It filled each window-box and sill

How easily the new is old;

Dawn startles midnight seas with gold

As old becomes untried and new

On morning’s sky-wide avenue

And suddenly we are immersed

In second chances, never cursed

To repeat what was brushed away

To that place we call yesterday

Ah, old and new are juxtaposed

Where twilight drew blue curtains closed

Dawn, with untarnished portions spills

New gold to old dusk-darkened hills

...and here, on boulevards unveiled

Time's New pulses where its old failed

As through a fretwork of old lace

Wakes mercy's brand-new day of grace

 

© Janet Martin

Time's Winsome Ways

Time’s winsome ways can turn one’s gaze

Back to a world of yesterdays

Its stomping ground surreal-ly bound

Where naught but echoes can be found

Its dusty lanes ring with refrains

Of barefoot bliss and summer rains

And things we didn’t know had strings

Until Time tested its new wings

Then how it burned as love re-learned

How nothing but farewell is earned

And each hello is the plateau

Hinged to life’s longest letting go

...where sometimes we walk more slowly

The brink that brushes history

As touch betrays thought’s reaching gaze

Upon time’s winding, winsome ways

© Janet Martin

Rob and Emily came over to watch the game...and  celebrate after a nail-biter!! woo-hoo! Canada wins Gold! And what a short while ago was a mystery already is history...'tis time's winsome way.

 

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How Sweet It Is...

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 These potato wedges were today's special part of supper because its a snow-day! Mix scant tablespoon each of black pepper, dill-weed, garlic-powder and paprika and then a healthy pinch of salt. Add to a large bowlful of potato-wedges. (Potatoes well-scrubbed, not peeled) Drizzle with olive oil. toss and bake at 400F until golden-brown. Approx. 30 min. Served with a side of meat-loaf, green beans and tossed salad.

Sometimes I’ve become so accustomed

To the everyday-ness of it

That I forget to notice

How sweet it is

Sometimes its shapes and colors

Placed on platters, in bowls

Are more like simple habit

Than a miracle

But sometimes its invitation

Slips soft, *like a love song or rhyme

To begin dusk’s celebration,

‘It’s supper-time’

…and I don’t want to grow accustomed

To the everyday-ness of it

Lest I forget to notice

How sweet it is

© Janet Martin

Tonight, suddenly it hit me what a gift it is to be able to sit down every evening with those we love to eat supper...

* I tried letting the invitation 'slip soft like a love song' but I didn't get any response until I cranked up the volume to a rockin' ..."S-U-U-P-P-E-E-R!!