Becoming Who We Wish to Be

 

It seems we can’t do much about

The person we were yesterday

And who we wish to be is formed

Not in some future far away

But to become who we avow

Begins with who we are right now

What’s done is done; we cannot change

The past or follies sealed therein

What is to be we cannot see

But now, the moment we are in

Is filled with opportunity

To become who we wish to be

We cannot pry hope from the sky

Or drink again the cup of youth

But we are wise to be aware

Of this oft-tried and proven truth

Who we become when we are old

Is formed within Now’s moment-mold

© Janet Martin

Don't you admire those kind and gentle elderly people? When we would exclaim how lovely our grandmother was then my mother would remind us 'she didn't become that way when she was old. If we want to be a nice 'old person' we need to begin long before we are old'. Yes, so true!

God Bless You Dad

For all the hard work that you do

For sacrifices left unsaid

While we reap the rewards of it

We simply say,

God bless you, Dad

For all the times that you’ve said no

To invitations that you’ve had

To have some fun with just the guys

But you chose home

God bless you, Dad

For all those things you do without

To keep a roof over our heads

Yet never tally or keep score

We pray this day

God bless you, Dad

God bless you Dad, too many times

We criticize instead of praise

It seems to me that you must be

The unsung hero

Of our days

For all those times we didn’t speak

The tender words we should have said

Today we want to take the time

To say, thank-you

God bless you, Dad

© Janet Martin

June Morning Song

Ah, sweet June morn, how fair You adorn

The hill and green field in a cloak heaven-spun

Nudging to fruition the rare exhibition

Of wild phlox and peony singing their song

Iris and lupine their clenched pinions open  

We cannot boast now as we view the foray

Of leaf-woven passion exalting fine fashion

From looms spinning blooms in breath-taking array

The trees toss their tresses where spring’s warm caresses

Have clothed naked limbs once the color of mud

We drink in the splendor of June’s verdant grandeur

Goodness and mercy unfurls with each bud

We ought not to worry; even Solomon’s glory

Could never compare to such beauty as this

If God clothes the flowers for their few fair hours

Then surely He cares for precious children of His

© Janet Martin

Grabbed a few shots of nature's praise while I wandered about the yard this morning. I failed to capture the oriole with his face buried in an orange-half or the purple and gold finches as the flitted to and from the feeders, but the air was filled with their song!

Fairest Lord Jesus, Ruler of all Nature

This is my Father's World

"Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. Luke 12:27

Shaped and Held

Across the cove from ports above

The morning parts night’s muted deep

Life’s little care that we must bear

Draws us once more from slumber’s keep

Life’s trying storm that tests our form

For some will pass, for others surge

We touch the sod that we must trod

Where feeble faith and fear converge

Beneath the mist of dawn sun-kissed

We bow our heads, whisper a prayer

For this we know, each ebb and flow

Is shaped and held within God's care

© Janet Martin

Life’s storms come in all shapes and sizes; some visible and some borne in the heart.

I have never heard anyone say ‘I have far more faith than I need. Here, have some of mine’. We never know how deep our faith runs until we need it! This is the thought that occurred to me as I read these posts of inspiration from people who are weathering storms.

An Angel in Your Path

The Waves

and one from my dear friend Glynis, If All Else Fail, Follow the Direction

There's Something 'bout the Music of the Rain

Maybe it’s in the way they softly slip

Like teardrops spawned by tender memory

Or perhaps it’s in the trembling as they drip

In half-beats from the weeping willow-tree

The winding brook laughs as it drinks the lay

Splashing through meadowland in turquoise-blue

The puddles on the lane all dappled gray

With eighth notes somehow makes me think of you

Tip-tapping notes against the window pane

Form rivers where a thousand memories roll

There’s something ‘bout the music of the rain

That probes a longing sealed deep in my soul

Unwritten melodies in unknown tongue

Murmur the perfect blend of peace and pain

A ballad softly rushing silver-strung

Makes me wish I could see you once again

© Janet Martin~

A Boy Without a Dad

It’s hard to be a boy without a dad

The other fellows, without second thought

Say ‘my dad did this’ or ‘that’s what my dad said’

And suddenly I miss my dad an awful lot

It’s hard to be a lad without a dad

There’s things a mother simply cannot do

And oh, sometimes I simply wish I had

A dad that I could brag and boast of too

It’s hard to be a boy without a dad

Mothers are great but they can’t seem to see

The need to do those things that make us glad

Like dads, who also once were little boys like me

Dollars and cents are not enough to buy

The one thing that I dearly wish I had

My mother hugs me; I try hard not to cry

But it’s hard to be a boy without a dad

© Janet Martin

This Fine, Fond Mingling...

Image Source

This fine, fond mingling shapes and reshapes us

Because in love’s holding and letting go

We realize the beautiful measure

Of transient treasure in life’s moment-flow

We ought not cling then, but ever hold softly

The offerings rendered in Time’s tender tide

For just as the wave melts over the seashore

Moments wash over the mother and child

It is not long; this sojourn of laughter

Of heart-rending hurt; of hello and good-bye

Yet it is futile to try to chase after

The echoes that murmur in midnight’s deep sky

We ought to love then and love beyond reason

For what good are worry and wanting and spite?

All of life’s loaning is but for a season

Soon they slip silently from touch and sight

Treasure the measure of love’s kind bestowing

Because in its holding and letting go

Time gently shapes and re-shapes our knowing

This is the beauty in life’s moment-flow

© Janet Martin

Sometimes what I thought I knew surprises me by the realization that the older I get the less I know.

Because you are My First-born

Dear Emily…

Because you are my first-born

You introduce me

To new-found wonders of love’s joys and grief

And I am learning

Love’s flip-side of holding

Is its tender, bitter-sweet release

But I would not change it

For Time, in its wisdom

Has taken a beautiful little girl

And turned her into

A compassionate woman

No, I would not trade it for the world

But, because you are my first-born

I must learn the art, dear

Of holding you close as you slip from my hand

Of saying, I’m sorry

When I disappoint you

And hoping that someday you will understand

Because you are my first-born

You blaze the trail, dear

For siblings that watch and follow behind

And my precious daughter

I wish you God’s blessing

As you turn the page love’s new mysteries to find

Dear first-born daughter

I pray God will keep you

And that you will keep Him first in your heart

Then no matter

Where life’s highways may lead you

We will never be very far apart

Love, Mom