On Learning To Lean

On Friday while I was looking for something to read while the kiddos slept I found this book...

...given to me by a friend for my 50th Birthday,

 then tucked into a must-read pile, then tucked into a bookcase and forgotten...

(or maybe just saved by Someone for a season when its message would be so relevant and fitting) 

Sometimes life re-impacts us with the reality that there are things our love and power
 simply cannot fill or fix
and there are things we simply. cannot. do on our own!

Not in the season of fullness and favour

Not when love’s flavours are sugar intoned

But when the bite of life is sharp and bitter

This keens the hunger where hope’s heart is honed

Not on the hilltop beholding a vista

Stealing our breath with the view all around

But in the climb, in the sweat-blood-tear blister

This bares the crux where trust’s foothold is found

Not in the heaven of sunshine and flower

While we meander without weight of care

But in the brunt of ‘I can’t’s’ darkest hour

This whets the whisper that turns into prayer

Not in the beauty of bounty’s full forces

Not when thought’s field brims with hymns fair and green

But when life drains us of our own resources

This leads us to the Hand that helps us lean

© Janet Martin

Blessed...

' Your house is a little like heaven, I think', said one of the girls to me yesterday

as we tromped across a sparkling-like-diamonds field for a little while-supper-cooks walk...

'always so many children!'

Children certainly have a way of making one take kinder notice of heaven-glimpses!

John 3:27
John replied, "A man can receive only what is given him from heaven.

Blessed beyond measure

With life’s simple pleasure

Of love’s lilting laughter, hugs, kisses and such

Where joy in wee faces

Of life’s smallest ‘graces’

Reminds us to embrace what soon slips from touch

Blessed beyond reason

With season on season

Where time’s ether eons skim over earth’s halls

To tune (for a little)

The leaf that turns brittle

As nature’s green fiddle flares auburn then falls

Blessed beyond telling

Where whispers are felling

Time’s fervor soft-swelling the bud with full-bloom

Before we are startled

By the silver sparkle

That crushes the ardor that brushes the tomb

© Janet Martin 

For this little fellow sometimes frustration trumps fun
because when this chubby-cheeked cherub falls it is almost more
than his mite-y might can muster 

to hoist his snow-suit bundled body back to the upright position. 

...most often he resorts to a loud wail til Grandma comes to the rescue!

Winter's Recompense

This poem eked/leaked out amidst many household chores yesterday...

I'd love to finesse it a little but am on the verge of LOTS of kiddos today,

 due to March-break and 'we-miss-Janet's-house'

 (hopefully there will be fresh cinnamon buns for morning snacks)

Beneath a lofty latticework of woodland’s red-bejeweled limbs

Where nature’s violinist moves a breathy bow across primed strings

And where the air runs rife with life in harmonies we simply sense

I’ll take a chair and watch the unfolding of winter’s recompense

Where we must wait for rusty gates to groan beneath the weighted tress

Of vines that spill their bud to blooms that fill our cups of happiness

Where winter’s chill revives a thirst for summer’s sea-song serenade

And bare feet dancing to a tune immersed in knee-deep pools of shade

Where gardens grin with half-grown dreams and sparkling streams lure fishermen

Where afternoon bursts at the seams; its fabric blue and green again

Where all the world seems sweet and kind after winter has lost its grip

And left its grit and gale behind where nature’s eaves with blossoms drip

Where we will climb the highest hill to almost touch the lowest cloud

Where time unfurls the daffodil like school-girls standing glad and proud

Where we greet morning with a bounce and sport a smile upon the face

I’ll take a chair, and watch the woodland lose itself in leaf-green lace

© Janet Martin

A glimpse at what is waiting if we just hang in there!

Impressions of Majesty

 And these are but the outer fringe of his works; how faint the whisper we hear of him! 

Who then can understand the thunder of his power?"

Job 26:14

The Sculptor of mist

Where shadows untwist

Intangible menageries

Wakens in the heart

Sweet love for the art

Of simple ‘almost memories’

The Artist of air

That sets morn a-flare

Before its wick wanes on the west

Ushers to touch-taste

Meeker rev’rence and grace

Aware of time’s delicate zest

The Painter of awe

On determined law

Showcases so much come-to-pass

And makes moments feel

Like wisps on a reel

Serrated with feathers and glass

The Maestro of days

Wills ways to amaze

Even the most atheistic host

And makes us aware

That Someone Somewhere

Is bigger than man’s boldest boast

The sole/soul Author of

Life’s greatest gift; love

Allots and allows us to see

A glimpse, just a glimpse

Where earth-and-sky hints

At impressions of Majesty

© Janet Martin

 "The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth 

and does not live in temples built by human hands.

Acts 17:24