Healing The river of disappointment and sorrow—the one that catches in your throat and you swallow back, the one that stings your eyes hot with betraying tears—if you release that pain to stream freely, it will push out, out to empty itself into the vast deep of the salty ocean brine that scrubs clean the…
Tag: Poetry
1000 Generations!
My maternal grandmother and mother have been the caretakers of an old Bible that belonged to my great grandparents, William and Grace Coston. It’s huge and heavy—almost too big and cumbersome to read from my lap. The tattered leather cover is bound by an old brass clasp, and it’s pages are yellowed and fragile. Both…
Summer Garden
I can stand for hours in the midst of a summer garden—awash in silence— save a symphony of lilting birdsong, babbling brook, and the rustling of wind through weeping willows, the wild lilac, and dripping wisteria. I can wait there—longer than the darkness and sorrow of night—longer than the brassy banging of a mad world….
You Always Knew
Little, lively Vivie ran passed the colorful and showy hibiscus blossoms—some as as big as plates—and passed the endearing cabbage faces of old perfumed roses, to hold and behold a small, common garden offering. This wasn’t a flower famous for fragrance or beauty or anything, and still it’s slender stalk with purple velvet petals, captured…
Shades of Violet
When I was in the seventh grade, a new girl checked into our homeroom class named Darla Star. She shone like a beacon in a dark sky with her curly raven hair, beaming brown eyes, and confident smile. To this day, I think those magenta suede go-go boots, that she glamorously paraded, gave her a…
Dilemma of Joy
My treasured keepsakes bulge in pockets of time—rather moments—that are tucked hard against the bones of my heart. They remain as fresh and life-giving as the first-offerings of spring rosesbuds, tight with fragrance and bleeding of crimson that smears across my fingers as I pull them out one petal at a time. The edges are…
Spent
I saw the silver-headed woman limping from a distance. Her attentive husband, with one arm around her waist, coached each step and made her giggle as they walked. As we passed, our eyes met. Something moved between us—perhaps I saw a glimpse of the impartation of the gifts of this older woman. (This can happen…
Discovery
Not even two, she steps into her first winter day of discovery. Heavy and stiff with warm woolen armory, our little explorer stretches mittened hands out into the cold air of gently falling snow. Next, one then two brave little black boots slide forward into the sparkling powder. Her big brown eyes fill with childhood…
Winter as First
“His mercies are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22-23). This scripture is life-giving and liberating. The heart knows all too well the constant need of continual renewal and fresh restoring. Each day brings the glorious light of morning and with that comes the precious promise of God’s blessed mercies. “All the paths of the Lord are…
The Tree in Winter
Lacy and austere at once–beautiful barren trees–winter’s mystique. Frost-covered branches, in winterland magic, play music when jiggled. There is promise in the tree, stripped of fruitfulness in winter’s glory. Winter’s splendor is best revealed in tree unrobed stark against the gray. Let the barren branch take root in bleak mystery–deep hides the new leaf. The…
Bonnie Saul Wilks 