To the evenings without heat and mornings without water. To the showers that ended in the middle and scratchy blue crepe that doubled as toilet paper. To the rough and long drives from Myaki to Odessa, and the unreliable but wonderful poconetcom. To the red jeep, with conspicuous Texas license plates, that carried us across…
Tag: poets
The Lily
The lesser and greater lights, and all living things thrive, cradled in your robes. But not I. Hidden in the pierced place of the palm of Your hands, my soul takes rest and my spirit sparks upward into everlasting love. How can I keep saying thank you as the lily? Her sun-scrubbed face upturned into…
A Second Book
This morning while picking up the house and getting ready for the day, it occurred to me with stunning, non-negotiable truth that this November I am turning 75! I did not wince at this serendipitous reminder. Pastor Olen Griffing, a very wise man, mentor, and friend told me once that it is only in your…
Firsts
My grandson, Emmett, wiggled and wiggled as I tried to put on his pajamas. His silly mood made us both giggle and fall on the bed with laughter. Then suddenly, Emmett grew quiet and still for a moment, and his eyes gleamed and grew as big as planets. “Marmee, we saw Christmas lights tonight!” “Yes, we…
Kneeling
I’ve spent a lifetime bandaging my feet, partly from ill-fitting shoes, traveling too many miles in a day, losing my way, making a wrong turn, or carrying too many burdens. Also, there are the roads I’ve traveled long just to gaze upon ancient stones, a rusted filigree, or become dizzy with the scent of an …
Transformation
Transformation Is there any gold in the world more valuable than this— other than the golden moment when the red, red rose bled into the desert wasteland, transforming it into a green green garden? Bonnie Saul Wilks Even the wilderness and desert will be glad in those days. The wasteland will rejoice and blossom with spring…
Joy’s Dilemma
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…
The Frayed Hem
Earth’s latitude and longitude run as high as humankind’s intelligence and as long and wide as our strength and life span. Here we live caged. We run the circled courses of these by the second—up and down and around—our machinations are profound. We are curing cancer and changing sexes, flying beyond the moon and putting steak sauce…
Weeping Skies
While in Scotland, I wept the sound of rain in unison with the heavens’ downpour upon an ancient land. The first drops sparkled as they mingled with soil and salt and sand. Their song is eternal—a melody of old, known to fishermen and warriors, whose deepest joy is bound to Him. The world grows black,…
For Freedom
As sure as first light, the silvery mist rises from Scotland’s moors and mountains and lingers all the day, past midnight blue. It is a perfumed haze, a glimpse of the Son of Man himself, Jesus, Warrior and King—who walks in thin air across the land. His footprints drip in the mist with fragrance as…
Bonnie Saul Wilks 