This matter of race: A White Woman Reflects

If I had seen an article 20 years ago with ‘race’ or ‘racism’ in the title, I might have yawned and flipped past it.I had the luxury to do so – if anything caught my eye with these words, internally I would wonder what the big deal was.I’m thankful this is no longer the case.These themes have popped up all over – not merely in print media or news outlets, but in tragic circumstances, and in grocery stores and tales are told of interactions with strangers in public.That being the case, I have begun to pay closer attention – and it started just a few decades ago with conversations with my sister.

We had grown up together – fast friends and playmates – and I had, from the moment of my birth understood her to be the truest sister – even though her skin and appearance told me from the beginning that she was Chinese and I was a freckled red-head.I don’t remember ever thinking of her as different, even though it was plainly obvious.In fact, I lamented that I wasn’t like her, (as most younge…

People are like flowers

People are like flowers Dotting an otherwise monochrome plateau;  A landscape predictable and bare - A horizon flat, uninterrupted. 
Daisy, tulip, iris, snapdragon: Bright or mute, Unordinary or plain,  Invite the eye - They seem to say,  "Do you see me?  Do you really see? 
I splash color I raise my head I call for your gaze  To rest on my beauty.
From afar you see only my brightness; Up close,  my delicate, intricate detail - My unique design."
People, delightful and diverse,  Dot life's landscape Intersecting doldrums Painting days  Splash hues bold or discreet Blends never known to exist Winning my gaze,  Allowing my eye to rest On those whose invitation - Clear as a sunflower against  A crisp, cloudless sky - Speaks unabashed:
"Look at me.  See me.  Really see.  I welcome your unrestrained awe."

Why is my Dining Room Pink?

Why is my Dining Room Pink?
Pink is the colour of little girls and confident men Hues to catch evening's glowing warmth Reflecting hope of hours to feast In table fellowship with family and friends.
"No one paints a dining room pink" Not so...I do. A child's imagination never dies A woman harbours a little girl
"Come Gather At Our Table" Announces the archway Inviting and welcoming all  To sit in the pink surroundings To turn from the four walls to the faces before us
Tonight I will open my home _ My pink dining room Complete with gold-glitter 60's flooring (Soon to be no more)... And I will live a fairy-tale dream
A haven of warmth will shelter the guests Tea warm and steamy Banana Bread to comfort And Pink to be just a little bit different.

Clutter Saga Part 2 (Gratitude Excercise: Day 12)

So, yesterday I posted about the kind of interactions I sometimes have regarding the state of affairs, especially regarding clutter in our home.
(If you missed part 1,  click Here)

It didn't end there. Like I said, I do need a Lot of help and thankfully Jena came to my rescue. Not only did she write the funny response - but she was as much a friend in deed (out deeds, depending), to meet me in my need.

Today I am reminded though that Sam also came to my rescue, as it was a relative of his, he felt the need to also respond. As I look back at that, I am again so very thankful for the loving man God dropped in my lap (well, more like, in my house, but that's a long story you can read about Here).

Here is how he addressed this situation (this is long, but I put it here with only minor edits that may be too personal, because I think his words are worth sharing with a broader audience - we are surely not the only couple to struggle with household order!):

Dear ---,
We just enjoyed …

I get by with a little help from my friends (Gratitude: day 11)

In case anyone is in doubt, I'll just put this out there: I need a LOT of help. I am not type A or even type B. By the time you get to X, Y or Z...I'm in there somewhere. I've always been scatter-brained - I still have some of my report cards which repeatedly pointed out my daydreaming habits. So, I'm sure you will be surprised to find out that I struggle with a thing called Chronic Disorganization. Combine that with a thing called A.D.D., (I like to think of that as Alternately Designed Diva), and a few other acronyms and labels that are especially helpful in addressing my various issues, and you get ME.

That is my preface to the rest of what I'm about to put here. I'm posting this partly because it is so entertaining...but also because I am exceedingly grateful for the delightful person who wrote the response - who helped me out in my distress some time ago. Not only did she help me address a potentially riddled-with-relational-mines interaction, with hilari…

The laugh-ers of heaven

The Laugh-ers of heaven

They are the laugh-ers
Who populate the halls of heaven

I only can picture in my
Grief-tainted Remembrance
Their laughter:

Heads thrown back
Eyes leaking tears of

Wild, unrestrained

I feel the echoing joyful blast -
Peals of delight
Crash into memory
Like waves erasing lines on
Sandy shores

Smoothing churned up grooves and hastily constructed
Palaces complete with
Moats and barrier walls

To be alive
To breathe is to

And I hear them from afar
These laugh-ers of heaven:
Dad, Kimberly, Ben - so many

"I'm alive, more alive than you know or feel.
My laughter only grows,
It bellows

Life is breath
Breath is laughter"

Whispers float disrupting
Sadness hangs heavy
But the laugh-ers of heaven have the last word...
Or the last laugh

True love is a Sandwich

True love is a sandwich
The sacrifice of time
Yearning for one more moment:
Sleep, warm catharsis

I'm pulled by love to the kitchen.
Maybe chips, sweets, crackers -
Caloric fillers to top them up?

True love slices the tomato -
Ripe, juicy - just enough squish to layer
Textures of delight in crevices -
Slices mixed-grain sustenance
Freshly dense, yeasty
With extra wheat-germ
And just a touch of molasses.

The Grand Sandwich
Dotted, smeared, draped in
White and yellow glue
Unites distinguished parts
Into a cohesive whole:
The love is forming.

"It's always good with fresh dill
Sprinkled on top."
A ceremonious christening
Must sanctify

The gardener in me
Cultivates and collects seeds
Which, not unlike me,
Require burial and yielding,
If only by force of wetness
And darkening
Must die to their old, tiny, lifeless and
Dry life,
To begin a new one.

A breaking, hidden in deep earth,
Mystically imparts life

Their leaf will adorn my love
And I?
I'll give my kids
A sandwich…