Spring

Blushing buds bursting forth
Like the rekindling in my spirit
Another chance at life blows in
With the winds no longer from the north.

The trees, once still and quiet shadows,
Erupt with chartreuse hues
Of leaves and flowers, peeking out
After winter’s death, arose.

The water, once an icy rush
Bubbles with life and melted snow
Bluer skies, rays of warmth
Nature moves from stark to lush

Reflecting hope, our spirits lift
Rebirth after a long black place
Strip off your sadness with your hat and coat
Embrace resurrection’s gift

The cold and dark, like black of night
Replaced by warming beams
Fragrance of newness, of hope restored
Reveal the solace of things made right.

Brooks and hearts again run free
Easter’s promise revealed to me.


Cynthia C Lively 4/10/09

Winter

Hardness in the ground and sky
Lifeless cold, tell Fall goodbye.

Icy fingers hanging down
Houses with a snowy crown.

Huddled together, shuffling crowds
Cocoa warm with floating clouds.

Branches barren, smooth and grey
Snowflakes swirl in disarray.

Bundled up with wool and fleece
Jingle bells and hopes of peace.

Starting out a brand new year
Puffs of breath drift up, then disappear.

Dormant, snuggling in blankets thick
A crackling fire, flames dance and flick.

Hibernating, time to think
Into yourself, your spirits sink.

Or rise, as days grow short, then longer
Warming up and growing stronger.

A crispness with the air’s sweet chill
The moon, it hangs there, cold and still.

Autumn

A gentle fading autumn brings
A softening from summer’s desolate glare.
Echoing cheers, Gridiron clash
Swirling leaves, floating ash
From flicker of campfires toasting warmth.
The wind’s direction shifts,
As does my life’s.

With northern breezes blowing true
The harvest stands abundant, horn of plenty
Spilling fruit, fulfilling need
Answering want, blessings proceed
From autumn’s season learning our own worth
We each find spirit’s fruit,
There deep within.

Autumn’s time reminds us of our bounty
And cue’s a thankful spirit in the soul.
Reflecting times, Seeking truth;
Aging well, fading youth
Like falling leaves, our insecurities drop
Revealing our stronger hopes, our branches strong.
Wisdom’s voice declaring
Sufficiency.

Before and After

Before and After…


My life before
Unsure and frail
Precariously poised a house of cards
The slightest draft
Or unsteady hand
And then each heart and diamond falls.

Years of wishing,
Fearing, running
Wanting to be faithful, steady and true.
Building a house
Without a foundation
Not knowing it would soon be through

Starting over
Building new
My security, soul and dreams
Unknown future
No map to lead
And directions vague, or so it seems

The map, I find
Was always there
Inside my timid heart and soul
The Way, the Truth
To light my way
My brokenness now again made whole.

The Fairytale

The fairytale now fades to grey
And for my sins I now must pay
I wonder how I’ve come this far
On wishes, dangling from a star
Now falling, lifeless to the ground
These dying dreams don’t make a sound.

So do I cling to hopes long past
A young girl’s dream, both deep and vast,
And continue wanting a life the most
That drifts and fades out like a ghost?
And do I really want these things
Or only acceptance that it brings?

Belonging, approval, fitting in
Keeping up with the Jones’s, a game to win
I find the journey a masquerade;
I hide behind the mask I’ve made…
Façade created to protect
From judging eyes that each dissect.

Making plans or living free
I can’t decide which I should be
I see the lives of friends unfold
And once I sought to fit their mold
But now life takes a different turn
I find the lessons yet to learn


A winding path I navigate
Distinguishing dreams from others bait
To be like them, and live their life
While inside I feel only strife
At living less than true to me
To please the ones who don’t agree.

And now I see my path more clear
The mask comes off, though I still fear
For genuineness it lights the way
To a life of richness in each new day
The fairytale replaced by a life most true
With no more pretending, we start anew.

He Lives

Winding, turning, never clear
The road of life, with love and fear
We navigate each twist and turn,
From mistakes and obstacles we hope to learn
And not repeat our weaker points,
With strength and faith our God anoints.
We learn to trust His guiding way
And not to question every day.
Seeking a path, both clear and true,
Shame, like boulders, blocks our view,
Keeping us from our best life now
Thinking we are not of worth, somehow.
But through our errors, God forgives,
Our journey safe, because He lives.

The Greatest

The greatest fear….is betrayal.
Feeling all I had frozen, packed away in folds of pain and doubt.

The greatest regret…is failure.
Faulting myself for weakness and hurt.

The greatest sacrifice…is pride.
Leaving the past for a future unknown.

The greatest wish….is peace.
Comforting calm of reassurance long desired.

The greatest gift…is hope.
Knowing larger plans are working for our good.

The greatest advantage...is time.
Starting today for many tomorrows.

The greatest chance is…trust.
Healing wounds both deep and threatening.

The greatest reward…is faith.
Believing again in God’s unfaltering promise.

The greatest surprise…is me.
Finding my soul in your soul’s eyes.

The greatest blessing…is you.
Touching a place in my heart that I thought was locked away.

But the greatest of these….is love.
Yours.

An Answered Prayer

The last week had been unreal. As my friend drove me to the airport, I replayed all of the events in my mind.
My mother had been admitted to the hospital in my hometown the week before, and after several days of endless waiting and numerous phone calls from the multitude of family members present, I was able to talk to mother. Aunt Patsy had already told me it was cancer. I knew it must be bad when my dad and sister couldn’t tell me.
“Mom, I’ll be there as soon as I can…I’ll get my lesson plans done and get on the road.”
“Oh no you won’t.” Her voice was weak, and a little shaky, but her determination still echoed in her voice. “You have a final this week, don’t you?”
She was right, of course. I had begun work on my Master’s Degree that semester, and my final was on Tuesday night.
“I’ll be ok, honey, you take your test, then come. I mean it.” She started to cry. Even with this frightening diagnosis in front of her, she was still more worried about me. She made me promise to wait until my final was over.
My final behind me, I was now on the way to the airport. Melany tried to comfort me as we made the drive to San Antonio. The last few days had completely changed my world. I prayed that God would show me how to handle this. I didn’t feel equipped. Melany gave me a hug, we both cried a little, and then I headed toward my gate.
People moved with purpose, but I felt like I was in a daze, seeing people, but silently trying to get my mind around mom having cancer. My dad’s brother, Gary, had died from cancer only three years earlier and our family had yet to get our balance after the blow. As I sat down in my seat, I prayed to God.
“I don’t know what to do, Lord.”
“How do we do this? Show me how.”
I really didn’t want to cry in front of all of these people, so I pulled out my book and pretended to read while we waited for others to board. Unfortunately, I had the middle seat. A gentleman with a briefcase sat on my right, and a few minutes later a young woman, maybe 35, sat to my left. After take off I tried again to read my book, but as the beverage cart came by, I realized I kept rereading the same paragraph, and gave up. I ordered a coke, closed my eyes, and said another prayer for guidance. The woman next to me smiled as she handed me my peanuts.
“Where are you headed? she asked. “Are you taking this flight all the way to Chicago?”
“No” I answered. “I’m changing planes at DFW. I’m going to visit family. Are you going to Chicago?” I hoped conversation might help relieve the heaviness in my chest.
“Yes, I’m going to a conference. I’ve never been to Chicago before.”
“Me either.” I love to travel. The last time I had been on a plane was to go out to California. Mom and I had gone to visit my sister and her family the summer before. We had a great time. I had just put the pictures from Yosemite in my photo album the week before. It seemed so long ago as I sat on a plane now.
“I got some information about restaurants and museums. I’m hoping to see a little between sessions. My friend and I are staying over an extra day to enjoy the town.” She smiled and showed me her notes. “ I do have work to do to, though.”
“What is your conference about?” I asked.
Newest methods and procedures, and working with families. I’m an oncology nurse in San Antonio.”
I was so taken aback, that I thought I might fall out of my seat. I must have looked at her in surprise, because she immediately looked concerned.
“Are you all right? “ she leaned over and touched my arm.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I answered. “An oncology nurse. Do you work with all kinds of cancer?”
“Mostly. The pediatrics are usually in a different area, so I mostly get adults.”
“Remember I told you that I am going to visit family?
She nodded.
“I’m going to see my mom. She is in the hospital. She was diagnosed three days ago with cancer. It has already metastasized. They said it is really bad.” She grabbed my hand.
She immediately sat up. “What do you want to know?” she said.
For the remainder of the flight, I asked her questions and she answered. She was generous, sharing stories of hope and helping me know what questions to ask later. Most importantly, I remember her advice that attitude and faith have great bearing on recovery rates. And I knew that day that God had sent this lovely woman to me as a comfort and hope in an uncertain time.



At the time of my mother’s diagnosis, the doctors gave her about six months to live. Three years later, my mother watched me walk down the aisle at my wedding. Many days were a struggle for her, but in that time her faith and positive attitude were an inspiration to others as well. She was able to meet my husband, see my niece grow up a little, be with my sister and father, and spend time with my grandparents and her five sisters and two brothers. She also affected the nurses and doctors where she received her treatments. She made friends with nurses at the hospital and the treatment center, and they knew her by name. And you could see it in the eyes of her nurses that early morning in March 1998 when she died. Her positive attitude and faith had affected them, and they cried with us.

When I grow up...

Being Grown Up

I was doing a bit of daydreaming today, remembering what I thought, as a child my life would be like when I was grown up. It is hard to say what I thought grown up was, but I know that I was sure my life would be like the plot of a mystery/adventure/romance /suspense/gothic/science-fiction/comic novel. It would be filled with fast-paced action, with meaningful dialogue interspersed with lengthy descriptions of exotic places, fascinating people- people who were my close, personal friends since childhood. People would respect my work and my ideas; I would have time for art, music, charities, overseas escapades, and meaningful relationships with strong, sensitive, exciting, handsome men, who would all want me and would try to win my undying affection. All this would be to no avail, of course, because I would have a more universal purpose than mere romance- a higher purpose:

I would be a lawyer, defending the helpless and misunderstood against the evil tyranny of corporate moguls and mafia bosses.
I would be a journalist, capturing the corrupt, the illegal, the guilty, and the ruthless- in scathing expose’, revealing their true character and righting wrongs with my pen.
I would be an artist, bringing to life with my paint and brush the youth and the struggle or an era, defining the society and the people who shaped it- making a statement about the journey that society was taking.
I would be President, making a bold and fresh step toward a country of which we could be proud, where the American dream was still alive, children had food and a future, moral battles were fought with words, not with guns and bombs, and hard work was still appreciated and rewarded. I would inspire my people to rise above what they are, and become what they are capable of being.

Today I sit and wonder how many children dream this dream as they plan for their futures. And how many will reach the moment of disillusionment and sadness too early, seeing these dreams slowly fade with the reality of violence, disparity, and greed that has infiltrated the very fabric of our community, our nation, our world. And I wonder why we sit back and let it happen- and call it progress.

Of Books and Chocolate

I believe that everyone has certain triggers for bliss. Books and chocolate are two of mine. Also the sound of children laughing. And the one I love touching my face.

I think one of the true challenges in our life is to find these things that are our bliss, and making them a part of our exisence in a real, true way. Oh to have a life filled with the things you love.

Search for your bliss!

Sonnets

Sonnet 1

I long to know more of this gypsy soul,
To waltz under boughs where soft winds blow.
As each in his life, seeks to be whole
This graced life dance we both can know.
Seduce me with words both sweet and kind
Thoughts from thy deepest, hidden dreams.
Paint now a picture of the trust I'll find
Dancing beneath this moon's clear beams.
Teach me thy soul's quixotic dance,
Help me to know thy wandering way.
A gift thou hast been 'er that first sly glance,
Here blest thou remain, though thou go or stay.
With faith renewed such light thy moon does cast
My dance with thee hast faded hurts long past.


Sonnet 2

From sure and steadfast faith my soul does fly,
Running for fear of love neither false nor true.
From past betrayal yet my heart does cry,
Dishonest seeds from which a heartache grew.
My honest promise mocked, though not by you,
You bear the burden, breaking down the walls.
With patience seeking to offer a different view.
Blameless, you, our touch my trust recalls.
Behind your stoic face and melting eyes
I see a man of passion, wit, and fun.
Heart and honor, in a soldier's guise-
This battle with the wall you may have won.
As an answer to a prayer you came to me
My thanks, sealed with a kiss, I offer thee.

Table for Two

A Table for Two

The dinner crowd at Bailey’s bustled in, . After standing at the entrance for a moment, the woman glanced at her watch and walked cheerfully up to the maitre’de. She dressed simply- a long, emerald green shirt cascaded over the classic silk skirt and was belted to show her waistline. Her chestnut hair was pinned neatly at the nape of her neck, with only a hint of gray at the temple. She was a reasonably attractive woman, possibly early 40’s and obviously successful in her chosen profession. Her manners and her attire were elegant and understated.
“I had a reservation for two at 7:00. Kirkland. Is my table ready, by any chance? I know I am a little early.” As she awaited a reply, she shuffled her briefcase to her right hand and toyed with her ring.
"Your table will be ready shortly, Madam."
“That's fine. I'll have a drink while I wait.” And, after a short pause, “ Have there been any messages left for me at the desk- often my fiancée’ is running late- the price of success, I guess.” She smiled a genuine smile of admiration.
“No, madam. No messages.” The maitre’de looked away as he answered her query.
Nodding a thank you, she walked in to the lounge and took a stool at the bar. After ordering a glass of chardonnay, she glanced around the smoky room. It was a comfortable sort of room, fitting for the fine restaurant to which it was attached. Large leather chairs and inviting bar stools complemented the mahogany tables and trim. She sat at the bar, looking over notes from the office and occasionally glancing at her Rolex.
“Could you tell me the time, Samuel?” she asked offhandedly, nodding at the empty wine glass. The bartender poured another.
“It’s right at 7:00, Ms. Kirkland. Are you enjoying the chardonnay?”
“Fine, fine, Samuel.”
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in here in a while.”
“Here and there.” She looked casually about the bar and eyed her watch.
“You seem to be mighty busy today. Working on something big?”
“Another book deal in the works. NO rest for the wicked.” As they laughed, the maitre’de called for her table.
His eyes suddenly growing soft, Samuel lightly touched her hand. “You are a lovely woman, Ms. Kirkland, you shouldn’t work all the time. All work and no play…”Samuel’s comment trailed unfinished, he smiled and waved discreetly to her as she made her way to dinner.

“Table for two, Madam.”

“This is lovely, as always. Criston- any messages for me? Grant is awfully late.”
“I’m sure you guest will be here shortly, Ms. Kirkland. Would you care to order an appetizer while you wait? The waiter’s reassurance convinced her, and she ordered some stuffed mushrooms and continued perusing her notations from the morning meeting.

“I’m sure he is only caught in traffic, or with a patient. He is so dedicated. I suppose I should accustom myself to the life of a doctor’s wife.” This time she spoke to herself, for the waiter had delivered the mushrooms and gone. As she sat alone at the table, she looked closely around the dining room. Families celebrating graduations, engagements, promotions, new babies- they all looked so happy. She wanted a family desperately…and she remembered her family.

Being the only remaining daughter of her congressman father, it had been her duty to carry on. Her brothers had both been highly decorated in Vietnam, and they both had never come home. Their glory was in their deaths. But she had lived. The day they had buried Thomas, the newspapers had dealt her fate. “Constance Kirkland left to carry on family honor and tradition.’”

Her reverie was broken by the sound of the dining room.

“Would you like to order, Ms. Kirkland?” The waiter cautiously approached, suggesting the stuffed halibut.

“What time is it?” she retorted instead, gazing at her watch again.

“A quarter of 8:00, Madam.”

Constance paused. “I’ll have the halibut. It sounds divine. He can just hear about how scrumptious it was.”

The waiter left, and Constance considered the hand she had been dealt. Father was demanding, but fair. He was less pleased with the books than the professorship, but she was in the news because of the stir her subject matter created. He would call each time she appeared on television. Her books on the Vietnam “Police action” seemed to vindicate the deaths of his sons of whom he was so proud.

But the books and fame weren’t enough to satisfy Congressman Forrest Kirkland. Nothing was ever quite enough. She was beautiful, talented, independent- she was good at most everything, including being alone. She could do many things, but she couldn’t carry on the family name. Thomas and Brett had taken that gift with them to the grave. And in the end, she would always be a disappointment.

As Constance enjoyed her dessert, she wondered if her father knew why she was so driven. It wasn’t the money or the fame; they could actually be a bother, in the end. The degrees hung on a wall in her office that very few people ever even saw. They weren’t for her. But to her father, appearance was everything. And she appeared extremely successful. And just for a while, she thought she could have the life SHE wanted. Just for a while....

“Dinner was lovely, as usual, Criston. I’ll take my check now.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Constance Kirkland spied Samuel slowly drying a glass and looking at her with a somber expression of understanding and remorse. Turning away, she paid the check, sent a compliment to the chef, and prepared to depart for home.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, Constance Kirkland walked back to the maitr’de. “Were there any messages left for me? Did anyone call?”

“No, I’m sorry Ms. Kirkland.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Madam.”

Constance Kirkland claimed her coat and hat, and began her brisk walk home.

The lady, head held high, walked up to the two flights of stairs to her apartment, unlocked the door, entered and lock it again. Crossing to her bedroom, she looked at the glimmer on her finger, removed the ring and placed it carefully on the dresser. She undressed and, in only her underclothes, stared at her own reflection in the mirror for a very long time. And cried bitterly.

……………………………………………………………………


Glancing at her watch, the woman stopped in front of her favorite Italian restaurant, thought for a moment and entered. The warm smile of the old Sicilian that ran the place, as well as the aroma of garlic, olive oil, and wine greeted her. A friendly sort of smell.

“Table for two, please.”

Football and Faith

Football and Faith
Here in Texas we take our football very seriously. Just take a look-every small town has a football stadium. They may not have a library, but darn it, they’ve got to have a playing field. Electricity moves through a crowd at a Texas high school football game. It’s not just a game: it is a metaphor for life. Dressed up in the garments of support and loyalty, we cheer on those who participate in the struggle. We even have a halftime break for entertainment- a time to relax, regroup, and consider our options, albeit hot dog or Frito Pie.
From my own high school experience through my days as a high school teacher, I was an enthusiastic participant in this revelry. I attended every game- yelling, clapping, and crying with our boys. Likewise, I took part in another activity with equal zeal- church services. I sat in the pew very Sunday – singing, clapping, and praying with fellow worshippers. Commitment was the key in both of these activities, and I sat in both places wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself, yet feeling completely isolated as the crowd roared with enthusiasm.
Don’t get me wrong- at first I was very present- I was moved by the emotion and excitement the struggle represented in both venues. Slowly, however, things changed. I found myself going through the motions, less and less touched by the upheaval of passion that existed on the football field and in the chapel. As I watched the struggle on the field, I listened to the jeers of “fair weather fans”; in the chapel I felt the stinging, silent judgment when I declined an invitation to join the choir, teach Sunday School or lead the puppet ministry.
I stopped attending football games- then I stopped attending church regularly. I didn’t miss the football games; I spent Friday nights doing personally nurturing things like reading, dating, or grading papers. And I didn’t always miss church. I missed the singing. I missed the personal messages from the pulpit that I remember from my childhood. I missed the reverence. I did not miss the hypocrisy, or the guilt and judgment sometimes associated with “holy” people.
I look back now to ponder the reason for the sea change in my heart. I am an observer, and I observed many people who would dive into football season with zeal, but have lukewarm relationships with their family and friends. A conversation of depth and meaning was fleeting, taken over by halftime statistics and scores. Religion can also serve as a substitute for genuine connections with those around us. Over and over I experienced relationships involving a façade of faith, dedication and service. I have known true people of faith, but too often these are overshadowed by the self-serving parishioners, not unlike the over zealous fans of the gridiron. You‘ve seen them, with banners held high, turning on their “team” at the first sign of weakness or imperfection.
How sad that both venues have the potential to create a cocoon of faith and support, but so often end in judgment and subtle ridicule for not being “good enough.” Both football and religion produce raw and vibrant emotions that move people to do, well, amazing and unspeakable things. Why else would a person paint their whole body blue, or strap themselves with explosives?
In my observations, I have come to some conclusions. Anything that personal and emotional has the potential to morph into something unlike its original incarnation. Second, if people are in any way involved, this will happen. And finally, until we can move beyond the football faith of extremism, our lives, relationships, and even our final score, will suffer.