My Norman Rockwell

Dream Artist, paint me a scene: a panorama of favorite things....
accumulated treasures buried deep in my mind.
On Your canvas I wish to find
a bold splash of sunshine against robin's egg blue...
sunrise me a day of unmatchable hue.
No clouds in the sky, stroke a breeze that is gentle,
barely see it,
almost feel it,
whispering sentimental.

Draw onto this vista the home of my heart atop the Maine cliffs overlooking the
start, or is it the end?
of wave after wave of unending emotion, crashing and spraying - my personal ocean - that sings me a song of a dissonant peace that stills in my soul
the most wild of its beasts.

Behind my sea castle sketch a great tree, tall standing, outstretching
ever welcoming me with long flowing branches that sway in the wind -
a strong weeping willow, my hiding place friend who will
snuggle me, weep with me, let me be me.
Enclosed in its tresses I am ever free.

Contrast the blue sky with a stretch of green grass, the kind that invites me to sit on its lap and there set a journal, thick with blank paper.
Then, draw me a pencil and with it I'll savor this Eden I'm seeing.
As You paint I will write and I, too, will be giving from that part of me
that is the most living.

And while You're on detail...design my perfect ending!
I must have a porch swing, on this I'm unbending!
Surround it with a cascade of sweet morning glories that I can breathe in
as I swing away worries.
Please profile a loved one to sit alongside.
We'll share all the secrets of life's back and forth ride.

Dream Artist, paint me this scene, a panorama of favorite things
to display on my wall so others can see
what I would, if I could, paint my life out to be.

Multi-tasking

I’m sitting here on a Sunday afternoon, multi-tasking:

Task one: watching Bleak House on the big screen, an excellent BBC production of Charles Dicken’s novel of the same name;

Task two: thinking about the topic of ‘desire.’ Ames and Apes are waiting patiently for my overdue assignment;

Task three: listening to Haley blow her nose repeatedly and clear her throat of phlegm.

“Perhaps what we want for ourselves and what is best for us, is not the same thing.”

Wait a minute. What did she just say?

“Perhaps what we want for ourselves and what is best for us, is not the same thing.”

Why thank you, Esther. Or I guess I should thank Charles Dickens, since he put the words in your mouth and now you are putting the words in my mouth and I’m am putting them out on this page. You spoke them so wisely and eloquently from the big screen, at just the right time.

“Perhaps what we want for ourselves and what is best for us, is not the same thing.”

Task four: taking Charles Dickens’ quote (which was referring to a couple who desired to be engaged, who desired to be together, but were too young) and rewriting it in my worldview (when Christ is supposed to be Lord, but I desire to be.)

Our desire might be defined as “what we want for ourselves.”

“What is best for us” might be defined as God’s desire.

Therefore, “perhaps our desire and God’s desire, is not the same thing.”

When what I want and what God wants clash, my life truly sucks. I speak from experience. Sometimes getting my desire lined up with God's desire again is a long, complicated process. But eventually, I repent. It seems the older I get, the quicker I repent. Saves myself a lot of grief. Saves myself a lot of pain. Saves myself a lot of trouble. As we used to say in youth group back in the day, "your arms are too short to box with God."

Task five: hoping this little theological treatise helps my nieces in their journey of desire. I love them both and desire what is best for them.

There You Are

You are so humble and quiet most of the time,
that is ‘til all your next door neighbors drop their clothes.
Then suddenly you step forward like royalty -
defiantly dressed in the deepest royal green,
warmly wrapped for winter while
your companions (who’ve finally finished their striptease)
shiver naked and vulnerable.

You are now the confident one, and the others
fade in the fullness of your commanding presence.
Regal and majestic, you stand,
holding court before your servants.
Once unpretentious, now uninhibited.
You are ready to rule and so I bow before your excellence
and worship the One who made you for such a time as this.

Isn’t it just like Him to have something up His sleeve?
Just when I thought the resplendence was over, there you are.
Be the King, Sire Evergreen.

Unless We Become Like Children...

What good are tears?
Other than making my head hurt and my nose run?
They don’t solve a thing.
Kind of like getting drunk.
When you sober up the problem is still there.
And when you’re drinking you're just feeling sorry for yourself.

What are tears anyway?
Water running out my eye sockets.
How strange is that?
Obviously, I have a leak and it needs repaired.
Can’t use glue, hammer or nails.
Can’t keep holding my finger up there like the little dutch boy.
Can’t keep filling up wastecans with wadded up tissues.
It's messy and besides the dog likes to chew them up.

The Bible says there will be no tears in heaven.
Well, more and more I’m thinking it should be that way on earth,
or at least in my little corner of the world.
I’d rather grab a box of crayons and color.
Or walk outside in the grass with no shoes on.
Or pretend that I’m a princess.
Or curl up in my Abba’s lap and snuggle.
Or put on something pretty -
like a dress with polka dots.
Or glue sparkles on construction paper
and give it to someone I love.

I don’t know.
I guess tears are here for a reason.
But not like they used to be.
I used to cry in the shower
and now instead I draw a smiley face on the steamy door.

Tears seem very earthy all of a sudden.
And polka dots and sparkles seem like heaven.
So I will choose moments of tears
and an eternity of polka dots and sparkles.

Triglycerides. Alas!

I’ve got to get this written, this assignment of the week.
Alas, I’m stuck in quick sand.
I’m sinking! My will is growing weak!
My thoughts are in a frenzy, colliding with my walls.
My words are getting nowhere.
No where

at all is just a bridge to take me from up there to here.
Oh. Dear..dear...

Dear April,

I write this note in regards to your most recent assignment of triglycerides. Although initially the word seemed fascinating and challenging, by this point I find the word repulsive. After:

1) pondering on triglycerides incessantly (i.e., while washing dishes, cleaning bathtubs, swinging on porch swing, cooking meals, watching Olympics, sitting on toilet);

2) Googling 'triglycerides' for clarity, and;

3) desperately and blatantly asking my son (your cousin Joe*) “what do YOU know about triglycerides?”, I must with grandiloquent regret conclude that I am not capable of completing my assignment of the week.

Yours uninspiringly,

Aunt Kelli Kelli with the big fat belly **
As called by her brothers two.

*denotes low triglycerides.
**denotes high triglycerides.
Boo-Hoo. Boo-Hoo. Boo-Hoo. :(

Poem

I have a poem within my head. It must be written, must be read.
It comes from somewhere deep inside. It must come out, it shall not hide.
Is it from my mind or heart? All I sense is it must start and when it does this ink does flow creating someone new to know.

Will it be a he or she? Will it dare resemble me?
Will it have a special name? Will it bring me pride or shame?
Will it make me want to smile...or ponder life a little while?
Will it bring a tear or sigh? Will it make me wonder why?
Will it whisper? Will it shout? Will it whimper? Will it pout?
Will it speak for what is right? Will it run or will it fight?

Will I be glad it came to be? Will I want other eyes to see? I guess I shouldn't really care since I have just been made aware that I had a poem within my head...but now its on this page instead. And...it is coming to an end. Kelli, meet Poem - your latest friend.

01/13/02