I used to write a lot of poems, back when I was a teenager and apparently had time to meditate more on life… But recently I scribbled down some thoughts into poetry form again, and wondered why I don’t do this more often. It clears my mind in a way that prose journaling doesn’t do. My poetry, like my life, does not hold tightly to patterns of rhyme and rhythm, but I hope that the grace that touches my life reaches into these writings, too…

#1- How can it be that my children look to me to be their refuge?

Refuge

She snuggles close,
She thinks that I'm her refuge.
I'm where she wants to be,
The person she wants to see
When she awakens from a nightmare.

In my arms she can sleep
At peace
Even though
Her crib is big and scary.

And I wonder how I can be a safe place,
When I have never been strong enough to be
Unafraid
When the world seems big and scary.

Maybe if I just come close to You,
I will find You are our refuge?
The only Place to be,
The only Face I see,
When life feels like a nightmare.

Maybe I can snuggle close to You,
Like she snuggles into me,
And trust that You hold her
Through me.

#2- I saw my former foster son the other day, for the first time since he left our home this past summer. It was bitter-sweet. Sweet, because he is obviously thriving–more, I dare say, than he ever did in my care. The pain comes when I try to quantify our experience again and fail to sum it up in a tidy way… It will haunt me for years, I believe–my inability to be what he needed. But for now, it is enough to know that he is okay. This is a poem I wrote the weekend he moved from our home.

I Packed Up a Year

I packed up a year--
Of a child's life--
Into boxes and bags 
And sent him on his way.

(I packed hopes and dreams and
Invested love and sent them with him...
They are no longer mine.
Dreams of home, and stability.
Dreams of someone like me
Who can stay and fulfill
The yearning he proffered.)

I packed up his year, all tidy,
Surprised at how easy it was
To send it on its way.
Shoes, the books I used to read,
The clothes I bought for him...

I packed up his year.
So what is this grief doing here?
This guilt and regret,
This pain and this fear...

I packed up his year,
But the aftermath
Lingers here...

#3- And one from my journaling Bible. Based on Mark 13:35.

The Watch

To watch,
To keep my eyes open,
Turned towards the One,
Looking for His coming,
Working with all my heart as unto Him...

That when He comes
He finds me
Faithful.

P.S. There are no pictures today, but I hope that sometime soon I will take the time to upload a bunch of baby pictures and catch everyone up on the cutest, most recent, twinnie poses…