They Didn't Tell Me

 They didn't tell me,

your fears,

would mimic mine.

They didn't tell me,

there'd be a hard year,

so very young. 

And they didn't tell me,

yours fears,

would force me,

to face my own.

Grow, 

rather than groan.

They didn't tell me,

your imagination,

a bright light,

would illumine a world,

not yet fully in sight.

They didn't tell me,

your smile,

 a beautiful shining fawn,

would sparkle every dawn.

 And they didn't tell me,

your intellect, 
would surpass mine, 
so very quick!

Was that a neat trick? 

They didn't tell me,

your mind,
like the dusk,

needs to settle and soothe.

And they didn't tell me,

your world would be so vast,

in such a small space.

They didn't tell me,

sheltered by forest home,

bound by walls of green and loam,

that we would journey,

into darkness,
together.

And come into the light.

Yes, child, 

it will be alright.

They Didn't Tell Me...Deux

 

They Didn't Tell Me

They didn't tell me,

how loud, you'd be.

How some days,

my head would ache,

with your extrovert ways.

They didn't tell me,

that in a season anew,

we would school, one,

not two.

They didn't tell me,

I'd be “on” all day.

And here you come, home.

Joy all array.

Dig deep, Mama.

There's love to give,

and love to keep.

They didn't tell me,

how much noise you'd make.

How we'd hold,

our bellies and shake.

They didn't tell me,

your laughter,

would rattle like a saber,

wild and strong,

an ever present song.

They didn't tell me,

how many hugs,

you'd require.

More than four a day,

in your own childish way.

They didn't tell me,

you'd always be giving,

happy and free,

smiling and living.

They didn't tell me,

You'd be our ever present cheer,

unless a storm draws near.

They didn't tell me,

how loud, you'd be.

But now I know:

Throw open the door,

for on the back forty,

cheer travels far. 

Post Epiphany

    A bunny hopped down the drive today. A bunny! We don't have bunnies, and this wasn't a farm bunny on the loose. He had huge floppy feet. A bona fide hare, he skittered, all lean body and wary wild eyes. Where was he going? He didn't say. He didn't stay. He seemed hungry and a bit hunted. I like to think he settled into the unused dog house for a snooze, that round the corner he found rest.

   Tonight, we dim the interior lights, but not as dark as I wish, for math is still moving minds. And I realize, I'm not ready to move on. Not ready for a new year, new season, or new efforts, am I. I'm still trying to recover from the past year, and here we are in a new one.

   I must admit, I'm very glad to be finished with the Twelve Days of Christmas series. By day twelve, I really disliked, even detested, the Shutterstock images I'd chosen to use. The ending just was. It lacked sparkle, but that's okay. The Word always eclipses words. Epiphany worked its way to the end without fireworks, but dance we did. The ceili called us and we answered. We ended Epiphany learning new dances, laughing, and holding hands with strangers, all jigs and smiles.

   Tomorrow is write night. I've nothing prepared to share with the women whose opinions and expertise I esteem. We are missing one. She passed away on Christmas Eve and will be sorely missed. I'm not ready to present words or miss her presence. But go, I shall.

   We'll gather. A band of writers and illustrators who write and draw because the pen is part of us. With brush, stylus, or pencil stroke, we find a voice, share and receive wisdom, and laugh. In spite of sorrows and joys, we show up. We work something fierce, or at least give it all we got. 

   One moment at a time, that is my epiphany. I'm showing up this year. I'm present. I'm praying! I'm writing. One promise each day.

  "They will come trembling to the Lord and to His blessings in the last days."

  She dims the lights, as he yells, “Hurry, hurry, it's 7:58.” He asks if he can take the candle. “I have one minute, one minute to get in bed.” They are racing towards the dark, holding the light.

Papa must have promised them a story.

Epiphany, Magi, and King's Cake

The Three Kings by Paul Hey

epiphany:  a Christian festival held on January 6th in honor of the coming of the three kings (magi) to the infant Jesus Christ; a moment in which you suddenly see or understand something in a new or very clear way. (Merriam Webster)

The Three Kings by Richard Hook

There are two kinds of King's Cake. We opted for the French Galette des Rois as it's heavy to almond flour. Vive la France! 

Southern King's Cake

From A Lady in France, Galette des Rois a la Frangipane (gluten free) 

 I'm really struggling with the pink plastic baby in the cake.  It's not working for me. I'm going to have to put in a little bean next year. It tastes great, but we ran out of eggs for the beautiful  crackle crust. Sis even checked the coop this morning, but the chickens are on holiday!

The Three Wise Men by James Edwin McConnell

Recommending Bethlehem Star. 

Let us gaze and ponder.
May you have a happy and holy Epiphany.

~Kim

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Eleven Pipers Piping

There is a Place Beyond Ambition by Mary Oliver

When the flute players
couldn’t think of what to say next

they laid down their pipes,
then they lay down themselves
beside the river

and just listened.
Some of them, after a while,
jumped up
and disappeared back inside the busy town.
But the rest–
so quiet, not even thoughtful–
are still there,

still listening.

 It's winter.

Winter tempts,

the soul.

Discontent seeps,
in cracks,
on pockets of cold.

Give into darkness.

New birth stirs,
on dark night.
In the world's heaving soul,

 the womb leaps.

Darkness encasing the Light.
Light encasing the darkness.

   The questions are ever present, they circle around, and come back again. How to create solitude and rest in a world that is always on? We seek stillness. How to get there? The path leads to powering down after the dinner hour and dishes are away. Lit flames glow, imparting rest and stillness. We play games, pray, read, and prepare the mind. Renew.

    In turning off the lights, we see the Light, and each other, enveloped by darkness. The curve to the end of the day, tender, as the sun rounds the horizon.

 Soul,
 the day draws nigh. 
Epiphany! 

Stir, oh soul.

Mesmerized by the Star.

The Angel,
points to Light,

in the dark.

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Ten Lords-a-Leaping

On the tenth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
Ten Lords a Leaping
Nine Ladies Dancing
Eight Maids a Milking
Seven Swans a Swimming
Six Geese a Laying
Five Golden Rings
Four Calling Birds
Three French Hens
Two Turtle Doves
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

   I'm continuing my series on The Twelve Days of Christmas. As I shared previously, Brian McLaren pushed me to ponder how I might put the Twelve Days of Christmas into action. On this tenth day of Christmas, I'm pondering the "lord" of our little hilltop manor and his love. I expect some will struggle with my usage of "lord of the manor" for my mate, but our marriage is not a patriarchy. I can jokingly and seriously call him "lord of the manor" because we both bow to the Lord. He leads with a heart of love.

  

   Jesus called them together and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—  just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” ~ Mathew 20:25-28

   Shakespeare said, "It is a wise father who knows his own child." How true. There's a season for helping a child, and a season for getting out of the way, and teaching the child to do the work himself. Brother's been busy typing six pages of code into his computer this past week, so he can play Hunt the Wumpus. The day has arrived: one plays with what one has programmed.

   He doesn't leap over piles, but he does light fires within. Whether on the hill, or in our hearts, minds, souls, and yes, imaginations.

From his own father, he said, he first learned that 
Fatherhood must be at the core of the universe.
~ C.S. Lewis

 He knows when to hold your hand,

and when to get out of the way and let you skate free.

There are three stages of a man’s life: 
He believes in Santa Claus, 
he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, 
he is Santa Claus. 
~  Author Unknown

His Books

(They'd make great Valentines or Father's Day gifts.)

The Boys in the Boat I scooped it up from him, finishing it first. We enjoyed it tremendously. 

The Council of Dads shares Feiler's journey with cancer. A powerful book about community, family, and sickness.

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind created something out of nothing, in the very best way.

A Long Walk to Water holds onto life in the midst of death. A story of overcoming in order to give life, hope, and water to others. 

Mind Over Water, Lessons on Life from the Art of Rowing 

Why does expanding our capacities matter so much?  Perhaps we are rowing toward something other than the horizon, an unknown shoreline.  Each stroke pulls us farther along an inner journey.  The real voyage, whatever the boat, is into the soul. 

~ Craig Lambert, Mind Over Water

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Nine Ladies Dancing

   On the ninth day of Christmas, let's dance.  

L'Etoile ou Danseuse sur Scene by Degas

She dances on feather light feet.

There is a lightness to her spirit, that belies the depth of her soul.

She dances to please herself; The praise of men is fleeting.

   Four Ballerinas by Degas

   I am a dancer. I believe that we learn by practice. Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing dancing or to learn to live by practicing living.... In each it is the performance of a dedicated precise set of acts, physical or intellectual, from which comes shape of achievement, a sense of one's being, a satisfaction of spirit. One becomes in some area an athlete of God.  ~ Martha Graham

 Dancer with Tambourine by Degas

Find your rhythm. Take the time. Work it out. Work it.

Do not dance another's dance – dance your own dance.

Ballet Studio by Peter Miller

Dance till the stars come down from the rafters.
Dance, Dance, Dance till you drop.

~ W.H. Auden 

Text and art from Beautiful to Me, Redefining Beauty

by Kimberly Conolly

* Art through Art Resource and Bridgeman Images