“And with her candle lit, she searches for her one lost coin”
For when it is found there will be a celebration
I wonder how many of us will stoop down to Pick up a penny? Or just ignore it, as Not worth the effort!
In the East of ancient times, a coin was Very valuable.
****
The houses of the poor Usually consisted of but one room, Often windowless and dark. The room Was rarely swept and a piece of money Falling on the floor would quickly be Covered by dust and rubbish.
In order that it might be found, even in The daytime, a candle must be lit and The house must be swept diligently.
A wife’s marriage portion usually Consisted of pieces of money which she Carefully preserved as her most Cherished possession, to be given to Her daughters.
The loss of one of these coins would be Considered as a serious calamity. And its recovery would cause great Rejoicing, in which the neighboring Women would readily share.
Recovery
The coin, though lying amongst dust and rubbish is still a piece of silver, sought because of its value.
In this parable, the lesson may be taught, though a mother or father may have many children safely abiding in their home, but will not be content, until their search for their lost child is found?
“If she had only been good, it is her fault mother left”
Addiction is a frightening thing, it can remove a mother and
Father’s presence from the child’s life. This dreaded disease
Runs rampant in our family. Today is the tenth year of my son’s
Death, taken in a cruel way. Thankfully I was spared from the
Devastation this illness can bring, and yet though substance
Abuse in a physical manner is absent, I struggle with an
Emotional attachment that is much more profound in many
Ways.
To the point of being consumed with their illness, almost
Destroying me. With the recent news of of this ugly strike once
Again, of a loved one who has sunk to the delusion
That their pain can be lifted, I am once more with the question,
Will I be consumed with this one as well?
And yet, from a Power greater than myself, I am convicted that the memories of a painful past, of my mother’s choosing will be lifted, and I will not succumb to dwell in a harmful state of mind, attempting to do something for someone else that I am powerless to obtain!
I remember something that was said long ago, a speaker was encouraging those who have experienced devastation and emotional pain. And I have never forgottenhis words – “Even if you have to hold on with your very fingernails, don’t give up” Through many sorrows and disappointments I have felt like
the cauldron of flames were about to consume me. The heat of affliction became too much, as if my mind and body were ready to explode!
In honor of all those who are opposed by the enemy, are we not all as “A brand plucked from the fire?”*
For a child growing up in alcoholism and addiction, there never seemed to be a safe place to go. Home was never safe, neither school or friends, making it difficult to trust others. Later in life I learned of a safe place,where I could run to, to a tower of safety, a place ofprotection from the enemy!
“A fair skinned child with bright blue eyes and blonde tousled hair”
And with songs of laughter!
“The name of the Lord is a strong tower, the righteous run into it and are safe” Proverbs 18:10
The evening is sultry, too hot to sleep, as she climbs the steps to the roof, as they often did in this ancient village. There is merriment and joy in the distance, as she looks down on a wedding taking place. She is enthralled with the bride and her beautiful jewels and dress, her painted face with bright colors, waiting to meet her groom. Under the stars, falling asleep, she dreams of the day, when she will be betrothed, just as every girl dreams, for this is the custom in her land, to be married and have children, was her deepest desire! ~~~~ And then came the day when her dream had come true! ~~~~
With loving care, her maidens Surround her With perfumes and oils, smoothing her skin Placing sparkling pins and fasteners In her long flowing hair Her eyes enhanced, painted in black With purple eyelashes Then stepping into a gown of Sparkling sequins of ivory and lace Slipping into sandals of scarlet and blue And finally silver bracelets and a Necklace of gold! Looking into the mirror, it reveals a Woman of beauty! And as her maidens slowly draw the Beaded curtain aside with its tinkling Bells There is silence as she poses Before her husband to whom she is Promised to be betrothed Abram gently lifts Sarai’s veil Taking his wife to his tent to bare His child
~ Years swiftly pass and her hope is Not fulfilled No sign of life felt in her womb and She is saddened Unable to conceive, Sarai devises A plan Inviting her servant, Hagar, into Her tent to lay with her husband To bear the promised one, and Hagar Did bare a son Calling him Ishmael And Sarai became jealous, sending Them into the wilderness ~~~~ With continued years of waiting her Hopes dwindle Now looking into the mirror Her face is marred with wrinkles And creases Her bones waxing old, her back bent Hobbling with a stick And with no hope she had been given ~~~~ One night in the coolness of the Evening, Abram fell asleep and he was given A dream God promised him a son And a great nation! In sharing this promise with Sarai She laughed behind his back For she was Ninety and Abram one hundred years Old! But God did hear her prayer! A cry in the night, a midwife quickly rushes To her side And Sarai gives birth to the promised Child With gnarled hands and a once sorrowful Heart Her fingers are now entwined with a babies Soft skin One whose descendants would fill the Land like the stars of heaven!
*The stars had never shone brighter that night *As feasting and rejoicing filled their hearts *The promise was fulfilled *Surely this child is the progenitor of all God’s children *Pointing to the long awaited Messiah! *And now Sarai’s name was changed to Sarah and Abram’s to Abraham
This is inspired by the story of Abraham and Sarah in God’s word
,There are many stories of faith and trust in God’s Word, but one well known story of a man called Job has been a comfort and help down through the ages. In spite of loss and affliction, and three friends rejection, he was ever faithful to his God!
There is a man called Job in
The land of Uz, beyond where
The Euphrates River flows,
Dividing into streams of blue
Waters.
~~~~
Flocks of peacocks with their
Flirtatious cries strut about,
Sporting purple and green plumes
Among white lily and Star of
Bethlehem blooms.
Wild donkeys and mountain
Goats rest in the shade of the
Broom tree plant.
~~~~
As far as the eye can see, all of
This land belongs to the
Patriarch Job, a wealthy man
With many herds and families,
And seven sons and three
Daughters.
~~~~
Now it seems that this is a story
That existed from the very
Beginning of time,
When it was written we are not
Sure, but it is inspired by God’s
Word.
It is a sad story but has a happy
Ending.
~~~~
The villain of this story is jealous
And accuses the God of this man
Of unfairness,
Speaking one day “You have
Favored Job and if you remove
His children and land he will
Curse you.”
God replying “Alright take these
Things away but do not harm
Him.”
~~~~
One early morning after his sons
And daughters feasted the night
Before, Job arose to offer prayers.
His servant entered with the news
“Your children and herds have been
Slain and I am the only one that
Remains.”
Job is astonished but does not find
Fault, trusting the God he exalts.
~~~~
Then the foe of Job says “Surely,
If you afflict this man’s body he will
Curse you to his face.”
Job was afflicted with boils
Covering his body, shaving his head,
He sat in ashes.
~~~~
Yet he does not charge God with
Wrong, replying “Shall we receive
Only good and not evil?”
Job questioned God but never
Cursed him.
He is a victim of a wager between
God and the devil!
~~~~
When Job’s three friends heard
Of his dilemma they rushed to his
Side, deploring the sight of his
Sufferings, sitting down with him
For seven days and nights.
After seven days Job broke the
Silence cursing the day he was
Born.
~~~~
“Why did not the earth swallow
Me before I was put to the
Breast, why did I not die,
Coming from my mother’s womb?”
~~~~
Then Job’s friends drew near
With reproaches,
“Job you are at fault, if you had
Not sinned, these sufferings would
Not be received with
Chastisement.”
He replied, “Lord they accuse me
Of sinning day and night.”…
~~~~
And in spite of this man’s anguish
And pain he still never cursed God,
And he was blessed with much
More than he had possessed, and
With seven more sons and three
Daughters.
~~~~
The Book of Job spanning over
Centuries, gives words of comfort
To those who question since time
Began, “Why the suffering of all
Mankind!”
This is the first part of the book ‘Three Friends’
“The years the locusts have eaten will be restored”
“They have not been wasted”
“And I will make good, what the swarm has eaten”
The following is a story of the travels of a Wanderlust, and her search for a peaceful land. From her journeys through dry arid wastelands to one of life giving contentment!
It was as if I was blown by the creatures of the wind, on wings singed from the heat of affliction. Unable to stop and become part of this earth. With my eyes, scanning for some kind oflife, but everywhere I looked there was darkness. The years of mylife had become consumed by the blight ofan oncoming army, devouring everything in sight.
But there is a favorite quote “I will restore to you the years the swarming locust has eaten”
“My great army you shall know and I will make good the years that the swarm has devoured”
The following is part of a storyI have written in metaphoric prose and poetry
“Sitting on a bench, reflecting on Her life, there is a longing in her Heart, couldn’t it have been Different than this one she has Survived? The formative years have not Been wasted, the bumps and Ridges of dry desert sands, truly Have become bridges to a better Land. This is a work in progress, a Prophecy in time. She presses On with hope, that what she Cannot see will one day come to Be.
The house stands strong and tall. Proud and free it seems to be. Leaves swept bare, not a weed To be seen, shrubs neatly trimmed, All in all this place has a happy face. But windows and doors are locked, No one can go in or come out. A girl resides here, it is dark. Shades are drawn, as she sits all day Long sewing on her ascension gown. A spotless house, not even a mouse Would dare to venture in. The clock’s pendulum strikes on the Hour, announcing she must hurry to Obey her rituals, to sweep and dust. The kitchen table with empty chairs Is saddened. In the cupboards are Antagonists chewing. Lowly locusts with their flatulence Bellies and bulging eyes, inch their Way through grubby cabinets… Tired at the end of the day she hopes to Rest, but this is when memories Have their ways. Tossing and turning, She can no longer bear being eaten Alive. A cry is heard from the disheveled Cat, as smoke comes through the Door. The room at the very top Bursts into flames… The room she Could never go in. She is awakened and quickly rises, Picking up her dress, running to the Door, it falls on the floor. It is sad, This house is removed, but it Has to be.
Her Thoughts Must Be Restored To Their Rightful Place! The scavengers of earth, devouring Their prey, now bow in solemnity to the Sacred Word of antiquity. “The years the locusts have eaten Will be restored, they have not been Wasted. Letters she has hidden behind Are now words of poetry seeking Her mind. Pages are bursting to be heard. The once Disarrayed cat sits by the fire in Contentment. The puppeteers have Relinquished their ties with shears Sharp enough to break the lies. The cabinets are no longer stirring, Gnawing has ceased as the locusts Retreat. She did all she could to make herself Clean. This girl of dust is no longer A wanderlust. Her house has become A home, glowing within. She would like to invite all to come And eat, there is plenty of room at The table, a table draped in white Linen, bread and drink freely given. Candlelight reflecting faces of Those no longer hidden!
Portions of this poem are from My book ‘Wanderlust’
‘A story of two becoming one’ And a voice said “this the way”
When does a poem become a poem? A thought sprinkled in the mind, or Written on paper? I began writing poetry, hoping to find Myself! From life experiences I had become Disconnected, not knowing which way To go, until I was driven to distraction!
I am just visiting this person within, Not too personal is my intention. Don’t get too close, or she will shut Down. I tried it once, her feelings were Exposed and my words were Opposed. There is just too much distance Between us. Once we were close and held Each other, we laughed and cried Together. Then a strange thing happened, We parted, really not sure why And said goodbye, and went our Separate directions, but a little Piece of us stuck to each other. Sometimes l get lonely for her, the Part that escaped me, but we are Shaped so differently, we could no Longer fit together. Her thoughts resist, the one I have Missed. ~~~ The house wont stop creaking at Night, is it trying to tell me Something I don’t want to hear? Houses say words too, they hold what Is true. They are faithful, wrapping their Arms Around us at night, opening windows Letting in light, touching us with Daylight.
~~~~ The shadows are lifting, my child and I Are conversing. The path is turning, The same road we are now Traveling. My winter is past, springtime is Approaching, Labor pains delivering, a reborn Child emerging. No longer an imaginary Dwelling, no longer a child withdrawing. In the present I am living. This is what I had hoped for, a different Path than before. I have found the way to find the rest Of myself. And then I heard a voice From behind, saying… “I will go before you, I will make your Crooked paths straight, whether to The right or left I will lead you!”
Poetry is truly a bridge between myself And what is left of myself!
Excerpts taken from ‘The Voice’ The Book ‘The Wanderlust”
A voice said “this is the way“ A new path I have taken
This is the final letter of a series of six ‘Letters to Daddy’ dedicated on this Father’s Day of 2021 to all those who struggle with an earthly father image.
“And the churning waters were billowing on the face of the deep, in the darkness of swelling waves”
Daddy, I remember the day when you were close to death, and I was called to say goodbye. I was reluctant, as I entered your room, as you struggled to breathe, until you fell asleep and they took you to a peaceful place to rest. You then faded from my memory, and I began to draw a picture of how I remembered you, until my inkwell had become almost dry, with the trace of your image, my brush became heavy, the colors became dark, until I was exhausted and I finally gave up. You became nothing, as if you had never existed, leaving an incomplete picture that must be filled in my mind!
‘My Love Letter To God’
It is You who took the churning waters billowing on the face of the deep In the darkness of swelling waves swirling in the deep abyss crying aloud with groaning pains waiting to give birth and be delivered Before You spoke Your word “Let there be light and life” my existence was in Your thoughts as You patterned my form when there was none A seed plunges into the darkness of the womb two beings creating a separate being as they embrace in a moment of bliss In an instant You wrote my life in indelible ink The beginning of a tiny infant not fully formed is immersed in the embryonic fluids Each part is fashioned by your hand my heart begins pulsating life Your plan for me is skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth But who am I to question why I am cast into circumstances beyond my control? The chosen vessel carrying me is frightened as her only awareness of love is of abuse and neglect Her thoughts are permeated into my small mind knitted together as sinews and flesh are fashioned about my tiny body The cells of my being are engulfed with her memories of long ago While the blood racing through her body feeds the embryo with a frightening adrenalin rush I have to wait in that darkness just as the seed must wait for Your nurturing acts to bring forth life I am called and reluctantly enter this world My first glimpse of life is not pleasant to my childish nature I question as Job, “Why did I not die at birth?” “Why did I not perish before I was born?” A wall of separation comes crashing down planting its steel bars into the chasm of the earth culminating in an abrupt interruption of time You have said I must become as a little child must I go back to the very beginning of conception? Must I have the mind of a babe unmindful of its surroundings content to exist in each stage of formation? If I could only shut my eyes and reflect on the innocent mind of a child bathed in quintessential peace and tranquility To be freed of these scattered thoughts that take me captive to another world of doubt and uncertainty quenching the Spirit and nullifying the goodness of God I am helpless to know the answer to these questionings it is as if I were being drawn into a darkness of which I am powerless But perhaps this dark night of the soul has a purpose and a reason that I need to embrace this darkness as the nocturnal labor pains of life experiences bring awareness of a Father that has completed the image of the one left behind!
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