Lessons from the Valley and the Mountaintop

Take control of me, Jesus. The current management is woefully incompetent.

Almost 6 years ago, I went back to school to change my career. To say I went back to school is incorrect, because I’ve been in school now for 52 years. The school of life is always in session. Life lessons are a moment by moment occurrence. If we’re aware, we’ll acknowledge the lesson, learn from it, and be changed for the better. If we go through life on autopilot, never recognizing what life is trying to teach us, we may IMG_8308someday regret our inattentiveness. Just as in school, there are some lessons we want to learn. We lap them up, like a parched dog slurping noisily at a water dish. We apply ourselves with every ounce of our time, concentration, and giftedness. Other lessons, we must push ourselves to learn. I have a friend who received a grade of 62% in one of his high school courses. Worried that this low mark would affect his chances of getting into university, he went to the trouble of taking the course again only to end up with 63%. I do find this humorous, but also baffling, because I get it. It’s true, some things we can only learn the hard way.

I learned a lesson recently. I’ve calculated that it took me roughly 40 years to learn this lesson. I know. Can my skull be any thicker? Life has been steadily knocking on my fortress of a forehead, but I’ve been disregarding, believing that this lesson didn’t apply to me. I’ve shared before that I struggle with self-care. You can read that post here. I blame the looming shadow of low self-esteem that I’ve allowed to hang around and cloud my judgement. For years, I’ve been going to bed without conducting any sort of self-care; just peel off the clothes, leave them where they fall, and fall into bed without another thought. In the morning, my makeup is smeared and scary, ground into the precious skin of my poor, undeserving face. I’ve been warned. My husband, in the last year, told me about a woman he read about who admitted to not taking her makeup off for 25 years (sadly, I have her beat). The reward for her negligence was tiny, hardened, jagged bits of mascara imbedded in her eyelids that were scraping her eyeballs! I was alarmed enough IMG_8311to take off my makeup for a few days, but, because it wasn’t my lesson to learn, it didn’t take and I went back to my slovenly ways. I’ve even had a number of eye infections over the years, but chalked it up to a strange occurence, like a UFO sighting, rather than identifying the problem which was me and my total disregard for my health. Then, a few months ago, I got a stye. If you don’t know what a stye is, according to Miriam Webster, it’s “an inflamed swelling of a sebaceous gland at the margin of an eyelid”. My eyelid went from slightly red and swollen to a ghastly, pus-filled tumor, the shade of expired Miracle Whip. It actually blocked my vision slightly. It didn’t seem to matter what I did with it, antibiotic ointment, hot compresses, lancing it myself at one point, it just wouldn’t get lost.

I’m vain. I like makeup. I look better with it on and, in turn, feel better with it on. This wretched stye hung on tenaciously for a grueling month, a month of naked eyelids and unenhanced lashes. Since my recovery, I’ve been meticulous in removing my makeup. I wish now that I had taken a picture of that purulent lesson at the height of its IMG_8315gruesomeness to remind me, because I hope I never forget. It concerns me that it took suffering to get me to change. I read a book that says so much of what we do is habitual. I have other unhelpful, damaging habits, yes, even perpetual pet sins, that I desperately need to ditch. Have I become a malfunctioning robot, glitching from one bad choice to another? Is there no way off this not-so-merry, merry-go-round? Am I doomed to mindlessly go through these detrimental motions till I seize up and die?

I have the same problem as Paul, as you, as every believer in the whole of history. I don’t do what I should do, what I need to do, what I wish and pray that I’d do. No, I do that which I shouldn’t do, which I loathe myself for doing. Paul has the only answer to this perplexing, vexing behavior in Romans 7:24.

“What a wretched man I am!” he says.”Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

Jesus is the answer and rightly so. He shares his reason for coming  in John 10:10, that we might have a meaningful life, not an ineffectual, bitter existence marred by disappointment and failure, not a life where we toil and despair until we finally keel over. NO! A life blossoming, bursting with the ripe, luscious, life-giving fruit of his Spirit, a life so big and full of so much good, it can’t help but impact others.IMG_8320

If he came for this reason, surely we’re not left alone to put the puzzle together. 2 Peter 1:3, says, “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.” This is why he sent his life, the Holy Spirit, to live in us. I read 1 Corinthians 6:19 and I’m sobered by the thought that my body is his temple, the place where he dwells in all his glory. I’m coming to the notion that neglecting myself is sin. My shoddy treatment of this extraordinary vessel supplied by my maker, meant for his abiding presence, is abominable. It’s like inviting the queen to live with you and not scrubbing your toilet, another thing I do only under great duress. The body we’ve been given is a blessing to be cherished and treated with respect and loving attention. If we don’t care for ourselves, how will we ever be capable of keeping the second greatest commandment, of loving our neighbor as ourselves? If I treat myself with indifference, what are the chances I’ll treat you any differently?

Furthermore, the Holy Spirit is not just lazing around inside of us, binging and watching Netflix. God is in the business of transformation and no matter how hard or boring it may be, self-control is a virtue, a sign that this same Holy Spirit who lives within us is doing his work. Romans 9:11 says, “if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you”. Think about what this verse is saying! We have the power that raised Christ from death to life living inside of us! What a breathtaking, IMG_8307extraordinary reality! Knowing this, I’ve often wondered why my self control has always been in such short supply. I’ve come to the conclusion that God does not transform people against their will. I have to want to be transformed. I have to immerse myself in God, praise his name, bask in his presence, feed on his word, run hard at his will, confess my sin, and petition and thank him. I have to live out the greatest commandment and love God with every beat of my heart, every breath, every thought, word, and deed. Only then will I experience the lasting, positive change I long for. It seems ironic that in giving up control, I’ll gain some in the end, but that’s the way God works. He doesn’t do things the way I do and with my lacklustre record, I’m so grateful for that!

Last year, I climbed my first mountain. I’ve lived somewhere in Alberta, the land of the Canadian Rockies, for almost 40 years. I thought about hiking, I wanted to do it, but like so many things, I never got around to it. One year for my birthday or Christmas, my husband bought me books filled with awe-inspiring pictures of mountains that listed and described in great detail all the hiking trails in Alberta and British Columbia. We never used them, not even once. I don’t even know where they are. Last spring, I met some folks on Instagram, of all places. They chronicled their adventures hiking up mountains every weekend. Their tales were inspiring, their pictures, glorious, and that old itch resurfaced. I started training my body, mainly to improve my level of fitness, but also because I wanted to achieve that dream, to climb a mountain. These people were welcoming and last summer, I bagged my first peak. With their guidance and encouragement, my count is now up to six. Why am I telling you this? Because I believe God put this desire in me to show me he has something better, something far grander in store for me. He’s always wooing me into the light and the fresh air, onto the solid rock of his presence. He’s calling me to leave behind my weakness and the squalor of sin, my baser, destructive self which is only capable of causing harm and to venture onto a higher plane, to dwell with him in radiant Christ-likeness on the pristine mountaintop of his love and to share in the fullness of his joy. Oh, there will still be struggles, thigh-burning, lung-busting, lean in and cling to the rock kind of moments, but he promises never to leave me. Just like my friends who lead me up to some of the most incredible places I’ve ever experienced, God wants to lead me into a life of self-control, patience, and faithfulness, and a life brimming with gentleness, kindness, love, joy, and peace, the life he had planned for all of us from the beginning of time, the best life one can live. I leave you with these verses. First, Psalm 121:1. “I lift up my eyes to the IMG_8319mountains–where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.” And then the passages I chose to mark my wedding day, Hebrew 12:1-2a, as they are so appropriate here. “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.” Now, I exhort both myself and you. Let us let go, my friends, look to the Lord, to the mountains, and run!

 

Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: @pollyeloquent2 and don’t forget to mention that you’re a reader. Thanks for your time!

 

 

 

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The Mystery of the God Man

The only unborn 

The creator and sustainer

The three-in-one ensconced in sweet community

Thought up this grand experiment of love

Brainstormed this big idea

Split the darkness, broke the silence, spoke the cosmos and it’s creatures into being

We, the creatures, once deceived, threw off our Father’s rule to follow our own will

And all seemed lost

But, The Holy God, the Spirit, filled up flesh in all his glory

The clockmaker took on the tick of time

The Word graced the page by entering the human story

And the origin of light

Laid bare the truth and made the shadows flee away

The sculptor morphed into clay

The good news wrapped itself in swaddling clothes

The wounded healer took on all our sickly woes

The gentle sage told us, showed us how to live

And the world watched in wonder

As the God Man strode the land

For we did not recognize him

We did not know the scent of our own breath

We did not know from whence we came

He came in love

To walk the lonesome road and hang upon the crooked tree 

To wash, with his own blood, the stain of sin

To sacrifice himself that, in believing, we may live with him eternally 

To battle death and win

To claim us as his children once again

To reunite us and invite us in

To glorious communion with our maker

Our risen Saviour

Reigning now and forever more

Hallelujah to the King of kings

Jesus Christ is Lord

 

Happy Easter! 🙂

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Your Hair is None of my Business

I was part of a conversation recently that disturbed me. Someone shared a story about a pastor friend. This pastor decided he’d like to try having long hair and began growing his hair out. When his hair reached a certain length, a deacon approached him, advising him IMG_5924to get a haircut. He kindly refused, saying he liked his hair the way it was. The deacon replied, “Well, do you like working here?” I couldn’t believe it. A church threatening termination of employment over a hairstyle. According to the person telling the story, the congregation had no other issues with the pastor, they were pleased with his ministry amongst them, they just didn’t fancy his long, gold-y locks.

I went from hearing this story to our Sunday morning church service. Our new pastor was asking for a physical response to the question, “Are you all in?” He wanted to know if we were committed to the mission of bringing in God’s Kingdom. There were artists on the platform with three large canvasses on which they had painted a defining landmark in our city, a high level railway bridge that’s over 100 years old. He wanted us to come up and make our mark on the canvas, a sign of our willingness. There were sponges and three background paint colours; yellow and green for the hills surrounding the bridge and blue for the sky. People began to spill into the aisles as he explained. He completed his instructions with, “and don’t go mixing up the colors.”

Still feeling angry over Pastor Rapunzel’s story, I knew I had two options. Either I wasn’t going up there or I was going to do the exact opposite of what our new leader wanted. goldenbackgrounds-and-textures-1889125__480Really, I only had one option, because I wasn’t interested in staying put in the pew as others indicated their “all-in-ness”. I got in line when there was a lull, knowing full well that I had no intention of conforming. When it was my turn, I soaked one of the sponges in yellow and splashed it with firm defiance across the three canvases where the blue of the sky was supposed to be. Who doesn’t like sunshine?

Why did I do this? For a number of reasons. I did it for a man who had to cut his hair to keep his job. I’m sure short hair wasn’t in his job description, but it was obviously an unwritten rule in that church. To me, it smacks of a lack of love and an emphasis on the wrong thing! God told Samuel, in the process of choosing David as the next king that “the Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward IMG_5925appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” Judging people by their appearance. That’s a worldly thing to do. If we’re to be like God, then we must begin to look past appearances. Was that church looking at their pastor’s heart when they approached him? No, they were chasing him with scissors and it’s never a good idea to run with scissors.

I did it for everyone whose ever felt judged at church, because of how they chose to express themselves. I did it for the mohawks and the piercings and the tattoos and the wrong clothes. I’m tired of hearing such stories. Who’re we to dictate how others wearIMG_5928 their hair or how they dress? Of course, it’s important to honor God with our clothing choices, to be modest and not overtly offensive (obscene or vulgar), but that’s where our censure should end. Shouldn’t we be grateful, in an age where church attendance is falling off that people come to church at all? A friend of mine, a gifted choir director, got skewered once because he wore flip-flops on the platform. Is it possible that God rejected this man’s glorious choir tribute, because his flip-flops were an abomination?

I did it because I was staring at art up there and my experience of art is that it’s often chaotic or there’s dissonance that captures one’s attention and imagination. The pastor invited people to go pick up their children and allow them to participate. Children are notorious for coloring outside the lines. I wondered how these children would follow his dictation to keep the colors together. I wondered how many Christian’s spontaneity and creativity has been squelched in the name of conformity.

I did it because God made me an individual not a clone. He meant for each one of us to become Christ-like versions of ourselves, not Cookie-cutter Christians, a term my pastor IMG_5926father used often. He meant for you and I to make a our own defining mark on the landscape of his kingdom, not a prescribed one or why would he have given out so many distinct gifts? We were meant to be different from each other in order to build each other up, complementing each other, each one an essential part of the team. He also made us unique, because he knew not everyone was going to like us. God did this on purpose to reach as many as possible. The long hair may be able to reach someone the crew cut can’t reach and vice versa.

I get that there’s a marked difference in the significance of these two situations. On the one hand, a man was made to do something he had no desire to do to appease his IMG_5930employers and maintain his livelihood. On the other, a Pastor, probably someone who loves order, made a fair request to keep things tidy. I do think order is important. We all need a considerable amount of structure in our lives to function in a healthy way and God created boundaries for our benefit, but God isn’t only about order. Take a step into nature and it’s evident that chaos is not in any way outside of his realm. One of the most magical forests I’ve ever visited is on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. It’s called Cathedral Grove: ancient, massive, trees, some tall and stately, pointing proudly to the heavens, some whose branches go higgledy piggledy, draped in drippy, shaggy green, many leaning or fallen where they may, their humongous, jumbled root systems exposed, housing a myriad of creatures. There’s a boardwalk through this forest, man’s attempt to tame it and I’m grateful for that, but it’s all over the place and awe-inspiring to say the least!

On that great Judgement Day, Matthew 25:32 says, “all nations will be gathered before him”. Not one nation, one ethnicity, one bland, monochromatic mass, no all peoples, IMG_5927a kaleidoscope of all colours, shapes, sizes, and hair lengths. Why are we not embracing what is so obviously God’s plan? Why are we not celebrating our differences and giving each other room to flower into our most beautiful, unique selves? Let’s go out from now on, looking kindly, with love, on our neighbor’s hair, his ripped jeans, his exposed hairy toes, for we’ve no time to fret over such frivolities. We’re on important Kingdom business and we’ve got colours to splash. 😀

 

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It’s Winter Appreciation Day!

Delicate, crystal fluff falling slowly

Wandering down, one by one, to blanket the earth in bright, white softness

Glitz clinging precariously to my wispy lashes

Spattering my cheeks with cold kisses

Dusting my shoulders with sparkly, wet confetti

Clumping up on the bottom of my clunky, winter boots

Making me feel as quiet as it looks

Hush, it says

It’s time for rest and wonder

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Say What you Need to Say

For St. Valentine, because he deserves better.

I love me some Facebook, but I’ve noticed an avalanche of other things where my friend’s status updates used to be. I find it humorous that people are upset when others scroll on by, when they’ve offered little incentive to stop and look. My main reason for going on Facebook is not to be inspired, enlightened, challenged, taught, or entertained, IMG_4788though all of these things take place. I go on Facebook to see what’s happening in the lives of my friends. I enjoy the family pictures, the declarations of love, the documenting of birthdays, weddings and holidays, the silly stories, and the “look what my kid did and I’m so proud” moments. I’ve always been shy and when I see people in social situations that I’m friends with on Facebook, I feel a barrier to approaching them has come down, because I have, at least, a vague idea of what their lives look like. This seems less likely to occur, as personal statuses are replaced with quotes, articles, and cat and dog videos.

We’ve long been trying to take the personal out of our relationships, even though relationships are inherently personal. The cellphone is a primary example of this. Have you ever had someone across from you at a dinner table ignore you while they twiddled IMG_4316with their gadget? I have and I wasn’t impressed. When I’m out with someone, I expect eye contact and conversation. I shouldn’t have to find something else to do while someone checks their emails, their twitter feed, or the number of likes they’ve received on their latest quirky, but charming selfie on Instagram. I’m sitting across from them. Doesn’t that rate as the ultimate “like”? Even more baffling, wasn’t the original intent of the telephone to connect people: families separated by miles could enjoy the sound of their loved one’s voices and catch up on daily goings on? Now we just fumble thumb grammatically incorrect grunts to each other and call it communicating. Texting is convenient for making plans, but it’s not a good way to make or sustain a relationship.

Greeting cards are another way the world tries to interfere with genuine, meaningful connection between individuals. A landmark anniversary, a long-awaited, well-deserved graduation, a sacred wedding ceremony is on the horizon and what is our first thought? We hop on over to the nearest Hallmark. Am I the only one who sees a problem with this? How is it even possible for a stranger to write a heartfelt message to one of our loved ones? There’s nothing personal about greeting cards, other than that they’re created by a team of persons. The messages have to be generic to appeal to a large number of consumers. The cards we give to our mothers, dear children, or best friends are not unique, but mass-produced and marketed. They’re not representations of our thoughts, but someone else’s thoughts. Our thought was to go and purchase a thought, rather than thinking for ourselves. We’ve been duped into buying something else we don’t need.

Why would we pay strangers to say the important things that we need to say to the people who mean the world to us? “Well, I’m not a good writer” is one argument I’ve heard. As far as I know, the average birthday or anniversary message isn’t published in IMG_4792the newspaper or blogged on the internet. Do we really think our relatives and friends expect us to be William Shakespeare? Can’t we just genuinely express our thoughts and feelings with each other? Who wouldn’t prefer a sincere, vulnerable sentence or two over a generic, flowery rhyme?  If one is really at a loss, the phrases “I like you” and “I love you” are powerful and I know people who’ve rarely heard these words. There’s always spell check for those who’re concerned about grammar, but be wary of auto correct. My husband says whenever he types in his name, spell check wants to change it from “Myron” to “moron”.

“Well, I don’t have time” is the standard excuse we hear for just about everything these days. I disagree. Many have time to drive to a mall and stand in a card shop, eyeing the artwork, reading the sentimental verses or funny quips, comparing one card with another, and perusing the price points. There’s an hour or more there to be used to write congratulations to a graduate or to pen a love letter.

“Well, I’m not creative” is another falsehood we’ve been deceived into believing. Yes, artwork on cards is lovely to look at, but it’s disposable. Unless you attach value to it, it IMG_4787ends up in a landfill. It’s about the message, not the packaging. We’re all equipped with an incredible combination of mind and heart, idea and depth of feeling. We only need to harness what’s already there. We’re wired to communicate with passion.

My kids have been making cards since they were old enough to draw. The act of making a card is a gift in itself. It says, “I care so much about you that I’m willing to stop what I’m doing and think about you and see what comes of it.” Recently, my daughter was in a hurry and lamented having to make a card. I had previously scanned a piece of her artwork into the computer and after printing it, suggested she write her friend a birthday wish on the inside. My kids are artistic and have come up with some cool designs, but I prefer to use pictures from Google images on my cards. I write something, select an image that suits the message, and simply copy, paste, and print. Some may argue that a handwritten note is the most personal gesture of all and I would tend to agree, except that the quirky fonts appeal to me. Computer or no, the message is always mine, created and signed with love.

Some of you who know me know this about me, but I believe it’s remarkable and will say it again here, because it fits. Every year on my birthday I receive a birthday card from my parents, as many of you do, but my card always has a handwritten list on it. My Dad uses up the white space left on the card to affirm me as a person. He lists my good qualities and achievements. The card may be pretty and the verse clever, but they’re IMG_4790meaningless to me. It’s the list I crave and cherish. I have years’ worth of cards that document my growth over my lifetime, because my Dad takes the time and makes the effort to sit down and think about me. Every once and awhile, I look at these cards again and see what he sees and feel good and grateful. I encourage you to do the same for those you love. You will never know what a message from your soul will do for another human being until you put it out there. In your relationships, you have the power to uplift, inspire, and encourage. Your words can bring meaning, healing, hope, joy and love. Or, you can go to the store. It’s your choice.

Happy Valentines Day!

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Random Schmandom

What will you do for someone else today?

We watched Evan Almighty the other day. Though I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, I have one issue. They used the acronym ARK for Acts of Random Kindness, or Random Acts of Kindness as, I believe, it was originally ordered. Humorist Danny Wallace published a book with this title. Being someone who is always searching for the right word, I think pairing “random” with “acts of kindness” is a mistake.kindnessfeet-1868670_1280

Good ole’ Webster defines random as, “lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern– made, done, or chosen at random.” I know random. It’s how I live my life. When I have a day to myself, I prefer to go off on a whim. I do make lists, but it’s a rare treat when I cross something out and usually I’ve scribbled my loose intentions in a slant on a napkin or a grocery receipt which I stuff somewhere. Occasionally, I find a nest of scraps and they’re only marginally comprehensible. It’s a challenge for me to put out persistent, concerted effort to acquire a skill of any kind. Putting my keys in the same place twice is a major accomplishment. Routine is not on my non-existent agenda. At a certain point in our family life, my husband stated that we would each have our own particular seat at the dinner table. I bulked. I already felt organized. I told him I wasn’t in kindergarten anymore. Left on my own, I wouldn’t even eat at set times, but forage throughout the day, nibbling on bits of whatever it is I’m craving at the moment. My kids love this about me. Once when my husband was working late, my youngest daughter walked by and asked, “what’s for supper” as children often do. Without looking up, I said, “Halloween candy.” Later, that same daughter pranced past with chocolate smeared all over her beaming face. “This is the best day ever,” she cried.

Have you ever lived with a random person? Did you find them charming or exasperating? If you asked my husband, he wouldn’t describe my randomness as a kindnesschild-3858368_1280positive attribute. Can he rely on me? Yes and no. Can he predict my behavior? He’s given that up for health reasons. Does he find me interesting, amusing, or exciting, like an obscure, odd, colorful bird? An Emphatic Yes. So, random can be eye-opening and curious, but mostly it’s sporadic (“no plan, purpose or pattern”). I’m not saying it isn’t important for us to watch for those one-time opportunities to meet the small needs of people we encounter as we go about our day, but what if nothing presents itself? Am I off the hook? How many random acts of kindness do I need to accumulate in a day to really feel good about myself? I don’t want to make it a habit, do I?

Yes, I do. Kindness is not simply an act, but a way of being. It overflows from a loving, thankful heart. It often requires a sacrifice and it should be performed gladly without expectation. It’s not to be kept inside and doled out in a miserly fashion whenever it’s convenient or we feel up to it. It’s not enough to only show kindness one designated day kindnesstrabi-328402_1280or week of the year. The expression of kindness shouldn’t be limited to strangers or old people or street folk, but it should be given freely and lavishly. Spontaneous is good, but deliberate and thoughtful is better. Write a well-crafted love letter. Throw an elegant birthday party. Volunteer to be a Stem Cell donor. Use your skills to enrich the lives of others. Commit intentional, regular, meaningful acts of kindness. Become an expert and you will alter the world one kindness at a time.

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Unearth the Bowl

We bought a bowl once. It’s a shiny gold with vibrant splashes of red, green, blue and orange and we thought it would make a striking centerpiece for our table. We did not, at the time, consider what, if anything, we would put in it. Nor did we consider how much an empty bowl might beckon us to fill it. I’m ashamed to say this beautiful bowl has become a bowl for bills; piles of important papers now cascade from it completely blotting out the original reason for which it was purchased. Now instead of looking at the beautiful bowl and experiencing joy, I look at a bowl of bills and feel frustrated, worried, and depressed.
Continue reading “Unearth the Bowl”

See if I Care

I lost something recently that I cherished. No, there’s been no death in my family. I like to use big words and have a tendency to exaggerate. I lost pictures I’d taken on my holidays, pictures I’d admired and played with and hoped to share on Instagram, probably 500 of them. I went on a hike to a lake this summer and impulsively took my phone, the keeper of my precious pictures, on a swim and, nope, I didn’t have them backed up. My phone is dead, blank, unyielding, even though I smothered it in quinoa, rice, and silica crystals, took it in to have it checked out by people who know more about phones than I, stroked it and prayed over it. I’m still praying, but to date, sadly, there’s been no resurrection.
Continue reading “See if I Care”

A Poem For Starters

It’s never too late to start over

No matter the day or the hour

To change one’s mind is not a crime

If something isn’t working

Then

It begs that one begin again

Barreling head long toward some lofty plan

Can mean the end of one’s self

rather than the end one intended to pursue

Start anew

Pause and ponder

Gain some fresh perspective at an intermediate juncture

Recognize and titter at your blunders

Take a new tact or commit to stay the course

For more effective progress can be realized in repose

And a thoughtful journey does a better outcome make

So

Stop

Take your time

Take a breath

Take a good, hard look

Take a break

It’s never too late to start over

 

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: pollyeloquent. Thanks for reading. 🙂