A Message from Me to You

You are unique, from your giggle and guffaw to the lilt in your singing voice to the hack of your cough and the whiz of your sneeze, your peculiar perfume, the way your hair falls, the furrows on your forehead, the supple, funnel shape of your ears, the swirlingIMG_6116_Fotor3 hue of each iris, the slope of your nose, the slant of your smile, the tone and texture of your skin, the dotty pattern of your moles, the tiny highways on your hands, the length and bulk of each hairy toe, the weight of your frame, your curves or lack thereof, how you carry yourself, your relaxed amble or intent gait, the effortlessly cool or charming, quirky way you dance, the way your soul expresses its essence, the “who of you”, to the world. I believe you were a big idea, thought up and fleshed out by the brilliant, grand designer. Knit together in a mother’s womb is how King David describes it in Psalm 139. Imagine the gnarled hands of an old women, whose been knitting for what seems like forever, capably, efficiently fashioning an original, let’s say, scarf, as practical as it’s beautiful.

This fact should make you think. If, indeed, what I say is true, than you have a reason for being simply because you are who you are. Your singularity suggests that you’re uniqueredgirl_Fotor2valuable, that you’re made for a purpose. Your intelligence and wisdom, your ability to lead, your talent, creativity and artistry, your skill set and the work of your hands, your resources and generosity, your love, warmth, and social prowess were not given to you to use solely to your own advantage, so that you could amass wealth or wield power or outshine others, but so that you could work alongside, buildup, and bless others.

I’m asking you not to devalue who you are and what you’ve been given by comparing yourself to another or putting yourself down or listening to the put downs of others. I’m urging you not to squander the treasure trove that is you by living a meaningless, selfish life based on consumption and the pursuit of pleasure. I’m encouraging you to mine the depths of your soul, uncover the rare, precious goodness within, and be your best self for the benefit of all. Imagine a world where everyone was a walking work of art, walking in light, beauty, and love. It would be heaven on earth. It starts with each one of us and it can’t wait. I’m on the path and I’ll walk with you and cheer you on. Get out there! Reach out in all your splendid individuality and grace the space you occupy. The world is waiting.

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. 🙂

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A Monologue on Marriage

Marriage is a kiss or a slapmarriagecouple-1783843_1280
A cuddle or a cold shoulder
It’s a serenade or a shouting match,
Don’t matter if you’re young or older
It’s a walk in the park or a natural disaster
Ecstasy or woe
It really depends on what you’re after
It’s your show

marriageumbrella-768541_1280_FotorYou can work as a team or against each other
You can build up or pick apart
You can bear a burden or be a burden
It’s about what’s in your heart

You can forgive or hold a grudgemarriageheartsickness-428103_1280_Fotor
You can let it pass or complain
You can show respect or criticize
It’s how you play the game

Marriage is a dream or a nightmare
A tall tree or a worthless weed
You’ve got to nurture what you plant to see your love succeed
marriagelove-2055372_1280It’s a work of art or a piece of trash
Juicy fruit or a cold, hard pit
But of all the things that marriage is
It’s what you make of it
Show love, work hard, hold fast, have hope
It’s what you make of it 😀

 

Author’s Note: In two days, I celebrate my 26th wedding anniversary. My husband and I dated for six years before this, so we’ve been committed to each other for 31 years. Married life is a blessing. 🙂

Complete the experience. Listen to Stephen Curtis Chapman’s Together.

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. 🙂

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With Rest Like This

I recently had a visit from the relatives. I don’t know how it’s for you, but I find it exhausting. It was fun, but it’s like eating too much–after awhile you start to feel sick. They left on Monday. It’s Thursday and I’m still recovering. There’s something wrong when a person has to recover from a holiday. We took our kids to Disneyland, Universal Studios, Sea World, and the San Diego Zoo this year. We did it in seven days. It was busy. All along the way, we were dazzled by creativity and enchanted by the magic of rest2make believe. We made some happy memories and I’m glad we took the trip, but I noticed the attractions begin to repel quickly. The noise-level, flashing lights, bright colors, and crowds of sweaty tourists are over-stimulating and that’s an understatement. There’s a lot of standing in line, straining to see, listening to whining and crying (I couldn’t help myself), interspersed with snippets of glee, spontaneous “oohs” and “ahhs”, and a year’s supply of french fries. We waited two hours to find Nemo and my daughter said when she found him, she would slap him. The cheery attendant standing nearby was horrified. Three days at the Magic Kingdom and we were sprinting for the drawbridge. We started using it as a disciplinary tool.

“I told you to stop it. Don’t make me take you back there.”

By the time we hit Sea World, we were so glad they had animals to look at. Our insides were scrambled. What is it with the ride thing, anyway? Are our lives so boring that we need to fly around at top speed in the equivalent of a gigantic blender to feel something? As an aside, don’t you find that many tourist attractions fail to live up to their advertising? rest3Those listed above are certainly the exceptions. We went to a corn maze once. The write up said it would be “fun for the whole family”. It seemed overpriced and the cashier gave us a discount, saying it wasn’t quite finished and she didn’t feel right about charging us the full amount. The maze was covered in jagged wood chips that stuck to my kid’s socks and gave them splinters. The train ride lasted about a minute as we chugged around a smelly slew. The budget ghost town was populated by what looked like corpses, dried-up, rotten, apple core faces with naked, bony hands and feet. Maggots would have been appropriate. Some of the scenes were so gruesome, I had to shield my children’s eyes. Talk about your creepy rip-off!

My favorite part of our California adventure was visiting the beach. We took the whole day. We chose a lonely stretch of ocean. The weather was mild and the sun was shining. The water was cold, but it was so blue it almost blended with the sky. The sound of the rest4waves keeping time caressed my bombed-out senses from their catatonic state. We spread out the towels. We set up the snacks. We laughed at my husband for once again buying yet another bag of inedible, chile and lime styrofoam that no one would help him eat. My oldest daughter shrieked and giggled as she chased the water in and out. My son dug deep, covering himself in the warm, wet sand. My youngest girlie collected shells with her daddy. I walked along the shore, relishing a few moments alone. We talked and rested. We could have used a few more days like that–the kind of day that makes your heart ache in a good way.

When we take a vacation, is it not because we’ve worked hard and need a break? Why do we work at our play and rest? Are we doomed to toil in everything we do? I believe part of the reason is the “get all you can out of life” mentality that’s so prevalent in our society today. There’s an urgency to this way of thinking that keeps us running. A person must see and do everything before she dies even if she ends up in a hospital with her left eye twitching, half her hair pulled out, and a draft whistling up her tuchus. All this go, go, going is enough to make us all sick, sick, sick.

I’m determined to put off the drab hospital gown indefinitely. There is wisdom in knowing your limits and they’re different for everyone. My life may not be as exciting as a travel blogger’s, but it’s a good one and I want to live it with a healthy mind and body. I’m thinking the key is to slow down in my down time so that when I return to work, I’m refreshed and ready to pick up where I left off.beach2764081_1280

I’m dreaming of the ideal holiday. Visit an interesting place. No racing from one attraction to another. No schedule. Discover as you go. Stop when you’re curiosity is aroused, not when the tour book tells you to. No guilt if you decide to take a pass. Have fun, but remember that too much tickling can be tiring. Eat good food. Take naps and walks. Be with the ones you love. Leave the work at work.

Author’s note: This piece was written when my children were small. It seemed appropriate to post it as I embark on a holiday. There is no post scheduled for next week. I hope to see you back here on July 9. Grace and peace, friends! 🙂

Complete the experience. Listen to Stephen Curtis Chapman’s Land of Opportunity.

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. 🙂

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To Clean or not to Clean

A messy person spends countless hours swearing, searching for her keys, glasses, important papers, etc.cleaningswearing-294391__480
A clean person puts things in the same place every time. Therefore, she always knows where things are and has more free time to color code her sock drawer.
A messy person wears whatever crawls up to her bed in the morning.
A clean person’s clothes are always freshly laundered, pressed, and laid out neatly the night before. A wrinkle or stain can cause psychosis.
A messy person eats fruit over the sink, cold pizza straight from the fridge, and TV dinners in front of the tube.cleaningelegant-tableware-1431790__480
A clean person will only eat at the table with a full place setting, decorative table linens, and music to aid digestion.
A messy person lounges in the living room eating and drinking. Her couch has the equivalent of a bag of chips and three day’s bus fare under the cushions.
A clean person covers her couch with a tasteful throw and no one, and I mean NO ONE, is allowed to sit on it.
A messy person hacks and coughs, as she writes love notes and funny sayings in the dust on her furniture.
A clean person polishes her furniture until it shines and she can stare at her perfectly coiffed reflection from across the room.
A messy person’s bed looks exactly the way it did when she rolled out of it.cleaningunmadebed3330870850_39bd7af674_z
A clean person’s bed looks like a catalogue advertisement
A messy person moves her piles around to accommodate guests.
A clean person has a guestroom complete with scented candles, designer bedding, and travel-sized toiletries, all the comforts of Martha Stewart’s home.
A messy person looks out the window and notices the sunshine, the blue sky, and the birds flitting from tree to tree. She winds up wondering why everything looks so blurry.
A clean person never gets past the smudges and streaks on the window. After conducting IMG_7444_Fotora thorough cleaning, she steps back to survey her handiwork and notices the drapes need to be vacuumed.
A messy person’s pad smells like Parmesan cheese, dirty socks, and flatulence.
A clean person’s living quarter’s smells like fresh lemons, ocean breezes, or country meadows, depending on her mood and chemical preference that day.
A messy person is spontaneous, carefree, and relaxed. She makes the world more fun.
A clean person is organized, careful, and accomplished. She makes the world more beautiful.
Which one are you?
The world needs us both. 🙂

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. 🙂

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In Your Face

Your story needs to be told and you’re the only one capable. Speak up!

Adolescence was a predominantly unhappy time for me. I existed a number of years in a fog of depression which I was convinced could be remedied by ingesting copious crookedteeth-3348516_12802amounts of chocolate. I was pudgy, Pudgy Polly. My ability to smile and laugh without self-consciousness was hampered by my protruding front teeth. I had a number of peers ask me why I always looked like I was preparing to blow a bubble. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t easy for me to close my mouth. I had to stretch my lips down over those sandwich boards.  I spent my teenage years hiding behind my hands. (See pictures of me as a teenager here.) On top of all this, my family moved regularly. I was often the new kid. Being teased became a way of life and I was bullied a couple of times. I usually had one friend, but I was a serious loner.

I loved to ride my bike. I rode around for hours at a time. It was my way of feeling good.
Continue reading “In Your Face”

Mushy, Gushy Spider

I don’t like spiders. I don’t care that they eat mosquitoes. I can kill my own mosquitoes. spider-452489_1280It’s their appearance that makes me half close an eye and shudder. I can’t even look at pictures without convulsing. They’re hideous from afar. Their supreme ugliness is comparable to the most beautiful flower. I don’t discriminate either; the hairy, hand-like Tarantula, the gawky Daddy Long Legs, the infamous, poisonous, big-bellied Black Widow, the nameless house spider with the chunky body and appendages that looks like it does steroids, the little one that jumps at you when you go in for the kill, I hate them all.
Continue reading “Mushy, Gushy Spider”

Standing in the Storm

When most people think of Canada, they think of cold, ice, and snow. We specialize in winter up here. The province of British Columbia has milder temperatures the further south you go, but Canada is largely a chilly place for a substantial part of the year. I’mblizzard-91898_12802 from Alberta and winter can last close to six months with dumps of snow recorded even in the summertime.
Continue reading “Standing in the Storm”

The Gift of a Giggle

Salty patient without a filter, grabbing my flab, as I leaned over her to adjust her pillow: “I see you’ve got your winter tires on.”

Me: “They’re all season.” 😀

 

Author’s Note: This was written when I worked as a health care aide on the geriatric wing of the local hospital.

The other day, my daughter and I made pizza together. I bought some pizza dough in a tube which, as I’m writing this, sounds gross, but what are you going to do, if you’re not a domestic goddess? We started well in advance of when we needed to be done. We read the directions, popped the tube, and Rose went to work rolling out the dough. Only, it didn’t roll out. While I grated cheese, I watched her grapple with it, her frustration increasing with every pound of her delicate fists. I figured it needed a little more muscle. anniversary2I put the big guns to work. I kneaded, pressed, and patted it. I massaged it with all the pizza love I had in me and, if you’ve seen my wedding cake, you know I have some formidable pizza love. It remained on the cutting board, a cold, unyielding lump the color of death. Even the rolling pin hardly put a dent in it. Meanwhile, the time was fast approaching when my big husband would bound through the door, growling like a hungry bear. I began to get desperate and a bit silly with exhaustion. Why not? I thought to myself. Nothing else I’ve tried has worked. I whipped that inflexible blob into the air, tossing it just like I’d seen elderly, Italian gentlemen with moustachios do it. I whooped and hooted and tossed, delirious, insane, no longer caring about the time or that what I was doing was making no difference in the dough at all. The difference it made was in me. It released the tension I was feeling. It melted away the frustration.
Continue reading “The Gift of a Giggle”

Burn Away the Dross

Sometimes I wish I could pack up my feelings

Especially the ugly, hurtful ones

That scour my soul and leave me winded, raw, and wounded

I’d thrust them into the deepest trunkchest

And grunt and sweat to force their bulk

Into a forgotten place

I’d bury them under every meaningless piece of trash

I can’t bring myself to get rid of

 

headache-2058476_1280Sometimes I wish I could pinpoint those moments

The person, the voice, the scent that lingers

The triggers that slap my face and send me reeling

Pummeling me with those awful feelings

Those ugly, hurtful, persistent feelings

That scour my soul and leave me winded, raw, and wounded

I’d stay run away, move away, stay away if I had to

 

Sometimes I wish I could close up my being

And throw up a wall around my heart

To block the triggers, those stupid signals

That bring up the pain of those ugly, hurtful, persistent feelingsheart-1463424_1280

That scour my soul and leave me winded, raw, and wounded

But I simply cannot do it

Cannot lay down in the bitter cold

Cannot close up and get hard and old inside

So I writhe

In the flames

Alive and open

Complete the experience. Listen to for King & Country’s It’s not Over Yet.

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. 🙂

Here’s to the Great Sorter in the Sky

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

 

My son, like many other boys his age, loved to play with Lego. His imagination soared as he created all manner of scenes, structures, and creatures. One Mother’s Day, I even received a clever, Lego cake!legocake_Fotor

At one point, he began the daunting task of sorting his Lego. He made this decision, because it took too long to locate the particular piece he needed. Having obtained a load of it at a garage sale, I watched him patiently sorting through it for days.

One afternoon, I was helping him, while his younger sister looked on.

“Why are you helping him sort his Lego, Mummy?” she asked.

Without hesitation, I replied, “Because I love him”.

In the silence that followed, I had a moment of gratitude for the love of God
and His willingness to help me sort out so much more than just my Lego.

 

Complete the experience. Listen to Audrey Assad’s “Good to Me”. 

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. 🙂