In A Field

We are saying good-bye. Packing up our little family. Putting familiar things into cardboard boxes. Sealing them shut with nasty packing tape. Dreading the thought of tearing through that plastic frustration to get our stuff out again. Our life is a bit upside down. The house looks like it's been ransacked by a clumsy burglar who was uncertain of what he should take and what he should leave. Odd combinations of things sit in a pile waiting to be put in a proper place. Normal household chores have been put on hold while we wade through the disjointed contents of our homey house. This saying good bye is somewhat easy in the grand scheme of things. We have control over our going. We get to choose where we'll live, what schools our children will attend, what side of town we'll live on. We can even decide what furniture gets to come with us and what item will be written up in a hastily posted ad on kijiji. We get to leave as a family. Our physical home displaced, if only ...

Pen on the page.  Spelling out details of a life in words.  Pain, endurance, joy and faith mingled together to form life from clay.  I am alive when I write.  You have compelled me to express that which I cannot contain.  Words spring to life.  Lining up in verse and prose.  Molding into something indentifiable and good. My hand cannot keep up to the thoughts popping into my mind.  I scurry to write, afraid I will be too late in getting them pinpointed in black and white. I've written a thousand novels and works of literature.  Tales of secrets I'd rather not share.  Broken promises and regrets.  I tend not to linger here, afraid to give too much time to those things I have let fall behind.  But I know it's only because of these things that I can truly see the value of the Good, the Blessing and the Hope. ~*~ As long as I can remember I have journalled.  When I was in grade 7 I kept a detailed one of ...