For My Cowgirl

Another repost poem. Happy birthday, Pencil Princess!

The picture on the post is Lilli wearing my dad’s old straw cowboy hat.


Before I had a girl,
I thought she’d steal my husband’s heart.
I was scared of sharing,
Expecting battle from the start.

What I didn’t know
Is that she stole my heart instead.
I wanted Dad to heap
Love and kisses on her head.

My daughter is my strength.
She’s taught me more than I could teach.
She’s my tough defender
When I’m sick or sad or weak.

She’s my will, she’s my power.
She’s my endless, eternal drive.
She’s the reason I get up.
She’s the reason I’m still alive.

Before I had a girl,
I didn’t understand
How much I’d love another girl.
I’m her biggest fan.


Love you, Cowgirl.

Advertisements

Sister

This is a repost of a poem for my daughter on her birthday tomorrow!
Happy 15, baby!


I wish I had a sister.
I have two of my own.
But they were always busy.
I was growing up alone.

I wish I had a sister
Who took the time to teach
How to love myself,
How to aim beyond my reach.

Or even how to brush my hair,
Set makeup on my cheek.
I wish I had a sister
Not a rival, so to speak.

I wish I had a sister.
One that loved being my friend.
I wish I had a sister.
Someone to count on ’til the end.

Someone to value me.
Someone to hold me close.
Someone to pull me up and in.
Someone who let their feelings show.

A woman to show the way.
A friend to hold my hand.
A person who deeply cared.
Someone to understand.

I never had a sister
Until I finally went through birth.
My daughter is all I could ever want,
Best sister on this earth.

Patched-up Monster

Run my fingers along these stitches
My slick, sick skin in pale, pink patches
Red scars, dark dreams and seams
Snagged-up tissue in small light catches

If I’m a patched-up monster
Then what does that make you?
You are my creator
Working in sin and sinew

I acknowledge my birth and life
But I wish you wouldn’t have bothered
Especially when you hate
That which you have fathered

I pity us, this reckless wreck
Wreaking wrong, prescribing pain
Spent my life to break your neck
On the hope of a rope in ending insane

You meant to make me perfect
But don’t know what you’re doing
You played around with delicate parts
Left this bloody monster in ruin

I survive, pieced from scraps
Forgotten flesh upon the floor
You die of loneliness
But I live to rise once more

Blank Page

When the world sharpens me to a
fighting, biting, writing point
.
You are the velvet, toothy paper on which I wrestle.

The soft place that stores my hurt and heart.

I’m sorry.
Thank you.

You never tear.
Even with my harsh words and unrestrained pain.

Your blank page is a fluffy-white cloud of kindness and medicine.

Good Advice

Some of the best advice I ever heard was indirectly. That’s the best kind. Simply an illustration, manifestation, of good sense. Or proverbial wisdom. Sharing an overlooked or misunderstood or obscure nugget without harsh or pointed intent.

It came through our friends, Richard and Tracy Potter. Haven’t seen or talked to them in quite a while. I hope Richard sees this and nods.

Their child had a tough choice. A good, tough choice. Go to a local prestigious university or halfway across state? The child was bright, talented and earned her way to either school. The differences in benefits of each school were minute. It was pretty much an equal choice aside from distance. So they asked this incredibly bright child, with no other information to weigh, “Which choice will make you more dependent on God?”

Woah.

I didn’t even think to ask that. My question would have been, “Which one’s easier?” My question for my daughter? No question. You’re living with Mommie until you’re 37. LOL

But this is the question, the one they asked of their girl, we should be asking of our children, of our spouses, our family, ourselves. What choice is going to make me focus on God the most?

I have to say, I feel somewhat guilty, leaving on a missions trip. I’m going to help others, but those motherly/wifey twinges of paranoia-guilt tug at my emotional heart. Will they survive without me? Will things, bodies, hearts be the same when I come back in two weeks? Will they feel forsaken?

But when I ask the Potters’ question, “What will make us depend most on God?” Going to Israel will bring all of us to the foot of the cross. Lilli will have to pray more. Guy will have to ask for help. They will have to seek each other for comfort and necessity. I will be completely alone emotionally and have to turn to God through all of it. That’s a good place to be.

I’m sure our family does much codepending all too often. We can’t help it. We like each other.

So I guess going is okay. I don’t have to feel guilty. I just have to trust God. And talk to him. Lift my family up to him. Make room to grow.


Good news! I’m going! I reached my immediate goal of $500 and then some. Thanks to all who helped. Now I will tackle those big Venetian fish and ask local churches if they have any discretionary mission funds. Pray, if you’re the praying kind. 😉 Or give if you can.

The Kindness of Karen

Karen. Aunt Karen. She’s not even my aunt by blood, but I think of her as family. I’ve only known her for just over a year. She’s one of the nicest women I’ve ever met. Gentle, kind, a manifestation of the Holy Spirit for sure. She was my husband’s saving grace when he was a child.

My husband grew up in a strange home. Don’t we all.

He lost his parents when he was very young. His mother died when he was still an infant and his father died when he was a toddler, too young to even form a memory of his face. He was orphaned.

He was raised by his paternal grandparents. His Uncle Guy and Aunt Karen were there for those formative years as well, living just next door.

I’ve known Karen for years, without the benefit of meeting her in person, because my husband described her so vividly. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel of mercy in a chaotic world. A calming influence on an energetic boy. He would tell me about her rubbing his back for naptime. (He still likes to have his back rubbed. Who doesn’t?) He was certainly enamored with his Aunt Karen.

He talked about how Aunt Karen could show discipline, not humiliation, in behavior correction. His grandmother and uncle often resorted to yelling and intimidation. But Karen. She was different.

Karen was the mother he needed. Tender. Patient. Feminine. She was the female ideal. The compassion he required as an extremely sensitive child. A soft place to land.

I finally met Karen just over a year ago. She was so warm and welcoming. Immediate hugs and she accepted me totally from the first moment. She was every bit of the angel Guy recalled to me. Karen has a generous spirit. She always asks questions and she lavished our daughter with so much attention.

She lives in Colorado, so we don’t get to see her much, but we have Facebook (thank God) and she’s so supportive of my blog. Thank you, Karen!

Aunt Karen just made the first donation for my trip. An extremely generous one. Thank you for believing in me and this journey.

I truly appreciate your kindness, generosity and the immediate acceptance as a member of your family. I’m just sorry we hadn’t met until just over a year ago. You’re a beautiful person. Inside and out. You changed my husband’s life and offered him grace when he absolutely needed it. You saved him from a harsh life just by being kind and showing him nice people exist. Thank you for my husband. Thank you for the kindness you showed him. Thank you for being a mother to him, even if for a short time. It stayed with him all through the years. You ARE an angel. I know he thinks that, too. xoxo

Gimme My Money!

What do you do if someone owes you money?


I loaned someone money and they said they would pay me back as soon as they got their check. Well, they never did. That was over a year ago.

At the time, we had plenty of money and I let the debt go. I figured they didn’t have it, needed more time, or simply forgot. I also figured, they would remember and catch me when it was a better time. Should it stay forgotten?

This person is forgetful, scatter-brained and usually busy in their own small world. Consumed with personal thoughts and easily distracted. Do I ask for the money, offer a reminder, or let it go?

This person just received a sum of money and I’m currently in need. (Feel free to donate to my trip fund for my upcoming mission trip if you have any extra income. LOL) Is it petty to ask for the money now?

How would you handle, or how have you handled, situations like this in the past? Would love to hear your comments for my readers! Even my daughter said she would be interested in the answers because she has been offering commissions and people sometimes forget to pay!

I hate talking about money!!! LOL

Stars

The beginning of an old short story from my 20s. Never finished. But I still like some of the ideas. Simply archiving! It’s so old it was hand-written! lol


She lingered in the plush blades of grass that curled around her plump toes. Standing in her nighgown, she wondered at the evening sky. Arms limp. Relaxed jaw. Deep breath. The young woman found two particular stars completely interesting.

One of the heavenly bodies shivered incessantly on the deep, cold black expanse that marked the top half of the sky, flickering in and out of consciousness. Then, the other was nestled in the warmth of its own glow. White and constant, it shone brightly in the plum ether that split the black sky from the earth.

The two suns were seemingly inches apart, but in reality, worlds away from one another. Not unlike she and her husband. She shivered as she woke from her meditative trance.

Michael called from the porch. “Sara, come in now.”

As she crossed the threshold of their sterile country home, Michael asserted, “You’ll catch cold.” Michael threw a blanket around her shoulders.

“Thanks.” Sara managed a smile without looking into his eyes.

Silently, they climbed to their bedroom. Upstairs, in their average, comfortable bed, Michael slept as Sara laid awake, remembering the stars.

Most of the time, she felt like the weaker star. Finding it difficult to shine all the time. It was hard to summon light within herself. She felt the encompassing darkness surrounding her. Enveloping her. Swallowing her. Drinking in her life. Sara viewed herself as a fool because she had no control over the dark. It would creep into her mind and she assumed that she allowed that. It rose and set like the moon, involuntarily. Unstoppable. Phasing like a dead planet composed of ash.


Not bad for a 20-something? When the internet did not exist. LOL

Conclusions

You draw conclusions
Like ragged curtains
Assume that I feel
Pain that is real
Un-hidden in the place
Where hurt lands

But I’m injured inside
Bruises subside
Too deep to detect it
No surface affected
Clues coincide
Chaos will abide

Down to the core
Heart of the sore
Poison pill, weakened will
Infected ill, quivering quill
You kill me with your words
I rocket to the ground like gunned-down birds

Everything you say
Is trapped inside my brain
I try to let it go
But you race to reload
I will say thanks to you
Now that I’m dead, I’m bulletproof

Love Letter

A note I wrote  my hubby for our anniversary a few years ago (sensual, not sexual):

To Guy:

I love to touch you in the morning
Our bodies soft and warm from the blankets
I run my fingers over your chest and jaw
I stare at your round, red lips
You are beautiful
I am so thankful for your body and heart
Which save me over and over from desperate loneliness and desire
I love you
You are special
Thank you for saving me
I thank God your mine
Happy Anniversary #16

Love, Martha


I am lucky to have known love so completely. Unconditionally. So faithfully. I don’t take it for granted. Coming up on 20 years!


If I were to live a thousand years,
I would belong to you for all of them.
If I were to live a thousand lives,
I would want to make you mine in each one.

–Michelle Hodkin, The Evolution of Mara Dye