Wednesday, February 20, 2013

The Ties That Bind

They say there is a tie that binds
Beyond all distance and all time
Weaving through our hearts and minds
Keeping love through pain that blinds

When choices separate our lives
When hopes and dreams aren’t realized
When truth is lost to desperate lies
And faith becomes a hopeless cry

The ties can fray and even break
They cannot stand beneath the weight
Unless three strands are used to make
A cord unbreakable joined by faith

Through anger, bitterness and fear
The comforts of His strength appear
To heal our hearts and draw us near
                Bound by His faithful love so dear

Monday, February 11, 2013

The Imagination Tree

The Catalpa Speciosa, otherwise known as a Cigar tree, that stood in our front yard was not a very pretty tree.  It was tall and wide with crooked branches that grew more up than out.  The leaves were three times the size of oak or maple leaves and shaped like rounded arrowheads. We couldn’t climb it because the lowest branches were far above our heads so most of the time its only purpose seemed to be to hold up floodlights for the fisherman.  But twice a year all that changed and it became the best tree in the yard.
Because it stood so tall sometimes we didn’t even notice the white flowers until they began to fall to the grass from large clusters partially hidden by the leaves. If they fell without the help of wind or rain they would cover the whole front yard like a fluffy carpet.  Each one was shaped like a small cup just big enough to fit over the tip of your finger with a beautiful ruffle around the top.  We never grew tired of putting one on each finger like fanciful gloves or stringing them together like Hawaiian leis. They turned brown quickly once they fell and we could only enjoy them for a few days so they always seemed special.
Toward the end of summer if you looked up into the branches you could see long green seed pods hanging where the flower clusters had been.  Some were more than a foot long and as fat as our thumbs.  When they began to turn brown they started to fall and then the real fun began.  They became swords, firewood on a deserted island, cigars at the general store, arrows for the Indians and whatever else we could imagine.  We spent hours playing in the shade of that big tree until the colorful oak and maple leaves stole our attention and we found new adventure jumping into the large piles of raked leaves.  We moved from one season of play to another, from snowman to mud pies until one day in late spring a ruffled white flower dropped at our feet and we were drawn back to the imagination tree.

Saturday, February 9, 2013

What If

What if we considered the times that we learned
Hard lessons of truth that led us to turn

What if our compassion could see through our pain
Seeking only for healing and not just to blame

What if we admit that hopelessness thrives
In anger and bitterness and love that’s denied

                What if we accepted by grace we are saved
                And in grateful  humility, what if we forgave

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

On a Clear Day You Can Drive Forever Or What Exit, I Didn't See an Exit!

                I have always loved road trips, even family vacations in an overloaded Suburban with 3 kids and 2 dogs.  As travel goes it is not the fastest, cheapest or even the most comfortable method but is almost always an adventure.
                It is relaxing and exciting at the same time.  One minute you are admiring the scenery and the next following a detour through tiny towns that seem frozen in time.  Even getting lost can be the highlight of a trip when you discover places and attractions that you never knew existed.  And yes, I even stop at historical markers.
The unusual names of the roads, towns and rivers that I pass always spark my imagination.  I invent my own scenarios about how they got their names based on what I know of the history and culture of the area. On a recent trip to North Carolina it was near the end of my driving day when I caught the name of a river out of the corner of my eye. I must have been tired because I thought it said the “French Bread River”.  Before long I had invented an elaborate tale about loaves of bread being used to smuggle information across the river to General Lee.
 Sometime later I saw another sign noting the “South Branch of the French Broad River”.  Feeling rather foolish I realized my mistake.  It wasn’t bread it was broad.  Laughing at my original scenario I told myself to reign in my imagination and get off the road for the night.
How silly to think that they would name a river after loaves of bread.  Tomorrow, I thought, I will try to imagine who the French Broad was that inspired the name.