–Cold Spring, Lawrence Raab

read the full poem here

Is it just me or do these crocuses look like they are praising God?

]]> http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/28/thursday-thanks-4-crocuses/feed/ 0 bleamer IMG_3153 IMG_3058 IMG_3078 IMG_3140 IMG_3157 IMG_3107 http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/19/thursday-thanks-3-coffee/ http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/19/thursday-thanks-3-coffee/#comments Fri, 19 Mar 2010 04:08:40 +0000 bleamer http://bleamer.wordpress.com/?p=158 ]]> There’s not much Thursday left…but here’s to coffee! Coffee warms my soul, and inspires me.

Coffee Shop Conversation

by Lauren Bleam

 

“All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full.” –Eccl. 1:7

 

I have coffee, you have tea.

All streams flow into the sea.

Knees jostle under the table,

yet the sea is never full.

 

You say nothing comes free,

as I ask you to pass the brie.

You are caught up in your own navel,

yet the sea is never full.

 

There is much we need to be—

our talk comes to null.

All streams flow into the sea,

yet the sea is never full.

 

]]> http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/19/thursday-thanks-3-coffee/feed/ 0 bleamer IMG_3044 IMG_0053_1 IMG_2349_1 IMG_0368_1 http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/17/metamorphosis-3/ http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/17/metamorphosis-3/#comments Wed, 17 Mar 2010 22:35:18 +0000 bleamer http://bleamer.wordpress.com/?p=142 ]]>     She learned to swing her lips, hands on hips, skinny jeans clinging like a prayer. Her fingernails, smooth as snail shell, darted through hair antennae. She wished for wings,   watched monarchs open and close wings that brushed like lips. She saw grass grow like antennae shooting from the ground, skinny rain falling on eggshells like prayer.   You asked if she prayed. She tossed her hands like wings, kissed your eye shells. Your fingertips grazed her lip, felt her skinny fresh waist, like antennae.   You kissed her ten eyes like each was a prayer, brushed the side of her skinny nose. You woke up full of wings, the sweeping lips of morning dissolving into shell-   colored clouds. A small girl collects shells on the wind, discarded antennae. She is learning to lick her lips like her mother, the purse before a prayer, to imagine the wings that will fill her skinny.   The moment is skinny, emaciated. The lost shell of her ear is winging away. Eyelash antennae reach out and up like prayers to touch the rim of sky lips.   Flying lips leave you skinny-hearted, collecting prayers in shells, whispering butterflies: all antenna and wing.
]]> http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/17/metamorphosis-3/feed/ 0 bleamer http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/11/thursday-thanks-2-sunlight/ http://bleamer.wordpress.com/2010/03/11/thursday-thanks-2-sunlight/#comments Thu, 11 Mar 2010 14:37:12 +0000 bleamer http://bleamer.wordpress.com/?p=82 ]]> This week SpRiNg suddenly burst forth! I have been listening to “Snow Is Gone” by Josh Ritter in wishful thinking for awhile now…but now the snow is FINALLY (almost) gone. I appreciate the sunlight so much more now, and can barely get enough of it.

“hello blackbird hello starling/ winter’s over be my darling/it’s been a long time coming/ but now the snow is gone”

fall leaves, melted snow, spring sunlight

even the trash cans look dressed up

LIGHT

is truly incredible in its power to make   something   come alive–or even someone. This week I have noticed a difference in the moods of almost everyone: more smiles, less  furrowed brows. Then just a little thought: if  light has that much of an effect on our  physical appearance, what could it do to our  hearts?

“For God, who said, ‘Let there be light in the  darkness,’ has made this light shine in our  hearts so we could know the glory of God  that is seen in the face of Jesus Christ.”

– 2 Cor. 4:6

Today is my mom’s birthday, so this is a list of all the things I love about her.

my momsicle

54 Things I Love About My Mom:

1. Her hands—so lovely and delicate with such long fingernails! I used to admire them when I was little and wonder how I would ever get mine that long.
2. When it snowed, she would help us mix maple syrup and snow for a delicious treat!
3. When it snowed, she turned on the tape recorder and had my brother and I talk, sing and laugh just so we could listen to it later and remember.
4. She told us stories about a little girl named Katie and her six-foot-tall Rabbit named Charlie.
5. She read us books and encouraged a love of reading.
6. She kept all of her old dance costumes and let us use them for dress-up with our friends constantly…everything from elegant dance costumes to snazzy gold vests.
7. She filmed movies of my brother and I for special occasions and let us be silly. She let us have several takes and encouraged us to dress up!
8. She reads my poems and acquired a love of poetry through my interest.
9. She is the best listener in the world. She will listen to me ramble about nothing for hours and still be gracious and helpful at the end.
10. She is a great cook and delights in creating beautiful, delicious meals.
11. She is a life-long learner, and continually curious.
12. She became a writer halfway through her life!
13. She is ambitious and a dreamer.
14. She is perseverant and follows through in working on her book.
15. She buys me 7-Up when I am sick.
16. She suggests the perfect little thing to make you feel better when you are sad: ice cream at Arches, mint tea, old movies
17. She loves the Lord with her whole heart and has taught me to be passionate about Him about all else.
18. She is perseverant and wakes up at 5 to meet with God and pray.
19. She sends me perfect Bible verses for my situation in life.
20. She is so dedicated in prayer and sometimes I can literally feel her prayers. I can tell she is praying for me by the way things work out in my life.
21. She brought in her guitar and played songs for me in the hospital.
22. She is optimistic and almost always sees a bright side to any situation,
23. When I was in the hospital, she made fun out of anything. We used the hospital blankets and tables as tents and acted out scenes with beanie babies. We made a 5-ft working straw by taping several together. We made glasses out of pipe cleaners.
24. She named my IV pole Gertrude.
25. She papered my hospital room with verses about healing.
26. Her heart is extremely brave.
27. Her favorite colors are yellow and red because they are bright and hopeful.
28. She has recently started pursuing her love of bird watching and keeps a pair of binoculars and a bird book in a drawer in our kitchen.
29. She and I named the white butterfly “Pace” that lingered around our kitchen window all last summer.
30. She cooks meals for people in need.
31. She is a prayer warrior and is constantly seeking out opportunities to pray for people who are hurting.
32. She looks for opportunities to help our neighbors, especially those that are sick, lonely, or in need.
33. She is artistic, and has a beautiful, delicate and subtle style. Her artwork looks “free” and expressive. She watercolors and makes card collages with me!
34. She always looks at items in stores and says, “You could make that.”
35. Every year at Thanksgiving, we make Mrs. Turkey together…a basket shaped like a turkey. We collect leaves, flowers, and natural materials and decorate her differently every year. My mom never forgets.
36. When my brother and I were little, she took us on “mystery trips.” She would put us in the car and not let us know where we were going. We ended up everywhere from the Stanton skate park to the Natural Bridge.
37. When I was younger, she took me out every Monday morning for breakfast, and allowed me to get my favorite strawberry-frosted donut with sprinkles.
38. She told me God always says “yes” or “something better.”
39. She has a heart for the weak, and this has enabled her to make immense differences in her students’ lives. She helped a little girl find her voice, and a boy to feel more accepted. There are so many more stories. Wonderful teacher.
40. She encourages me to follow my dreams and believes in me. She is supportive in all my ventures.
41. Her favorite flower is lemon-yellow daylilies.
42. She is reflective and does not take life for granted.
43. She has a beautiful petite face (which she of course passed on to my brother…J)
44. She tries to understand the things I love (even if she doesn’t love them.)
45. She looks lovely in little black dresses.
46. Every time she sees an ambulance go by, she prays for the people inside.
47. She taught us to pray about the little things (like traffic stopping so we could cross the street on walks.)
48. She dressed up as Jasmine for my Aladdin-themed birthday party.
49. She won the tackiest teacher award on tacky day. Can laugh at herself.
50. She is silly, and can giggle with me.
51. I can’t remember ever doubting that she loved me.
52. She loves it when the family is together and plans things to bring us together as well as challenge us in service (like cooking for homeless women, or delivering presents for kids whose parents are in prison.)
53. She leads Bible Study for my friends and me every summer that we are home.
54. She allows God to be strong in her weakness and to reveal Himself to her   through struggle. She is humble and kind, and willing to endure much for the Lord. She is passionate and gentle, silly and serious, whimsical and     practical, ambitious and realistic. She lives a life of love.

I saw a red Bible

on the seat

as we drove away.

At the hospital,

my mom papered the walls

with verses.  He forgives

all my sins and heals all

my diseases.

When I woke up

I tried to make my central line

stretch to the Bible

on the window shelf.

It started to feed me.

I made a patch: God is good

and He will heal me.

I drew pictures of Jesus

carrying me, his arms

around my weakness,

my all-white dress.

One day I couldn’t breathe.

Doctors and nurses swarmed

around me. I panicked,

then calmed in a sphere of quiet.

When I am afraid,

I will put my trust in Thee.

Quickly breath came back,

even and smooth.

When Mark’s mom,

drenched with doubt,

asked me Why? I said

God gave me this

because I’m special.

In the end, we sat in the dark

at a John McCutcheon concert,

listening. Hallelujah,

the great storm is over,

lift up your wings and fly.

Why did I get to fly,

when I watched babies die?

Some slipped quickly,

others faded slowly into night.

My friend smiled at me,

You’re special,

He saved you twice.

Mostly I can’t believe

that I am worth

the saving. Others died.

I live. Why?

I can only look around, wide-eyed.

When I watch sunsets

I drink God.

When I breathe,

the air is full of light.

heads ached

that summer

blood read deadly

puking  praying

for a year

nowhere was home

lost clothes

hair fell away

in wisps

in the mirror

blank reality stared

grocery store shoppers

peered behind carts

friends touched me softly

a china doll

what if I break

what if flowers

stay always

at my bedside

She eavesdropped on our conversations,

sneaking looks at us behind

her bags of saline and blood.

The bed groaned

as I raised it up and down.

I made it go completely flat,

fold me in two.

Sometimes I tossed all night.

The table glided over, laying its

flat surface out like an open hand.

We raised it high, covered it with a blanket,

shined a flashlight inside.

The chairs sat, soft and mute

like dumb-founded visitors,

having too much to say

and nothing to say.

The window was raw and sorry,

open like a cut. It wished it could cover

itself with blinds, instead of exposing

a different life.

The mirror was honest,

kept its cool.

I avoided it for days.

When I finally faced it,

it told me quietly

that the thin white face was mine.