Holding Hands

A simple love.
Our chairs pushed together so we can watch the game.
Holding hands.
Because we've been pushing through some hard walls lately.
And it comes again to this.
Just that love keeps showing up.
Believing all things.
Hoping unto death.
My shoulders and me.
Bond servants of Jesus Christ.
Walking this strange, strange land.

Holding hands,

Bernadette

A Thanks

For the way little girl loves her big sister and looks up high to see her face.
The sound of my soldier son's voice on the other end of the line.
The Holy Road.
My Shoulders and I pouring into each other after a day of pouring out.
The sanctuary of the marriage bed, and the One Who made it.
His laugh lines.
Our home full of children.
A blue sky.
Working our way through character issues.
Hammering pride.
Life weaving something beautiful anyhow.
The way Wendy says "anyhow."
Learning to shut up and pray.
And pray and pray.
The "Brave Girl" painting.  (www.kellyraeroberts.com)
Dr. Maurer and another turn around for my back. (www.maurerchiro.com)
The love of Jesus.
The blood of Christ.
That nothing can separate us.

Nothing,

Bernadette

Word Up

We are memorizing John Chapter One.
(And each other.)
Beneath the sheets at night.
After a day of miscommunication.
A bit of hurt.
We scramble to learn God.
His will, His plan, His love for us.
How to follow Him.
So often side tracked.
And I whisper deep into his shoulders.
That I am not a good steward of my time.
That it slips away from me.
Unknown.
Like the tears that slip down cheeks.
Red.
Making me feel dead.
He grabs hold of my hand.
And laces me into him.
As we press on into the Word made flesh.

A God Who understands.

Bernadette

A Note To Notes

Her long fingers on that violin, saying to a friend.
"My brother is so talented."
As she raises the roof with bow and string.
Him beginning to pull music now and not just sound.
Becoming a cellist will be good for him.
Learning to not just play the notes, but to FEEL the music.
I watch his eyelashes flutter a bit, and smile at the way it begins.
How music embarks our ship souls on high Cs.
And gives our hearts wings that soar and float and glide.
And cry.
Leaving us weak kneed and wondering sometimes.
That we were given such a gift.

Just a note,

Bernadette

Grounded

When she breathes life into their dreams.
Sometimes.
She wonders what will become of hers.
When she sees wings unfurl and fledglings leap out.
Into wide and holding sky.
She smiles happy.
And sad.
At a heart lost along the road.
The road travelled emptying precious bag of dreams.
Because they hurt too much to carry.
With out the hope of that one great leap of flight.

Into the wide and holding sky,

Bernadette

Writing Class

Living room full of next generation's legs and arms and hormones.
They put pen on paper, and my breath comes short.
Gasping at their greatness.
God in them.
And the way they shine the light in the dark.
When their is space for their voice.
Makes me shiver cold.
The humble honor.

Of knowing them,

Bernadette

Unsung Hero

When women become warriors,
They wear their hero badges on their sleeves.
Mucking it out in the bloody trenches.
Covered in anonymity.
Battling courageously.
Brave, brave, hearts.
Giving their lives.
ALL their lives.
For love.
Fighting for their families.
This mystery called marriage.
Submission.
Their swords bent in battle.
Their hearts gouged but singing.
The battle of the unsung.

The unsung hero.

Bernadette