On Brokenness

(Image by www.jeannewells.com, used on moodyradiopaulbutler.wordpress.com)

I follow my fellow Southern Californian Elizabeth Esther both on Twitter and her blog on my Google Reader. She's a wonderful writer with that fun, snarky edge to her writing that lightens my mood. She's on a journey out of an abusive church upbringing and exploring how her faith works in light of her background. And she makes me laugh. A lot.

Yesterday Elizabeth Tweeted a link to an article on recovering from depression that stated that breaking through "the chains of self-absorption" was key to recovering from depression, that if only the depressed person would look outside herself and strive to serve others, she would recover from depression. Elizabeth Tweeted the article and her unfavorable opinion about it, and was accused of "gossiping"--about a public blog. She was Tweeted, "Perhaps you could write a post on depression. I'll await that post, where you discuss and not berate." So Elizabeth, who has been very open about her struggles with depression, wrote (yet another) post: A Few Handy Tips on Writing About Depression.

All of this background is to say that I know that perky, "if only you had more faith, you'd be well" mentality in evangelical Christendom. I've dealt with it--only a little at our evangelical church, but more so online. I don't write much about my own illnesses here because I'd rather focus on what truly interests ME (and I hope interests YOU), but my illness is not one of those intriguing topics. But the reactions I receive from various Christians is worthy of discussion, I think.

Just for background's sake for my more recent readers, let me quickly lay some groundwork. Nine years ago, after visiting many doctors who insisted that there was nothing "wrong" with me, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia. Within five months I was transformed from an active homeschooling mom who rode a bike several miles daily, who cared for and taught her four kids, who cleaned and cooked and did all the normal housewifery tasks with ease, who gardened enthusiastically, to needing a cane and often a wheelchair. I couldn't walk 100 feet. I couldn't care for my husband, our kids, or our home. I homeschooled our children from the sofa. I was bedridden for an entire summer, and couch-ridden for the next 18 months.

Most of our church family were wonderful in praying for me, in helping care for our home and our kids, in keeping lines of communication open when I wasn't able to get out of bed, much less attend church. But a few people--mostly in online communities--implied or just baldly stated, "You know, if only you had more faith, you would be healed."

My life as I knew it was gone. Of course I wanted to be well! I was in tears of pain most of my days, and my doctors didn't find medications that relieved the pain for 18 months. But implying and/or stating that my lack of faith was the reason for my current state put all the blame on ME. As if I already didn't blame myself for not being able to care for my family, not being able to care for my house and garden, not being able to teach my kids at home, not being able to lift my head from the pillow, and not being able to afford all the medications that didn't work. Just what I needed: more to blame myself for.

I know these people mean well. Sigh. But the damage they do is enormous.

Slowly, as I prayed and read and talked with friends, and prayed the Psalms, I came to see that brokenness is the key to holiness--an aspect of suffering that several of my Catholic friends pointed out to me. When we are perky-perfect Christians, studying our Beth Moore, and offering advice where we have no experience, Christ can't shine through us. We're solidly us; we're not transparent enough for Him to shine through. But when we're broken, His Light and His Love can shine through the cracks, through the broken pieces.

My new Quotation for the Week is from Anne Lamott's wonderful book Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. Anne has struggled with substance abuse, with alcoholism, and with depression, and she is one of my favorite writers--mostly because her sarcastic snarkiness makes me laugh one moment while her incisive truthfulness brings tears the next; I am putty in her capable storytelling:

"Holiness has most often been revealed to me in the exquisite pun of the first syllable, in holes--in not enough help, in brokenness, mess."

So I pray that Christ can indeed shine through us broken, messy people, through the "cracks and crazes [in our] enamel," as Robert Frost writes in "Birches." When we reach out to Christ in our utter need--when He is life-and-death to us--He is glorified. His glory shines in and through us. He can be seen at work. And others can see Him at work. We become witnesses of His Love, His Grace. In our brokenness, His Light prisms outward, slinging colors into the darkness. Light to lighten our way...and the way of others also trapped in the darkness, in the brokenness.

Pat answers don't prism His Grace. Blaming the broken ones for their brokenness only makes one appear as a bully, kicking someone when she's already on the ground gasping desperately for Light in the darkness. Giving advice on brokenness when one has not been broken is a slap in the face to the broken, messy ones. It's like the perfect Christians don't want to sully their hands with our messiness.

It's maddening. And saddening.

And it does not allow Christ's Grace and Light and Love to shine into a dark and hurting world...the world He died for.

Letting Him shine through my cracks,

A Return to Contemplative Life

Now that summer days are quietly settling in, the routine of peace becoming the norm of my days with homeschooling done, with deadlines behind me. I get up, spend time in Morning Prayer on my own and then with our children, following the Psalter and the Lectionary of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer and praying The Divine Hours through Phyllis Tickle's books or the previous website link. We follow Scripture readings and ancient prayers with family prayer: for our political leaders, for our pastors and missionaries, for sick friends, for our family. As the sun shines brightly through eastern windows, I settle my ESV Bible, 1928 BCP, and prayer journal aside...for now.

At 12:30, my phone chimes church bells, reminding me to go upstairs. I settle on my side of the bed under the northern window, taking my copy of The Divine Hours: Prayers for Summertime from my prayer corner, and pray the Midday Office. Often I'll reach for my Anglican Prayer Beads and use them as a prayer aid, fingering the beads as I pray for family and friends and pray Scripture.

At 6:00 PM, my phone peals bells again, reminding me to pray Vespers. I need to improve in this prayer opportunity, for I rarely rise to my prayer corner, often combining Vespers with Compline, praying both at bedtime. At Compline I pray through The Divine Hours and Evening Prayer in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer , including the Psalter. Sometime during the day I also meditate on the short and sweet Bread for the Journey by Henri Nouwen. Daily snippets of his writings provide much food for thoughtful chewing, and before a friend presented me with a print version, I used this online daily meditation from The Nouwen Society.

It's lovely to have time in long summer days to sink into God's Word, into prayer, without pressure or time limits. Summer is my contemplative time, even if I am not a fan of summer's beating heat. I wish I could more easily combine my schooling/work life with my summer contemplative life. I pray that I can meld these two lifestyles far more effectively in the next year...always.

This week I am proofreading and giving editorial suggestions to Father Acker of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity as he revises the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, which is doctrinally strong but consists of some poetic and archaic language that is less-than-approachable, especially with the Scriptures from the Great Bible of 1540. So Father is using the much more accessible English Standard Version (which we also use at Lake Murray Community Church) and is also basing the language of the Collects on ESV language. It's going to be a lovely version of the Prayer Book, one that the Anglican Communion may adopt in lieu of the 1979 BCP. Father is planning to send it to our bishop within a few weeks. I am really excited about the project and find that I am not only proofreading and suggesting other language options, but I am also praying my way through these Collects.

I also hope this summer to spend a few days on a private spiritual retreat, whether that be locally at Pine Valley Bible Conference Center in our town (and where my daughter works), or in the Alumni House of Point Loma Nazarene University , or at one of the contemplative retreat centers in our area, The Spiritual Ministry Center in Ocean Beach or The Mission San Luis Rey in Oceanside. We'll see where I can spend time least expensively yet also be able to structure my time best in silence and meditation. I have been looking forward to a spiritual retreat all year, especially during my four straight months of online teaching.

We shall see where God leads.

Wishing you the peace of God which passes all earthly understanding,

"Nobody's Perfect"

I continue to pull back layers and images I never realized as I write to prompts. A prompt creates an image, a scene, in my mind, and I follow it, trying to find the words to show what I see. Sometimes, like with today's prompt, it's something as simple as a shrug, a turning away, and I jot down the image and keep writing what happens as the scene unfurls.

And thus a poem.

This week's Carry On Tuesday Prompt #58 consists of the first words spoken in Billy Wilder's (in)famous movie Some Like It Hot:
"Well, nobody's perfect."

Nobody's Perfect
"Well, nobody's perfect,"
he shrugged,
shifting away from her.
Not able to see his face,
she couldn't watch the guilt
twisting his mouth ironic,
the self-loathing in his eyes deep.

Clipped was his voice,
chilling her--
signaling the end of a discussion
that had never begun.
She noticed the back of his neck
pinkening
above his white dress shirt,
a sign she easily recognized
from twelve years of marriage.

In that unconscious
blush she read his guilt--
and his contrition--
as clearly as if
he had confessed all,
begging apology.

Rising silently,
she slipped forgiving arms
around his warm waist,
pressing her lips gently
to the flushed neck
above his starched collar.

Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett

Thankful for My Dad

(My dad with our three boys at Elizabeth's graduation this month)

In keeping with Holy Experience's 1000 Gifts, I add my thanks to those of The Gratitude Community. Also in keeping with Ann's post about writing "thank you" notes to her mother--Gathering Joy-- I wrote over a dozen little "thank you" notes on lined paper and slid them into his Fathers' Day card--"creative confetti," I told him. He decided to read them after we left.

Dad is still recovering from double bypass surgery he underwent in Hawaii in late April, and Elizabeth's graduation marked the first time I had seen him since his return from their little condo where he recuperated from the surgery. A lifetime runner, his good health is helping him recover although he still tires easily, and (like his elder daughter) he overdoes it occasionally.

So here are some of the thank-you notes I put in his Fathers' Day card. And I thank God that my dad survived open heart surgery and is recovering well, and I thank Him for giving me a father who did/does these things for/with me. The wording may be slightly off as I'm posting from memory:

193. Thanks for teaching me how to ride a bike.

194. Thanks for taking your grandkids to Hawaii when each turns 11/12.

195. Thanks for taking me jogging in the dark at 5 AM when I was in high school.

196. Thanks for teaching me how to drive...even Mom's stick shift Plymouth Duster.

197. Thanks for always treating us to lunch/dinner whenever we celebrate a family occasion.

198. Thanks for attempting to help me with my math homework--especially those pesky word problems.

199. Thanks for taking us on road trips when we were kids: to Wyoming and Colorado, back east to Washington DC and the eastern seaboard, to Northern California.

201. Thanks for taking us tent camping almost every summer.

202. Thanks for teaching me how to play tennis.

203. Thanks for taking us on Sunday drives when we were kids and for repeatedly driving past "the burned-down house" at my request.

204. Thanks for taking the whole family (all 16 of us) to Disneyland or Knotts each spring.

205. Thanks for making the best lunch quesadillas on weekends.

Extra "thank you"s I thought of while compiling the above list:

206. Thanks for working so hard and providing for us so well.

207. Thanks for all the charity work you do and for setting us a good example in this area.

208. Thanks for teaching us the value of money through allowances earned via yard work and house work.

209. Thanks for keeping up the pool so we could swim every day.

210. Thanks for giving us a great place to grow up, with horses and goats, ducks and chickens, and frequent horseback riding adventures.

211. Thanks for telling the worst jokes imaginable.

212. Thanks for helping me to build the coffee table and end tables for our family room in our father/daughter woodshop class.

213. Thanks for being interested in genealogy and getting me interested in our family history, too.

I could go on and on--but I thank God for each of these "thank you"s I can extend to my dad. Happy Fathers' Day, Dad, and thank You, Lord, for giving me the father I have!

With love for my dad and my Father in Heaven,

In Honor of My Husband on Fathers' Day

He's a quiet man, my husband. A man who walks with quiet strength, a man who speaks words that count. He is a genius. An artist. A thinker.

Last Saturday he took our new teenager to see Iron Man II to celebrate J's 13th birthday. A busy man, a man who works hard--sometimes seven days per week--took the time to drive into the city to spend time with his middle son. And it was J's request to spend this time with his dad--a sweet thing to want as one's birthday celebration.

Sometimes he takes the boys to work with him, teaching them how to mix and pour concrete, how to lay bricks, how to work hard despite hot sun beating down. Yesterday when the upstairs shower needed plumbing work, he took J under his wing, taught him how to do the work, taught him how to solder. A teacher of precision, of exactness, of service.

Each evening after a long day of work, he pulls out ingredients he worked to purchase and also bought from stores and makes our family dinner. He often teaches our kids to do certain kitchen tasks: how to brown hamburger, how to chop vegetables, how to make his specialities of chicken parmigiana and tortilla soup. Our daughter takes these lessons seriously; she turned 18 this year and knows she will soon be on her own. She already has more cooking skills than I did when I married. He taught me how to cook, too.

His nimble fingers have sewed a quilt for Timothy's room. Created incredible stained glass windows. Sanded baby furniture. Built tables and bookcases for our home. Our children join him in his tiny shop, watching and learning, sometimes working alongside. His dream is for a large work shop where they can all work together on various projects.

His artistic talents are obvious in our children. E makes and sells her own jewelry, twisting wire with practiced hand. T and B draw incredibly-detailed cartoons and sketches that amaze us both. J takes a more hands-on approach to art as the one who most enjoys working alongside his father, yet he also caught Keith's musicality as J strums guitar and plays piano. Their father applauds their work, encouraging them to keep at it. Practice, practice, he smiles.

His gentle hands tousle hair, tickle ribs, pull a face toward him for a kiss. At bedtime his deep voice, quiet and strong, prays over the three boys who surround him in a circle, arms linked around each others' bodies. While taking J shopping for his birthday, he persuaded this middle son to spend his birthday money not on a video game but on airsoft BB guns for the other two boys so that they can all three play together. (J had received one from us that morning.) Keith then purchased an airsoft BB gun for himself, brimming with plans for a surprise ambush in the midst of their twilight wars in our yard. His plans to sniper them from upstairs are intense, requiring a platform on the roof outside our bathroom window. He's more excited about playing these "war games" than they are.

He teaches them to walk in wisdom, thinking first of others, going to God with all needs. And he does not only "talk the talk" but he lives out his wise advice each day...so we all can see his love in the hours he works, the food he cooks, the art he creates, the prayers he prays, the many sacrifices he makes. We only need to notice, to see truly.

I thank God for this gentle, quiet, strong artistic man--the father of our children and a role model for each of them. May our boys grow into the man and father that he is, and may our daughter marry a man like her father.

I love you, my dearest one. Happy Fathers' Day!

With love and gratitude,

Blog Post on Unity in the Church

6.19.10
Daily Reflection
by Mark D. Roberts
Laity Lodge Senior Director and Scholar-in-Residence

A Pleasure We Need Today

READ Psalm 133:1-3

How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers live together in harmony! [Psalm 133:1]

Psalm 133 envisions pilgrims ascending to Jerusalem to celebrate a religious festival. Though they have come from diverse places throughout the Ancient Near East, the pilgrims experience profound unity in their expectations and in their shared faith in the Lord. Psalm 133 celebrates the solidarity among God’s traveling people: “How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers live together in harmony!” (133:1).

The Hebrew word translated here as “wonderful” is tob, the basic word meaning “good” or “beautiful.” The word translated as “pleasant” is na‘im. This word could be used to describe “sweet” music (Ps. 81:2) and human attractiveness (Song 1:16) as well as the beauty of God’s name (Ps. 135:3). Unity among the people of God is not just a helpful thing or a theologically appropriate thing. It is wonderful to behold and to experience. In fact, it is pleasant!

Don’t we need this sort of pleasure today?! It is far too common for Christians to experience disharmony. Sometimes our conflicts reflect significant theological disagreement. But often they flow from insignificant differences of opinion and style. No matter the cause, however, a lack of unity among God’s people is not pleasant. More importantly, it falls short of God’s intention for us (John 17:11; Eph. 4:1-6).

When conflict arises in the church, we should seek to be agents of reconciliation, people who speak the truth in love. When we experience the blessing of unity among God’s people, we should rejoice and offer thanks for this sublime pleasure.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION: How have you experienced harmony among the people of God? In what ways do you promote the unity of the church?

PRAYER: Gracious Lord, indeed, it is wonderful when your people live together in harmony. There is something truly precious in the unity that is based on your nature, built upon your truth, and nurtured by your Spirit.

Thank you for the times I have experienced the unity of your people. Thank you for the ways we have been focused together on your mission. Thank you for those who have put aside petty differences in order to nurture our unity in you.

O Lord, your church today is so divided! Some of these divisions are not trivial, but reflect deep theological disagreements. Other conflicts would almost be laughable except for the damage they do to your “bride” and our witness in the world. Help us, dear Lord, to be unified, not just in niceness, but in Christ, in the Gospel, in your truth, and in the presence of your Spirit. Amen.

This issue of unity within the church is of the utmost importance to me--and had been for many years. I simply cannot fathom why Christians are so mistrustful of one another--even critical and cruel to each other. Such behaviour saddens me greatly--and does not provide a positive view of Christianity to those who are not Christians (or to those who are, as a matter of fact). How can we say we love others when we cannot offer true love to other Christians who may worship a little differently than we do?

I pray John 17 along with Jesus who prayed it for His disciples and for us as well:

20 “I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, 21 that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. 22 The glory that you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, 23 I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me.

Praying for unity and love among all,

Changes...and Selected Poems

(Image from berenschotstrategies.files.wordpress.com/)

Change is inevitable.

But that inevitability doesn't mean I have to like it.

The biggest change in our lives is our eldest daughter graduating after twelve years of home education, and she'll be living on campus in the fall when she starts at Point Loma Nazarene University. She's my best friend in many ways, and I'm gonna miss her dreadfully.

So in the spirit of change, I thought I'd re-do my blog a bit. I truly wish I had either the skills to really make my blog a stand-out or the $$ to hire someone to do it for me. But I've enjoyed playing with the new Blogger templates and made a new header. Someday I'll invest more time into blog design, but these changes will do for now.

And now that the tabs for additional pages show up so nicely, I decided to add a page that contains some of my better poems (in my not-so-humble opinion). They all need vast revision to get them to the level I want them, and much of the depth I'm seeking is only going to come with time and practice. So I post them for now, knowing (and letting you know) that they are not-quite-ready-for-prime-time, but I'm willing to be brave and post them. I have arranged them alphabetically by title. You may click on the "Selected Poems" tab above or click this link to the page: Selected Poems.

I'm pleased with my growth as a poet over the past couple of years, and I'm enjoying the process of writing poetry and learning a little more with each poem I write a poem...even the sucky ones.

Poetically yours,

Pride in My Poetry Students

With the exception of the few years we did not attend Heritage Christian School's Class Days because of my illness, I have mostly taught high school students. In fact, since returning to EC II Class Day for Elizabeth's 10th grade Biology Lab three years ago, I have taught only high school writing, both college prep and honors levels--to mostly 10th-12th graders.

But this year was different.

At the end of last year, I was informed of two things: 1) My Advanced Writing Class (honors, grades 11-12) was closed due to lack of students (actually, there were students who tried to register later and couldn't), and 2) The 4th-6th poetry teacher had decided not to return to Class Day after all, so a class of 15 students was now without a teacher. And guess what? Both classes were scheduled for first period, so shifting to the poetry class was an easy move. The idea of teaching a poetry class was intriguing, so I volunteered to cover the class--which meant "design and write and then teach the class, and grade all student work."

Once September rolled around, both the families and I were to adjust a bit. Somehow misinformation escaped about the class: I was told that the class was a poetry class and therefore designed the syllabus and wrote the class to reflect the subject of poetry; however, some parents were informed that the class was a creative writing class. I added more writing to the class via the writing of responses during our first semester as we read and discussed the lives and works of such poets as Robert Louis Stevenson, e.e. cummings, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, William Carlos Williams, and Emily Dickinson. We lost a few students whose families wanted a creative writing course rather than a poetry class or who felt the class was too much work for their current workloads, but overall, the class seemed very successful.

The students also worked on a Poet Project over the course of the first semester which included the writing of a report on the life of a particular poet and then the copying of five poems by that poet as part of the project. So on our last day of first semester, the students presented oral presentations of their Poet Projects, covering the lives and works of Christina Rossetti, Walter de la Mare, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, William Shakespeare, Aileen Fisher, Roald Dahl, and Langston Hughes.

During the second semester, our poetry class focused on the writing of poetry. We studied stanzaic structures and wrote couplets, tercets, and quatrains; we tried the Japanese forms of haiku and tanka, and we played with visual poetry in the forms of acrostic, cinquain, diamante, shape, and concrete poems before concluding the semester with letting loose with some free verse.

Our little class of eleven students, grades 4-6, also hosted two Guest Poets: Judith Deem Dupree, author of living with what remains, and Kathryn Belsey who recently completed her Pacific University MFA thesis, Fire Storm and published two poems in the latest In Posse Review. Both poets read their work and/or taught a lesson to my little class, and both were impressed with the quality and depth of work produced by these young poets.

Kathryn Belsey ("Kitty" to those who know and love her) suggested that I should publish my students' work into an anthology of sorts. Our final class on June 10 consisted of a Poetry Reading for parents and family of the poetry class, each student choosing his/her three favorite poems that he/she composed for class and reading them aloud before the class. Secretly I e-mailed the parents, requesting them to e-mail me copies of their students' three poems which I then formatted into a 27-page anthology with "The Poetry of XXXXX XXXXXXXX" at the top of each page, each student (except one) receiving two pages for their poetry--one poet needed three pages as her poems were lengthier than the rest.

I found that I could e-mail the PDF version of the anthology right to Staples, and I picked them up right before class, beautifully bound and ready to present as a special gift to each student in class. After the group of parents had applauded each young poet, I opened the boxes from Staples and handed out the anthologies; both the parents and the students were ecstatic at seeing their work "in print." I wrote an introductory page similar to what I've written here as well as a Table of Contents listing the "Featured Poets" alphabetically, and finishing the anthology with one of my own poems as a gift to them: "Easter Life."

I received many hugs on our last day of class from these wonderful young poets as well as the thanks of many parents who commented, "You brought poetry into our home," and "XXXX loved writing poetry so much that she wrote in her pajamas before starting school" and "I can't get XXXXX to stop writing poems!"

Those comments are more than adequate reward for putting heart and soul into teaching these young poets. My hope and prayer for them is that they will keep writing poetry long after our class ends and that poetry will continue to be a force in their lives long past this year's class.

From Gilbert and Sullivan's The Pirates of Penzance:

Hail, Poetry, thou heav'n-born maid!
Thou gildest e'en the pirate's trade.
Hail, flowing fount of sentiment!
All hail, all hail, divine emollient!

Next year I return to teaching high schoolers in Intermediate (college prep) and Advanced (honors) Writing, both classes that I have designed and written myself. I'll miss the enthusiasm of my younger students, but I've missed my Advanced students this year as well. I teach a short poetry unit in both classes at least...so poetry will continue to be an important force in my teaching for (many) years to come...but never again quite like this little class of younger poets.

In the grip of poesy,

Secrets to Make a Marriage Last...

In light of our silver anniversary this week, I thought I'd take up Ann Voskamp's "Walk with Him Wednesday" theme of Secrets to Make a Marriage Last and give my own list of making a marriage last.

1. Love Extravagantly. Be unstinting with love--loving thoughts in mind and heart and loving thoughts spoken out. Love the way we want to be loved...and the love comes back at us, overflowing our cups and our hearts. Look beyond dripping-faucet-things that can annoy but can be looked past--lovingly. Keep loving and loving and loving.

2. Laugh Together. When my husband and I were still dating during my freshman year of college, he gave me a teddy bear for Saint Valentine's Day--a very "squunchable" (squeezable) bear. Early in our marriage, my husband hid the bear with silly little notes explaining his hiding place: in the cookie jar, hanging from the rotating ceiling fan, etc. Lately, Keith has taken to putting the bear in silly positions in our room, accompanied by silly notes: seated on the space heater with a note explaining about warming his bum on a cold morning, tucked head-first under covers on a Monday morning, etc. His sense of fun loves me. Love and laughter meld together beautifully.

3. Pray Together. Our hands seek each other beneath quilts, and his deep voice prays low, praying for me, for children, for faith in our family, for God's leading, for our love and obedience, for His grace. And both loves--God's and his, tuck me in lovingly as sleep comes swift and stays quiet.

4. Touch Often. In mornings I move slow. Pain makes movement stiff, awkward. But when he comes downstairs, I rise to wrap my arms round, bury my nose into his neck, and welcome day with him. At night my hand sweeps his silvering hair, running through the flat top, touch gentle. I lean down for a kiss, always wanting more. And he gives it. Late night he folds back quilt and slides in, and I pull myself to his side, nestling to him for prayer, for talk, for touch.

5. Talk Art. One of our favorite things to do is browse art museums, pointing out what we like, what we don't, how a painting needs a little this, a bit that. We analyze color, discuss subject, talk style, and reveal soul. I see his, and like what I see; he sees mine and I hope he likes what he sees. His hand rests on back of my electric wheelchair as he speaks, and I marvel that he's somehow mine.

6. Be Patient. I love my husband's patient waiting. When pain gripped me so hard that I couldn't see past myself, he waited. It was hard, much harder than I can ever realize. I hope that I'm able to give more now as pain recedes a little, releasing me a bit to see beyond it. But he didn't give up. He waited. Patiently. And I love him so much for loving me patient.

Silver Anniversary!

Yesterday, June 15, was a special day: my and Keith's Silver Wedding Anniversary. Yes--25 years of marriage! We spent the day together, attending the San Diego County Fair and then having dinner at the Brigantine Del Mar. We enjoyed the Fair very much--attending it has always been one of our favorite things to do, but we haven't gone just the two of us for five years or so. It would have been nicer to walk hand-in-hand, but my electric chair makes holding hands a bit problematic. Our favorite parts are Fine Arts, Crafts (especially quilts), Designs in Wood, the Bing Crosby Hall and other vendor halls, and the Gardens. It's fun to discuss the paintings and the crafts--what we like and what we don't. And we had to share the traditional funnel cake, of course.

Dinner at the Brigantine was lovely. We had a view of the fairgrounds, and I very much enjoyed my Scallops Del Mar with a glass of Pinot Grigio while Keith tried a variety of fried fish, scallops, and shrimp.

This week's Carry on Tuesday prompt fit perfectly with the theme of our silver anniversary, a quote from William Butler Yeats, so I write this to my Sweetie, Keith....

Our Silver Anniversary
"When you are old and grey,"
hold my hand long,
kiss me the way that
.....makes me want more,
take me on a quiet walk
.....under greening leaves,
smile at me with loving blue eyes,
whisper love as you touch my hair,
hold me in your arms so I can
.....bury my nose in your neck,
.....inhaling your scent,
slow dance with me--
.....just this once,
.....dotting each turn with a kiss
as we celebrate 25 years today,
and 25 more so soon
.....as time melts into a blur--
25 and 25 more, and, I hope,
.....even 25 more.

I love you, my Sweetheart!