On The Acceptance Of Grace

Barb, bless her little cotton socks, is hard at work transforming parts of the yard...making safe footing for me, so I can walk the dogs.

Because the thing is my legs don't work properly now, and a misstep will send me into a flailing fall worthy of the Three Stooges.

I am thankful that I have been able to put resentment against cancer aside, to let pride be a discarded cloak by the wayside, and accept this offered grace with a full heart.

And now the gate is far away,

the ladder can't be climbed,

and I've lost much that yesterday

I truly thought was mine,

beholden unto me alone

in my long-flower'd youth,

but circumstance calls to atone

and face the cold hard truth

that spring (so treasured!) will not last,

and in this life not come again,

that I cannot live in the past,

and only forward, through the pain

can new meaning still be found

to keep my heart on solid ground.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is BE. Not hard.

I know you did not want to be,

my dear, what life's demanded,

and it truly hurts to see

that you have been remanded

to a life of wearing care,

to a tether firm and close;

I wish that you could breathe free air,

live the days you would have chose,

a biker trip 'cross mountain passes,

a visit to the Windward Isles,

toasts with friends, and upraised glasses,

bright evenings ending in bright smiles,

but, by, God, I'm glad you're here

as the scary dark draws near.

Three minutes. Truth runs fast.

Music from Dire Straits, with Walk Of Life .

Sylvia happily accepts the Grace of Ice Cream.

 

Attitude Of Gratitude

Past the sorrow of losing my service dog, Ladron, past the rapidly increasing infirmity of cancer (Barb needed to replace a ceiling fan, and I can no longer climb a ladder to help...but I COULD read her the directions), one still needs to cultivate the Attitude of Gratitude.

So, this is for Barb, with love.

She walks like a happy camel,

has the style of Superfly;

hair is cut like skater, Hamill,

soft brown eyes for which to die.

She can raise your spirit higher,

just like falling off a log,

when she sings in the church choir,

sounding like Kermit the Frog.

As caregiver she's a collie

faced with some unruly sheep,

but remaining ever jolly

'fore dawn when she'd prefer to sleep,

and as accountant (more than grace and looks),

she can really cook the ledger books!

Now don't you wish YOU had married a poet?

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is CHANCE.

Another one for Barb.

If you had another chance,

a second try at What To Do,

would you change things to enhance

the life of years that you'd walk through?

For my part I am truly blessed,

but as a spouse I think I've failed,

lost the paper for the test,

and I'm just glad you haven't bailed.

Every court must have a jester,

and daily, here, I am class clown,

but in despair, regrets do fester,

and cancer's got me feeling down,

but then your smile shines through our pain

to say you'd do it all again.

Five minutes, just barely.

Music from the OC Supertones, with "Superfly".

Sylvia wonders if she can eat ice cream while rolling her eyes.

The Goodbye

 Snow melts from the temple eaves,

and the first tears of spring

fall to the stones.

RIP Ladron, my PTSD service dog.

August 2008-July 12, 2022

She made my world sane.

The picture of the Kosho-Ji temple in Fukukusa comes from https://terebess.hu/zen/sojiji/koshoji.html

I hope that it's OK to use it here.

Music from Sir James Galway, with Nakasendo.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PROPOSE.

I cannot propose an end to winter

beyond faith

that there is spring.

Yesterday's You

God made you, yeah?

Knew you before the womb?

OK, maybe you've gone off the rails. We all do, to some degree.

But when Jesus makes all things new, He's using what you were, and making that into what you can be.

Even in the times you were furthest from God, no part of you was a throwaway. 

No shame, for with Christ, disgrace is clothed in glory.

Look back on the emptiness

of all the years now dead and gone,

but that death's all a sham unless

you refuse to take along

the younger self that lived those days,

did best or worst with what he had,

who daily offered curse or praise

to our patient Heaven-Dad.

Why take him when he was a jerk,

a scoffer at the bright and good?

Well, it's true he needed work,

but really in your heart you should

know this to be well and true,

that part of him still lives in you.

Appropriately, the Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TWENTY.

I was twenty way back when,

convinced that I would never die

until that weirded moment when

I bet my life against the sky

and drove an aeroplane straight through

some 250 kV wires;

it seemed that 'twas the thing to do

in matching madness to desires,

and by God and His mercy hand

that He keeps prepared for fools,

I was able then to land,

and having broken many rules

was asked that I not soon return,

but, dude, I flew again next morn.

The only quote I can think of here is 'stupid is as stupid does', but I've had a blast.

Music from America, with Work To Do.

Sylvia shall meanwhile work on her ice cream.

Why Can't I Die?

People ask, with a dreadful diagnosis, and awful symptoms (I can see tumours in the mirror, for Pete's sake!)...why are you still here?

And I don't know. I'd ask my doctor, but I outlived him.

Maybe it's to help Barb with her life and with the dogs, maybe it's to write a few more sonnets... I just don't know, and sometimes I do wonder as to the point of it all.

It's gone on for far too long,

and I feel so alone,

and so far from being strong,

Lord, why can't I come home?

I have done that which You ask,

have tried to write and live in hope,

but I cannot fulfill this task,

and can no longer cope

with the blood and with the pain,

with what makes me weep at night;

why, oh, why must I remain

in this hopeless fight?

And God's answer never fails,

"Accept your Cross, and take the nails."

The real reason I'm staying, of course, is that I never went to a trade school that had surrender in the curriculum, and I see no point in learning it now.

Maybe you can decide to die, but I know that you can decide to live.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TRUST.

Trust the Lord with all your might,

trust when it's all you can do.

Trust Him in the final fight,

and trust that He will carry you

across the blazing coals of hell,

across the raging storm-tossed seas,

'cross ruined lands you knew so well

where golden years were spent at ease.

Trust that there's a better place

that soon you'll see from His strong arms,

trust that there's a solid grace,

a wall between yourself and harms

that would leave you sore bereft;

trust with all the strength that's left!

Four minutes thirty. OK.

Music from Parsons Ghost, with Go Down Swinging.

Parsons Ghost's debut album is self-produced, and has real country roots; if you like them, support them through iTunes.

Sylvia suggests a simple reason for staying alive...ice cream!

Skydiving For Catholics

Just for a change of pace, here's an old Catholic joke, set to rhyme. (I'm Catholic, so I guess it's OK for me to tell?)

The canopy, it didn't open 

(and thus the rigger showed his worth),

and the jumper would be broken

upon that hard unyielding Earth.

"St. Francis, save me!" was his cry,

his face turned to onrushing land,

and in a twinkling he did lie

in a great and tender hand.

"Son, I must know you called on me

in truth; you see, I must be sure.

Did you call Frank of Assisi,

or Francis Xavier?"

And thus the moral here for you,

you'd best know who you're talking to.

Music from the Foo Fighters, with Learn To Fly.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is AWARE. I don't know...

I really thought I was aware

of life, and what I need,

and then I had an awful scare

when cows ate all my weed.

I'd put it out there in the sun

to get that crispy creme,

but then it all just came undone

and they came on the scene

and dipped their faces in the bowl,

and chewed, then showed pure bliss,

and in my heart it took a toll

that things came down to this,

that I knew not that the herd was nigh,

and now, alas, the steaks were high.

Four minutes, and hey, you were expecting Tennyson? And for the record, I don't use the stuff.

Sylvia knows who to talk to for ice cream, but while she's eating it, you can talk to the paw.

Hold On Tight

The author Steven Coonts once said that a young person should never whittle down dreams to fit into his or her hometown.

True for cancer, as well.

Dreams carry your heart into the future, and having given up on mine, I can now understand that its being a future you'll never see in this life is irrelevant.

The point is that when you keep the dream alive, you're already there.

When you let it die, the best part of you dies with it, and God weeps, for the killing of even an impossible hope is the biggest betrayal of His love.

Where, now, do I go from here,

when all's been left too late,

and circumstances make it clear

that my job's just to wait

for that fell knock on the door,

a cold hand on my shoulder;

I always thought there would be more.

I thought I might grow older.

I've fallen now to little things,

in hope of self-respect,

while shadows cover spreading wings

in dust of sad neglect,

and sometimes I wonder why

I have lost the will to try.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is GUESS. I guess I can do this.

Dude, I did not think I'd guess

so long ago, in glory days

that life would become a mess

and dreams would vanish in a haze

of pain and puke and things far worse

(humiliation in the dunny),

and that I must not choose to curse

the Lord my God, though it be funny

that I am felled from higher places

in which the learned looked up to me,

but in falling I've found graces

and a kind of victory

in smiling when most would blaspheme,

and, in smiling, live the dream.

Three minutes, and I'll stand by it 

Music from ELO, with Hold On Tight.

Sylvia is delighted to share her Ice Cream Dream.