April is National Poetry Writing Month, and although several years I’ve celebrated it by trying to write a poem every day — and almost succeeding some of those years — I knew I couldn’t work at that pace this time around. In fact, I accidentally let April slip in without one rhyme. But today I decided I need to at least make the effort to contribute to the world’s collection of poetry by writing a few new poems during April. So I’m making a start right now.
WHERE IS SPRING?
Spring is trying hard to get a start this year. March did come in with lion winds on cue. But other elements just cannot get in gear, The weather’s gray and cold, and that won’t do.
Daffodils did bloom and lift their yellow heads, Only to be beaten down by storms and rain. They lay forlorn and helpless, flat upon their beds, And now its wet and gray and cold again.
I just don’t know what’s happened to our happy spring. When scents of flowers and grasses fill the air. When golden sun and bluest skies cause birds to sing. And folks can catch ‘spring fever’ everywhere.
Maybe it will change and warm up in no time. I surely hope that’s true, ’cause here’s the thing: To end this poem I need to have a word that rhymes, And I can’t think of anything but Spring!
I am subscribed to “Keep It Alive,” and Sadje (the owner of that channel) keeps us abreast of a number of writing challenges. I don’t always have time to take part in them, but I manage to do so once in a while. This week, she shared a challenge from “Selma,” who told us how she was prompted to take the last line from the poem of a friend and begin a new poem of her own with that line. She then challenged us to do the same. I have done something similar in the past for another poetry challenge, but it has been many years, so I thought it would be fun.
Selma’s last line was “In perfect accord.” So I set out to write a poem beginning with that line. I did not intend for my last line to repeat the first, but it just worked out that way so perfectly that I couldn’t help myself.
Anyway, I hope you will all hop over to visit Sadjeand Selmaboth and maybe write your own poem beginning with the last line of mine — or theirs.
Here’s my poem:
I REST WITH GOD
In perfect accord with God, I rest; Forgiven for sin and healed and blessed. I have no need to struggle or strain, Or fight for what I want to gain. He meets my needs on every hand, And, washed clean by His blood, I stand Acquitted, accepted, anointed, adored; I rest with Him, in perfect accord.
If I were to write my autobiography, my opening sentence would have to be the following:
“I have always been a rebel at heart.”
Now, I know that sounds as though I have been a trouble-maker all my life. I haven’t been — honestly. And basically, I tend to follow rules of orderly and peaceful living. But I have always had a serious problem following any rules that don’t make sense — or that are unfair. I realize that judging whether something makes sense or is fair can be a very subjective act. And personal opinion can play a part. But when I come face-to-face with any rules that cause me to back up or bristle a little, I stop and carefully consider them. I honestly try to see them from various angles and points of view. But if, after that consideration, the rules still seem to be senseless — or even stupid — or they seem to take advantage of certain people or put them in an awkward or extremely difficult position — I balk at obeying those rules.
I have been known to fight huge companies — sometimes for months — over rules and regulations that are unjust or that cause customers or clients to have to go our to their way and do extra work in order to use those companies’ services. Phone companies, grocery store chains, and department store chains are a few of the types of organizations I have taken on. I do the same with civic organizations that take unfair advantage of local citizens or mistreat them in some way.
Unfortunately, as I get older, I desire less and less confrontation. There was a time when I gladly made my stand against all rules and regulations that I felt were wrong, but over the past decade, I find that I tend to wait a bit and think things over before I jump into the fray. I guess I’m learning to choose my battles a little more than I did in my younger years. Sometimes now I just sigh and comply — but only sometimes. I do still stand up and fight for things that are really crucial or that can affect a very large number of people. And, even when I don’t take up the fight, I am still rebelling in my heart. So — yes — I think one of the most accurate ways I could begin my autobiography would be acknowledging that I have always been a rebel.
But that’s all the details I’m going to cover. I think I’ll save all the rest of them for that autobiography — you know — the one that prompted this article — the one I will most likely never sit down and write. 🙂 🙂 🙂
I did not have to think about this one for any length of time at all. The one thing that I could definitely do less of is eating sweets. I love, love, love, love, LOVE candy, cookies, cakes, and pies. I just can’t seem to get enough of them. And the fact that they are a major comfort food group for me adds to the problem. I’m stressed just thinking about how I need to cut down my eating of these goodies. Oh, well … maybe if I eat me some chocolate, it will help me get over the stress …..
The prompt asked about TWO favorite things to wear. But that doesn’t really make sense, because it doesn’t clarify whether it’s talking about upper garments, lower garments, coats, shoes, hair accessories, or a dozen other categories. So I had to do some thinking about this one.
However, I did realize pretty quickly that all my “favorite” things to wear have one or two things in common. First of all, they are all COMFORTABLE. I spelled that with capital letters because it is my primary decision maker. I used to be willing to be uncomfortable in order to be “in fashion” or to wear something that I thought was particularly flattering or would catch the “right person’s” eye. Nowadays, I am much more sensible. I cater to my own comfort.
So in the category of favorites I have to include a powder blue sweatshirt, which is cozy and comfy, a red Christmas top (also soft and comfy) with lovely sculptured silver Christmas trees on the front — a gift from my sister — a necklace that is simply the name Jesus written in script, with a short silver chain.
The second thing many of my favorites have in common is that they have sentimental or nostalgic significance. And that’s why I have a pair of black flats and a pair of tan flats that are reminiscent of some I wore as a teenager. I loved that style, and when they came back into the stores a few years ago, I grabbed up a couple pair and always enjoy wearing them.
So, there you have it. Are there other things I could include on the list? Certainly. But these are enough to answer the question. So now if you’ll excuse me, I will just go slip into something comfortable. 🙂
I’d probably say that the principles I try to base my life on are found in three main statements:
1: Galatians 2:20 says, “I am crucified with Christ; nevertheless I live; yet not I but Christ lives in me.” I try, as much as I can, to act, react, and speak the way I believe Jesus would in my place. I don’t always manage it successfully, but my efforts are sincere.
2.In all my work as a writer, artist, and teacher, I follow this dictum: Perfection is not a requirement in my life, but excellence is mandatory.
3. This third bit of advice I got from my canine friends, and it seems a valid way to conduct myself most of the time: Wag more; bark less.
Now some folks out there may think I’m joking. And maybe I’m being just a little light-hearted about the prompt. I suppose I would have to say that my purse with some kind of money and my drivers license would be at the very top of the list. But right after that comes my cup of coffee — no kidding. If I’m home, it’s in a pretty cup — often one with my own original artwork on it. And if I’m not home, it’s in a travel cup that I can stick into any microwave for a warm-up. You might say a good hot cup of coffee is my version of a security blanket. 🙂
I could probably list 30 things and then make sub-categories under each one. But I’ll try to stay within the limits of the assignment. Okay, here goes:
Knowing Jesus Christ
Teaching God’s Word
Praying with and for others and helping them receive from the Lord
Writing – fiction, non-fiction, & poetry
Creating Book Covers
Drinking Coffee
Visiting with friends — especially when we drink coffee at the same time. 🙂
Eating chocolate
Eating bacon
Eating mashed potatoes
Christmas — decorating, gift buying, family get-to-gethers — everything
Sunrises
Sunsets
Spending time at the ocean
Spending time in the Smoky Mountains
Painting & Sketching — watercolor, acrylics, ink
Painting birds in particular — my imaginative versions of birds
The stars when they seem bright & close
Playing music – mainly keyboard
Teaching writing
Teaching people how to use and be comfortable with computers & the Internet
Reading Miss Read books
Reading A Redbird Christmas — over and over
Reading The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency Series
Reading a Good Cozy Mystery
Playing with dogs
Singing — mostly privately as worship
Dancing
Autumn — especially the whole month of October
Remembering all the blessed times I’ve had with loved ones
This exercise has been fun. It really refreshes the soul to sit and think about things that make us happy. I probably need to do this at least once a week.
If I had to change my name, I would choose a name from my Cherokee heritage: Ahyoka. The name means “Bringer of Happiness” or “She Brings Happiness.” Actually, I already use the name for my artwork, because I want all of my art to bring happiness, peace, and rest to the people who view it. I sign all my paintings and sketches as “Ahyoka/SC,” and I also use the name in the title of my poetry website: “Poetry By Ahyoka.”
Well, I didn’t even have to think about this one before answering. I would give anything to talk with my mom and dad. They are both with the Lord now, so that isn’t going to be an option for me anytime soon, but it’s still my wish. I had absolutely wonderful parents. Their love for each other and their love for me gave me much joy throughout my growing up years and well into my adulthood. They sustained me in every hurtful or negative experience and encouraged me to believe I could be everything I wanted to be. They taught me the truths of God’s Word and also taught me to seek out and find truth for myself so that I never had to depend on what someone else believed in order to have faith in my own heart.
I am now into my senior years of life, but I still miss them as much as if I were 10 years old. Their wisdom and love were so special that I have never found its equal, except in the husband the Lord gave me. I have been extremely blessed to have had that kind of family experience. And I can honestly say that I would give almost everything I own to be able to spend just 30 minutes talking with my mom and dad today.
TO DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AND MAKE LOADS OF MONEY AT IT!
No, seriously, since I shared in an earlier Daily Prompt about having several careers — which have given me much pleasure for the majority of my adult life — I don’t see any need to make any new plans now. But I couldn’t resist posting on today’s prompt — plus it gave me an opportunity to focus on one of my favorite bird paintings: This little birdie who is doing absolutely nothing but singing his heart out.
I do, indeed, have a quote that I live my life by. But the quote is my own.
“perfection is not a requirement in my life, but excellence is mandatory.”
I’m certainly not perfect, and I don’t expect perfection from other people. But I do believe that excellence is something we should strive for in everything we do. We need to give every job and every interaction with others the very best effort we have. We need to take the time and give the attention required to make sure what we have made, done, or said is the best we can do.
Mediocrity is the current quality level of most of our society today. I see it in almost every business and in almost every interaction with other people. For many years of my life, I visited restaurants where every employee made a determined effort to make sure the food was cooked properly, the dishes and utensils were clean, and the coffee was kept refilled. I shopped in stores where the clerks actually enjoyed helping their customers and prided themselves in knowing what would please them and in being patient when decisions were not easy to make.
I had family members in hospital situations where the doctors and nurses actually cared about the patients and would never have even considered leaving a patient in wet bedclothes or not double-checking medications, or not patiently answering all their questions. I spent time on phone calls to large companies that I paid to provide a service, and I got a real person on the other end without waiting for quarter to half an hour before anyone would even talk to me. I rarely find those experiences these days. And, in fact, I find a great deal of negative attitudes, sloppy work, and dirty environments where there should be the highest degree of cleanliness. It troubles me.
But I don’t think the people who settle for this mediocrity are deliberately being lazy about life — at least most of the time. Rather, I think there’s just something in our soul that feels discouraged and maybe even tired of “trying harder to do better” — because most of the world around us it not trying either. This dis-spiritedness is contagious, and we can fall into its trap very easily if we don’t keep up our guard.
So I do try, in my own little part of the world, to strive for excellence in the things that I’m responsible for. Do I always succeed in my efforts. Honestly, no, I do not. But I do try, and I intend to keep on trying just as hard as I can. Hence, in my journal, on my refrigerator magnates, and in my artwork, I keep painting or printing the quote I live by: “Perfection is not a requirement in my life, but excellence is mandatory.”
There is a theory espoused by some that there is actually a parallel/alternate experience of life that is running concurrently with the one we are aware of, and that if we could become aware of it as well, it would give us the experiences to which our alternate choices had opened the door. Of course, I realize, according to the Word of God, that concept is not a reality, but I am still aware that had I made just one or two choices differently – even the choice of what street to walk down, or what restaurant to visit, or what time of day I went to the library – a hundred things in my life might be completely different.
The reality of this truth came home to me quite unexpectedly, and quite dramatically, one day a few years ago when I encountered a stranger in a fast food restaurant. I’ve been fleetingly aware of other such experiences during my life, but this particular time, I was so touched by it, and my life so affected by it, that I immediately wrote it down and saved it, so that it would remain a part of who I am from that moment on. I shared it on this site at the time it happened, but it seems appropriate to give it a fresh airing in light of today’s prompt.
WHERE DID I MISS YOU?
I didn’t notice him as I entered the fast food restaurant. His table was to my right as I entered the door. And he wasn’t in my line of vision as I stood in line at the counter, so I don’t know if he had noticed me as I came in or not. But as I carried my sack over to the end of the shelf where the napkins were located, I glanced up and met his eyes. It was for only the briefest second, because it was one of those situations where you know you’ve made contact, but you don’t know why and aren’t sure how to react. So you swiftly shift your eyes to the side, pretending to look at other things — as if you had just been letting your eyes sweep the area in general.
Why we do that I don’t know. Maybe it’s a reaction only in those of us who have a measurable lack of self-confidence. Whatever the reason, though, I knew I had reacted that way when I really hadn’t wanted to do so.
But I felt the pull of his personality so strongly that I almost felt as if I’d insulted him by not smiling at him when our eyes had touched so fleetingly. Thinking it may have been just my imagination, I glanced his way again and found him looking at me again as well. But, again, I broke contact within mere seconds. And, once again, I was sorry. I now felt the pull of him so strongly that I knew I had to do something to connect with him, if only for one smile.
It was easier than I had expected, because at the table closest to his sat an old friend of mine. I usually tried to speak briefly to her whenever I saw her anywhere, so I decided I’d walk over to her table, necessarily passing by his.
As I stepped past his table, my eyes still wouldn’t connect with his. So I just looked right at my friend and spoke. “How are you doing, Betty?”
“I’m doing fine. How are you?”
“I’m fine too. I’ll be even better after I eat this,” I added whimsically, holding up my sack. I glanced his way, and he was looking at me. He smiled. I smiled. He could hear every word I said clearly. I looked back to Betty, still holding my sack out in front of me. Then facing Betty, but letting my eyes drift in his direction, I focused on his left hand. He did have on a gold ring, but whether it was actually a wedding band or not I couldn’t tell. It was best if I didn’t know for sure anyway, but … disappointment pierced through me. It was a brief, stabbing feeling, and then sort of a dull resignation took its place.
But somehow, I just couldn’t quite let go of him yet. I held up my sack again – in Betty’s direction: “I don’t really need this … but … then again, I guess I do need it” was my next inane addition to the conversation. I glanced at him again, as if to include him in this “high-level” discussion. He understood. So I took advantage of that moment to look at him more closely.
There was nothing extraordinarily attractive about him. I mean he wasn’t the kind of man you’d naturally notice because he was gorgeous or was dressed in the height of fashion. His African-American complexion wasn’t ebony, but it was darker than brown. He had on a kind of knit cap that covered most of his short-cropped hair. His beard was mostly gray and extremely neat, but even though the beard was gray, the face was young. He was obviously overweight. Not fat, but certainly not sporting the kind of physique that normally caught a woman’s attention.
But it was his eyes and his smile. Or maybe it was his smile and his eyes. It doesn’t matter which, because his smile was so warm and genuine that it filled his eyes as well as his mouth. And it was that smile that made him really attractive — not the physical smile — the part of it that came from his soul. It was his soul that was in his eyes, and there was an invitation there: “I could sit and talk to you and understand you,” it said. “And youwould understand me. We’d be friends.”
By that time (barely seconds) Betty was responding to my convoluted statement about the need for food, and she answered, “Yeah … you have to eat to live.” Brilliant answer!
“Right,” I said, looking back at my new friend. His smile was even sweeter — and even more inviting. He knew I wouldn’t — and couldn’t — sit down and talk to him. Why not? Because we had no connector. We had no tiny moment from our past that could have provided even the thinnest thread of oneness. We had just this one minuscule moment — taken out of time — to recognize, to dream, to wish. But his smile let me know that he had enjoyed talking to me vicariously and hoped that I had felt the same.
I smiled at him as generously as I knew how, hoping my message was in my own eyes: “I wish things were different. I wish I could sit down at your table and get to know you. Yes, we’d be friends; I’m sure of it. … Have a good day. Have a good life. … Bye.”
I walked out the door — sadder than when I’d walked in — poorer because of knowing there was a rich friendship out there that I would never own. Where in my life did I choose a path that put me in the position of never meeting him until today? Where did I miss finding him at a time when I could have known him, owned him as a friend, and had my life woven in with his? I wish I knew. No … I wish I’d known then … and I would have chosen differently.
The Happy Wordcrafter 