The Rotten Poet spoke
of Thanksgiving and Christmases bespoke
of children far and near
knowing full well they’d bend an ear
or focus a gazing eye
the moment the email came through
with the latest rotten poem
a groan, giggle and full on belly laugh
for herein George, dad, pampa filled
our minds with images stilled
of cereal boxes, apt choices one and all
of deepest ponderings
of weirdest wonderings
and mostly of chocolate cake with
peanut butter frosterings
To my family and friends of dad Happy Turkey Day, and Merry Christmas. Go Irish!
This might be a bit early for me it’s right on time. Over this last week I’ve been experiencing great joy and peace. Dancing in my kitchen, smiling, writing. I’m grateful for this as none of the big stuff that’s had its turn leading me down the paths of worry and frustration has changed. I’m working on spending time with the One who loves me so deeply and passionately.
This has reminded me that I am Beloved.
I’m being reminded how turning twenty-five felt heavy, and serious as though I needed to be about discovering my purpose in life. Turning forty was so fun, but again the focus seemed to be about taking what I believed to be that purpose and making “the most of it”. I’m turning fifty next month, my purpose is to love, and be loved, and BELOVED.
The quilting always matters as it is part of that language of love between me and the Father. Just like responding to my dad, The Rotten Poet, in being the Rotten Poet’s Eldlest Daughter. Just like listening to quilters, asking questions, sharing stories is part of that love language. It’s all about LOVE. I don’t mean sappy, fleeting feelings that wax and wane. I mean LOVE that abides with, is compassionate, empathetic, listens, weeps with, calls out, disciplines, sits with, is there for, is.
My grace is sufficient for you, says the Lord.