Blood, Sweat, and Tears

His bones cracked

His skin ripped

His screams curdled

Blood. For me.

He cried for me.

He died for me

The pride of me.

Lies. Eyes. Mouth. Hands. Mind. Words. Lust. Hate. Jealousy. Judgement. Gluttony. Procrastination. Abuse. Abortion. Pouting. Whining. Taunting. Joking. Craving. Hoarding. Seething. Yelling. Sneering. Kicking. Screaming. Sniffing proud-nose-in-air. Adultery. Disobedience. Greed. Idolatry. Narcissism. Blasphemy. Laziness. Murder. Dishonor. Fornication. Pornography. Pride.

He took the pain

for my free reign.

I am bound

No more, why

Do I hang

On to what I

Should not.

My eyes, blind,

Can see right

Through myself

With a glass

From Him. The

Wine. The Bread.

Thorns stuck

Inside His head

Beaten in with

A stick. The

Sickness of sin

Turned Him in,

But did not read

Between the lines.

He wrote my story

With His glory

Intertwined with Mine.

I may thank Him before eating

My hamburger with cheese.

I’m a good person

“Thank you” & “Please.”

I never do cuss…

Out loud – but in my head.

I talk about Him…

Profaning His name.

I know I’m loved

So why not splurge?

Because with His

Blood the world purged.

Globular scarlet

Staining the ground,

Drowned out the

Sound of laughter from

Your lame pun.

His gravelly throat

Screamed, clouds covered

The sun. Blood, sweat, tears

All mingled in one.

Sweat through eyes

Blood through scalp

Tears through wounds.

Skin carved away

With 9 tails to

Roast on the spit

Of a Cross.

He wouldn’t stay

Up by Himself so they

Tacked Him up

Pinned Him down.

His palms splintered

With the wood.

They didn’t bother

To sharpen the nails,

Just tried to decide

Which end would

Drive faster through

Flesh into wood?

He thought of my

Lies.

Your puns.

Her mouth.

He pondered them all.

“Forgive them,

Daddy,

They know not what

they do.”

He took the blame

Pain, blood, nails

Tails – 9 whips

With shattered shards

Of glass woven into

His back.

He died. Of pride.

Not His, but Mine.

I killed Him, but

He’s not dead.

He went through Hell

For us to tell

The rest of the story.

He didn’t stay away

Just for three days

Then He rose with

The sun. The Son.

He died for me,

Cried for me. The pride of

Me. Now lives.

How can I not give

What He asks of me?

Myself.

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The Wonderology of a One Year Old

Babysitting a one year old can be a harrowing experience, if you look at it the wrong way. My dear little cousin “J” is the easiest baby I’ve ever seen. She coos, she smiles, and she only cried once because she refused to take a nap.

Out of the many toys J’s mommy left, her favorite was the cap of her bottle.

What? You say. Her mom left her THAT for a toy?

Well, no. Mommy left many colorful plastic things that tempted the eyes with buttons that lit up and made noise (and what NOISE!).

But J didn’t like any of them best. She picked the cap of her bottle.

She also enjoyed her game of “empty-the-diaper-bag” and when she found the red packet of wet-wipes she squealed with glee!

She held it out eyeing the vibrant red packaging. Then she pulled it close and gave it a good lick! Oh, how good the packet tasted! Better than any of those gummy rings and keys!

That’s disgusting! You might say. Why would you let a one year old munch on a packet of wipes?

In all honesty, I think those wipes were just as sanitary as anything J was supposed to be teething on!

After all, what do you clean toys with?

Sanitary wipes.

Anyway, I decided to show J our air humidifier. It’s a futuristic looking thing with a funnel at the top where the water vapor puffs out. I turned it on and she stared at it.

On hands and knees she scurried over and gaped at the water vapor. She lifted a soft, miniature hand to try and catch the wisps of cloud.

She sat up beside the humidifier and jiggled the blue tank. Gurgling bubbles rose to the surface. She stared wide-eyed.

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“Ouh,” She said, in awe.

The humidifier kept her attention for five minutes.

5 whole minutes! Do you know how short the attention span of a one year old is?

I don’t either, you know why? Because it’s so short!

And yet, this little tike sat beside the air humidifier as contented and interested as one could be.

If she could talk, I’m sure she would have asked a million questions.

“What’s this? Why does it float? Why can’t I grab it? Why is it wet? Why does it disappear? How does this weird looking thing work? Can I have one?”

As I sat beside her and watched, I pondered Wonderology.

This one year old had it. She sat with wide wonder-filled eyes for five whole minutes.

She even found the wonder in a packet of sanitary wipes and the cap of her bottle!

She didn’t need a room full of colorful gizmos to keep her happy and interested. She found things to be interested in. And she was happy.

One Word ~ Salesman

Today’s prompt from Oneword was “Salesman”. I immediately thought of that one old Veggie Tales “Madame Blueberry” where the unsuspecting berry is swindled into buying many things she doesn’t need. I hope you enjoy my little poem I wrote in a minute:

Salesman

You know you don’t need it,
but somehow you want it –
You know you shouldn’t,
but you do.
You know you will,
but say you won’t.
You did.
The salesman won.

The Young Artist in Lancaster

I caught a glimpse

of him

sitting, concentrated

on his late night

masterpiece.

At a table

with

a lone

lamp, bending

with the student

over hard work.

Driving past

side-by-side

nooks and crannies,

the fleeting

image of

the artist

held miles

past that

moment.

Picturesque,

like a work

of art himself.

For a moment

I joined

the magic

of the young

artist in Lancaster.

I wonder

his name?

I wonder

his work?

In the

twinkle

of my eye

I didn’t catch

his work

just his

magic.

Did he know

those

driving past

could see him?

In his own

world of

color

life

and sorrow.

For a magical

moment

I entered

his world.

The young

artist in

Lancaster.

Raindrops

I love rain. To some people rain may seem a gloomy thing. Not to me. For one, it’s water FALLING FROM THE SKY! How fascinating is that?! After the blinding white snow sits around for a few weeks, it is rather nice to hear the almost forgotten pitter-patter of rain on your roof.

I slipped on my coat, hooked up my little dog to the leash, and sloshed outside. Even though I had some reading and writing to do, I couldn’t resist running back inside for my trusty old, 7 mega pixel, point-and-shoot. One of my dreams is to own a nice camera with the best micro lens there is.

I like looking at little things. Up close and personal.

Under one of our leaky gutters there sits a big black tub. An oval of ice floated in it, ready to sink a toy Titanic. Underneath the water, a rim of encased bubbles called to my camera.

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Aren’t they pretty?

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I took about 5,000 (ok, maybe more like 30) blurry pictures of this wet lady bug. The grey sky didn’t help the fact that I blocked the lighting to take the picture, so I got the idea to grab an LED flashlight. (Because that’s like sunlight, right?) I tried shining that on the bug and it worked! (If you look at the top picture, you can see the reflection of my little flashlight! 😉 )

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I found this little fellow beside the sidewalk.

Isn’t it beautiful?

New growth, bright green (my favorite color), and wet mud remind me that spring is my favorite season! This bright little sprig will grow up to be a strong, tenacious grass soon!

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Water has always thrilled me.

I am chronically attracted to puddles. Any puddle I see must be stepped in, no matter what shoes I’m wearing!

Look at the view inside this droplet. A single drop of water can bend an image in an art form all its own! I wish I were that tallented!

Stopping to see the little things in life somehow broadens one’s perspective. Through the little things we see just how big the world is. I try to see the wonder in the little things. Their beauty, and who they reflect.

Thomas ~ a poem

This is a poem I wrote almost two years ago. I wrote it to be read out loud, so either look both ways to make sure no one can hear you, or lock yourself in the bathroom! This poem is based on one of my favorite childhood characters: Thomas the Tank Engine.

Thomas

___couplings- collide__CHUGCHUG__cu-couples-colliding___

___take-a-turn-take-a-drink__SIPSIP__take-a-drink-take-a-turn___

___FESSFESS__tootle-tap__FESSFESS__tootle-tap___

___clickity-clack-trippity-trap__PEEPPEEP__trappity-trippity-clackity-clickity___

___PEEPPEEP__come-along-come-along__PEEPPEEP___

___turn-around-come-around__FESSFESS__turntable-turn-around___

___slide-inside-slow-slow__WHISH-WHISH__SLOW—Slow—slow—weeesh-weeeesh

The Man-Made Sledding Hill of Main Street

Today, Sunday the first of March, just about every church canceled services…except mine. The weatherman called for 4-8 inches of snow all day, of course that would fluff over the other four we already had. The temperature got up into the 30os – we almost didn’t need to wear coats. (In fact, a guy a church didn’t wear one!)

Once back from our snowy excursion to church, we noticed the neighbors across the street having it out with a snowball fight. I geared up with three pairs of pants, a tank top, sweatshirt, coat, gloves, scarf, hat, and neon green snow boots. After tossing some powder, the little one’s noses turned a shade too red and they joined their mommy inside. The two guys and I decided to build a snow man, which turned into a fort project, which turned into a mound project, which eventually turned into a sledding hill. A girl and boy from up the street joined, along with my big brother, and a phone-a-friend. Flying leaps, snowy faces, DSC05624thrilling feats, and unending laughter ensued.

Here on Main Street even though we live close together, we don’t connect with our neighbors as often as we should. Sometimes it takes some snow to bring neighbors together.  A smile from a familiar face on a blustery first-of-March-day will warm any heart. The little things in life, the everyday things sometimes matter the most.