Kindness is cool

Pastel sky

Second Chances

Snow-covered branches

Coffee, Conga, & Hawks!

You know you’re doing the parenting thing right when your twelve-year-old is looking at you with a combination of doubt and amusement. At least, that’s the way I figure it. So the other morning, my beloved dog woke me up at 4:30 as she paced back and forth down the halls and up and down the old wooden staircase of our house over and over. I finally convinced myself to give up on the tossing and turning bit and groggily ventured downstairs and to my fuel, ahem, coffee maker at 5:58. As I was pressing start on my favorite kitchen appliance, the electricity went out. Noooooooooo!

The first five minutes of the power outage I was optimistic. I lit some candles, chatted with my ten-year-old, (who was so excited to be using her new flashlight in the dark), and I decided to start my Bible study. But all I could think about was that coffee. So when the power came on about forty minutes later and I had the first cup of deliciousness in my hand, I was dancing across my kitchen. Now, some people know that kitchen dancing is kind of my thing, but this morning I got lost in the moment. All I know is that I glanced up mid-one-woman-conga-line to see that look I mentioned a minute ago coming at me from my 12-year-old. I was singing the Conga beat, (da-da-da-da-da-da), coffee in hand, my favorite cozy robe on, dancing across the kitchen and in place of shouting “Con-ga! Con-ga!” I was singing, “Cof-fee! Cof-fee!” What can I say? I like my coffee.

A little while after my earlier than usual kitchen dance party, I had just finished my yoga and was at the sink, when I spotted a hawk on my neighbor’s fence. I got excited. I always do when I see hawks. I think they’re so cool I had to include them in my teen fantasy book series, HARMONY RUN. I showed my daughters, who both thought the bird of prey was neat, and enthusiastically alerted my husband. Meanwhile, the hawk flew to another tree. By the time Charles got to the window all he could see was, “something black.” Based off his description, I gathered he didn’t quite seem convinced his dream woman had seen a hawk. (Maybe her overactive imagination had gotten carried away again?) To be honest, I think he was only on his first cup of coffee, so maybe he wasn’t as alert as yours truly. Still, in my ongoing quest to prove to Charles I’m holding onto a bit of sanity, I tugged my boots on, grabbed my camera and a winter coat to go with my yoga pants, and headed out into 23-degree weather.

The hawk moved from branch to branch despite my stealth-like approach, (snow boots snapping every twig and crunching every leaf in my yard), but I kept praying that I could just get one picture to show that man. And voilà. I got one, and only one, picture. But thank you, Lord- that’s all I needed!

When I went back inside, my 12-year-old was laughing, the doubt still lingering on her beautiful face. She nodded towards my yoga Capri pants and shook her head. “Cold, Mom?” she asked. “Yes, but I got the evidence I needed for your dad,” I declared triumphantly. The girls were impressed with the photo. And Charles…well, he took one look at the photo and said, “Oh…wow!” surprise evident in his expression, and that made my dash into the cold worth every freezing moment.

I may be a coffee-chugging-one-woman-Conga-line, but I’m not seeing things. Well, not all of the time, anyway. 😉 Don’t forget to look out your window, friends. You never know what you may see. And the next time your morning cup of coffee brings a smile to your face, why not consider doing the kitchen Conga line? I promise I won’t judge. I’m too busy amusing my children.

Red-shouldered Hawk
Hey there, beautiful hawk! 🙂

Peace

poem Through the pain 2 copy

Clouds

Clouds

The clouds come down
I lift my chin
Searching,
Hoping,
You are here again.

~Sarah Elle Emm

Portrait

Ocean

 

Your portrait

so perfect

cotton mixes with blue,

urging me to offer up

humble thanks to you.

 

The shapes, the hues, tiny shells

each detail speaks to me.

Standing in your portrait,

I begin again.

I breathe.

 

You brush the waves across the sand

and gently touch my face,

with a wind so soft, but awakening

and leaving in its trace

 

The need to rid myself of words

held dormant in a heavy soul.

In awe of you, hope sparks within,

running from head to toe.

 

Inside a breathing portrait

you’ve left me in a state.

I have to try to share this sensation,

To live, be bold, create.

 

I’ll proclaim your love,

I’ll tell a story

of a girl who I once knew.

She covered her ears when you spoke to her,

too stubborn to believe the truth.

 

She’d lost her way,

wounded, angry

She wouldn’t let you near.

But the rescuer, you held on tight

as she danced in the dark for years.

 

Tried and tested

she fell and fell again,

but you were always there.

Yet words don’t suffice to try to explain

a love to which nothing compares.

 

You are the one,

the only one,

who could communicate these emotions.

No words are needed; your portrait conveys it,

you use the sky, the sand, the oceans.

 

So I’ll walk away,

humble, yet brimming

with these words I must put to paper.

I’ll probably fail, but I’ll try to express it,

the awesomeness of our creator.

 

The ocean roars, reaching my ears

with the promise of a home up above.

Sand on my feet, sun on my skin,

I’m filled with gratitude for your love.

 

It’s time to go, words to write,

a purpose you’ve given to me.

I’ve been standing in your portrait,

I’ll begin again.

I’m free.