Life is good. God is good. His essence pervades our life like the scent of roses. Everywhere I turn His fulfilled promises stand out like roses in full bloom. He has given us each other. We have grown closer, intertwining, our lives becoming entangled, inseparably one.



Now, we have children, the fruit of our love for one another. Even in this desert we live in, God has blessed us. For the first time, we own our own home. We prayed for a fenced-in back yard, and a tree house for Ryan. The landscaping in the front yard is almost finished. Marigolds and roses, tulips and jasmine. Climbing, creeping, growing. Annuals, perennials, bushes, trees. Sweet scents flow into our home with every breeze.

The future looks good, too. Ryan's soccer skills are improving, as are his confidence and interpersonal skills. Hope is reading better, and her spelling is improving. Faith has decided to stay in town to get her RN degree. It will take longer, but she'll be able to spend more time with Hope and Ryan. We fully expect the future to blossom as beautifully as the present.

And after Faith's graduation on May 16th? I'd like to see her get her LVN and take a job at the hospital. Then, go on for her RN. She can get her Bachelor's online. Maybe go for her Master's, too? By this time, the kids will be close to graduating from high school. Or, maybe in college? After they're old enough, independent, Faith wants to become a traveler. Maine. Texas. Oregon. North Carolina. Places we've dreamed of visiting. Then, overseas with Nurses Without Borders. South America. Africa. The Far East.

Of course, these are dreams of a distant future. Like the smallest buds on a rose bush, we don't know what the future holds. But, we can close our eyes, and the scent of roses will surround us, whispering to us of God's promises.

Crystal Cove Pictures

This is a poem to my wife, Faith

This is a poem to my wife, Faith.

You are everything I am not,

everything I can never be.

Mother, Daughter, Wife,

My lover.

There are times I don't love myself,

and I don't see how anyone could.

Yet, you do,

and you convince me that I am lovable.

You complete me.

You make me who I am,

You drive me to be more than I am.

We all need someone like you:

a goad, a thorn, a rose,

a sweet perfume that clings to me

and tells me that I am beautiful.

You are my wife,

and I am ... yours.

Doh

Well, the poem that I just posted, which probably appears below this one, is screwed up.

The words are there, and the line breaks, but the spacing is ALL wrong. If I ever figure out how to fix it, I'll repost it.

I'll probably post some of my other writing exercises here, too.

I'm currently reading a book about writing, and its filled with exercises.  This is the result of one of them.

                                         March 20


Images of the sky
                                         reflected in melting icicles
        (unseen by unseeing eyes)
moving by rote
                     rocking a newborn boy

Black hat
                Black veil
                                Black dress
     twisting in a frigid wind

A sea of mourning
    seated on blue cushions
One blue suit amidst the black
                                          (a young man openly weeping)

Silent tears tracing silent paths
               cascading down a numb face
                           pale blue eyes focused on a memory of

Nurses running
                screaming "Code Blue"
                                                                Blue lips, cyanotic
Fixed, unseeing eyes, staring at the ceiling

Looking down,
                seeing Grandpa's eyes
                                 watching from a newborn's face.




Let me know what you think of it.  If you have questions about it, the symbolism, the scenery, let me know.