Sometimes

Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man; decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow,
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

I encountered this poem the other night in Good Poems, the book I gave Jon and he promptly gave back to me. The world stopped for a moment. I had to hear it again. And again.

I Googled the author to learn more about her, and found that she has come to hate this poem. She dislikes it so much she has taken it off her website, and asked people who quote it to leave her name out of it. Apparently she thought it was pretty good at some point, because it got published. But I suppose as she grew in her craft, her view turned around, and she rues the day she wrote it.

So, apologetic author of Sometimes, I will comply with your wishes, but remain an admirer of your chaff. Mediocrity not only has its place, it can sometimes be a godsend.

A Closed Door, But an Open Window

Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven. We love you David. Go in peace, at last.





















And with God’s generous blessing, we will do the same.

Holding On and Letting Go

Thinking about new beginnings always puts me in the mood to clean stuff out, like closets and shelves and the kitchen counter and the stack of stuff by my bed. I made a little progress on that yesterday, making decisions about each item I encountered.

I love beautiful things, and I love useful things. And I REALLY love things that are both functional and lovely to look at. As I sorted, I kept all the things I love, and all the things I need.

The beautiful things I tried to put on the wall or on an open shelf--somewhere where I can see them without even trying. The merely useful items I kept, but I tried to put them away somewhere out of sight, only to be dug out when I really need them. And I did totally let go of quite a few things yesterday which weren't adding anything to my life, things which I neither need nor want any longer.

While I was sorting and tossing and rearranging my things, it made me think about the year just ended, and all the memories I've collected over the last twelve months. It's been a wonderful year in many many ways, filled with blessings and love and fun and joy. Those beautiful memories are worthy of frequent recollection. They merit my attention.

There have been other aspects of this year, however, which have been difficult and sad. Those memories may be useful to recall, but only when needed. While I can't really choose to just purge certain experiences or situations from my memory, I can choose to put them away in a place where I won't need to encounter them often. They won't be my focus. They're kind of like my toilet plunger. It would be unwise to get rid of it, but I don't need to keep it in my front entryway or in the middle of my kitchen table.

My life is defined and literally created by where I choose to focus my attention--I will eventually become what I habitually attend to. Here's to the happiness of 2009. These are a few of the memories I'm deliberately holding on to (in no particular order):