Math Problem

I grew up on
Schoolhouse Rock
singing Lucky Seven
and Naughty Number Nine.
I know numbers and all their tricks.
But Seventy times Seven always trips
me
up.

Matthew 18:22

At my last writer's group meeting the flash writing prompt I chose was 'Hot Pink'. This is what I came up with. I rather like it.

Hot Pink
Blusher Brush
Toes Done
Bubble Gum
Flip Flops
Tu Tu
Going on Thirteen

Sweet Tea and Petit Fours

Snow-white hair,
                   soft eyes.
It wasn't what they said,
                   but how they said it.
When they spoke I thought of doves.

Perhaps the years have taught them to recognize a mother's broken heart.

Captured

 

verse one

I don't understand Your faithfulness

What do You see in me?

I'm no one of significance

Your love's a mystery

I don't know why You chose me

But I'm glad You did

Just because You love me

You died

So I might live

 

chorus

I am covered by Your holiness

Adorned with purity

I am a new creation

Your love has captured me

 

verse two

You tell me I'm accepted

Completely reconciled

Though I've nothing but myself to give

With me You're satisfied

I don't know why You chose me

But I'm glad You did

Just because You love me

You died

So I could live

 

chorus

I am covered by Your holiness

Adorned with purity

I am a new creation

Your love has captured me

 

verse three

Your devotion is amazing

My own sweet faithful friend

Why did You want to bless me

With love that never ends

I don't know why You chose me

But I'm glad You did

Just because You love me

You died

So now I live

 

end

I am covered by Your holiness

Adorned with purity

I am a new creation

Your love has captured me

 

When You look my way

Your beloved

Is who You see

 

Amazing Love

You've captured me

Shades of Grace

sunday morning
sunday evening
and
wednesday night

a small Bible
with
a picture of Jesus
holding a lamb

a flowered easter dress
with
a square neck
trimmed in lace

hands washing dishes
and
folding stacks of clean clothes
while she sang

verses one
two
and
four

I Follow This Path

I follow this path
because I am His

I do not choose
how or
when or
who

I choose yes or no
stay or go

I do not choose to
sing or dance
walk
run or crawl
pray
on my knees or
scrub the floor

I only choose yes or no

When I hear Him singing my name
it's easy
to say yes

He is the air I breathe

I follow this path
Because He is mine.

John 10

Pirouette

We move the kitchen table
off to the side
and sweep the floor well.

She puts on a pink tutu
and ballet slippers
worn through at the toes.

My naked quilt rack,
requisitioned for her purpose,
serves as the barre.

Piano notes tinkle
in harmony
with the clink of dishes.

Her little girl pirouette
turns
my kitchen into . . .

A world of dance,
music,
dreams.

Rich

Rich is not having to use the teabag twice.

Having an egg for the batter,
and milk from a jug,
Not a box.

Early morning caffeine fixes for two,
and muted conversation.

A platter stacked high with pancakes,
Ham for everyone,
and a family sized bowl of grits.

Rich is no elbow room at the breakfast table.

Holiday Weekend

A weekend at home,
surrounded by my children
large and small.

Couches are full,
T.V. turned on,
movie time.

The cupboard is empty of bowls.
They wait, in the sink,
to be washed . . .
again.

I made Mom's Chicken Soup,
jello (three kinds)
and
a jug of sweet tea.

We are almost out of tissues.
The little one asks,
"Can Daddy go get me some Puffs?"

I spoon in purple medicine
and pass out white tablets.

A cool cloth.

She scowls,
looks at her brother
and accuses,
"He germed up the cereal bars."
Coughs.
"I bet he licked them."