Graced with Grace

Sometimes life looks a little bit like this. I crochet while he reads. Quiet mornings where we can sit close.  

      When I read a good book, I wish I could write as good a book; Be as excited to read my own writing, As the authors I love and admire For their own art of words. When I read a good book, And I laugh and I cry Or I feel just the same way As the author has described But I could never have known To say it in that way, Even though it describes me perfectly. And maybe I am a little jealous For not having thought of it first. When I read a good book And the words they use Are way beyond my own vocabulary use, Yet because they use it well, I still know what it means. And then I wish I could use those words In my own writing, But thy never seem to flow as well. Or I read a good book, Then I try to write, But end up staring for far too long At a white blank screen Till I give up And leave writing To those who really know how, And begin to wash the dishes instead.  

  Colors of calm quietude, Dreamy waters, The still evening air, Closing an another summer day.   Skies of soft purple hues, Sun slipping behind horizon, Gentle whispers of the wind, Another day's end.   Perfect tranquility, Reflections, Grace from the heavens For this day's beginning to end.  

The lonesome person, the loner, and the lone person; they sound a bit alike, but they're all a little different. The lonesome person. I see them on the street walking past or sitting quietly watching passer-bys. They may not even be sitting alone, but they're still a lonesome person. I see it in the eyes. They're sad. They live in a different world. Maybe a world they used to know, or a world they've always wished for and never had, but they're lonesome and can't get out of it. They live by themselves even though they may be surrounded by people. Maybe they plug their ears with music to block out the noise in their own confused head. But their lonesome and they don't want to tell you. They do and they don't chose this life. Its not that they like being lonesome, but they just are. Maybe they've lived to long in bitterness and hate. Or maybe it was a life of pain and hurt, so they run from it all and hide within. Maybe their lost and can't

    I think I would sometimes like to blame my lack of writing on a big boisterous city that casts a shadow over my creative writing skills. I am convinced that it is the fresh country air that gives breath to beautiful writing. But there is always excuses of one kind or another to ignore the pen and paper.   And then again, maybe I never had that skill of writing and only dreamed I did. Or maybe I did, but it is all over and gone to the wind. Or maybe still it is yet there and you have yet to see what I can produce.   I still have a tiny bit of a dream that I will some day write a book and then again I really don't know that I want to.   Its kind of the same as I feel about farming. I have always had this romanticized view of authors and farmers and thought to myself that someday I should be one. Well, I will probably never be a farmer; I gave up that dream long ago.   But there still flickers a flame of hope that I might one day be an author.   But ala

Short moments away I will no longer be single....     ...at last joining hands and becoming one with this man. On May 25, 2018 I married my best friend and only a week before that, I graduated from Bethlehem College and Seminary. A lot of people warn the bride and groom that their wedding day will be a fog, a whirlwind. But although the day was full, from getting ready in the morning, pictures, the ceremony itself, greeting all the guests, and at last leaving, yet my husband and I look back on that day with pure delight. Everything was beautiful and in my eyes it was perfect. I will love looking back for years to come on that beautiful hot yet happy spring day. I will want to tell my children all the little details of that wedding, from the sunflowers and daisies, to the food and the root beer floats, the family and friends that surrounded us. Now here I am a couple weeks later, sitting quietly in my first little apartment with my husband, satisfied that the house is

What better day to write a love story than today. We met about three years ago. The exact details of our very first meeting I don't remember very well because it wasn't exactly love at first sight for either one of us. He was a young happy freshman while I was a sad despondent old junior. It wasn't too long before we became friends though. He started serving in the kitchen with me, and became a sweet fragrance of joy and youth in my weary sad drained life. It seems that the kitchen is a fitting place for two people to fall in love. I am sure he will never forget the many gifts of "love" I gave him as a dishwasher. Yes, I brought him so many dishes which I pointedly told him was "from the bottom of my heart...... where all the dirt lies." What could get more romantic than that? Right?!?!?! So we became friends. We played pranks. We did parties. We ate food. And we started sharing each others coffee drinks. (gross!) And I became madly in lo