Archive for the ‘Purpose’ Category

Marjorie Holmes on Creation

“How can we worship without being grateful? Giving thanks in all our beings for the sheer privilege of being here to witness the marvels of creation–from the magnificence of stars and mountains to the frailest blue harebell or humblest mouse. How can we worship God without rejoicing and being grateful for the greatest marvel of all–self? One’s own precious, sentient self, and every circumstance of its life experience.

Gratefulness! Just being grateful–that, too, flings open even wider the door to God. One thing is sure, I can never hang on to God if I keep right on whining and complaining, blaming other people, the world, and sometimes even the weather, for what seems my dismal lot. In essence, blaming God! No, no, such ingratitude is an insult to my Creator. It’s like slamming the door on God.” – Marjorie Holmes

We can’t be grateful unless we notice. Unless we see reasons to be grateful. Unless our eyes are open. In the beginning of a romance, it’s easy to notice things. The lilt of a voice or the cute accent. The fine features or the curly hair. It’s easy to be grateful for every moment shared. It’s natural to show gratitude to the loved one, in thoughts and words and deeds, because that person is all we’re thinking about.

But time passes and the beauty seems to fade. Our eyes grow dull … or did we never see clearly in the first place? They say that love grows cold; passion and romance related to fire, and apathy to frigidity. Must love always fade into coldness, something wintry and worn instead of springlike and new? Must our love for God do the same?

God forbid. Help us to open our eyes. Because the wonder and the newness, the gratitude and the receiving of every perfect and beautiful gift, comes with seeing eyes.

So much love is sprinkled throughout the world. Awash in the light of every day are gifts bestowed from a God of perfect love. A goal or purpose to pursue. A sight that brings laughter or belonging. A worthwhile cause to promote. A son or daughter or husband or wife to love and with whom to rejoice. A friend or a book that puts in words something you’ve always felt so you know you’re not alone. A crystal sky, a placid lake. A puddle reflecting pristine blue.

It is all love. We see it and know it if we will only take the time to look. A writer, an artist, a lover, tries to take that time. It might come more natural for certain people. But there are moments for every one of us that it takes effort. Because our hours are brimming with timely tasks and overdue projects.

Today, perhaps this moment, stop. Take that time. Make that time. Look. Listen. Let your heart and mind fill with wonder. Then write … or live … from a heart of gratitude.


God, it is a challenge, my days filled with so much to do and try to be. Help me to make the effort to stop, fill my heart and life with gratitude … so that I may truly see the wonder of all You are and all that You have done.


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five smooth stones

We speak lightly

Of giants falling


But say,

“It is not for me.

My past, you see.

My marriage.

My loneliness.

It would be nice

but it was

so three-thousand-years-ago.”

We sit in wishes

In a dry creek bed

never seeing

the smooth stones

strewn about

As if finely placed.

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moments of wonderSometimes my breath catches

Somewhere near my throat

And my heart leaps up

In there too

So my breath

And my heart

Mingle and touch

Like a little bit of heaven

With a whole lot of earth

Like a veil pushed aside

Or ripped from top to hem

And I see clearly

Or maybe not so clear

The transient moments of life

Weaved with the eternal essence of love

The poignant blend

Catches in my spirit

In my throat

Makes my heart leap

And spirit, soul, heart


Mingle and wonder if that isn’t


The way it’s meant to be


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Is this my world

My life

My being

Whose vantage point is true

Or does it matter at all

Does language speak through you

May I transcend

And find you in eternity

Whom I take for granted

In my eternal present

Perhaps to speculate

Is equal to death

Or stepping outside

Negating meaning to find the whole

And seeing from this eye

This “I”

Only a hole

But that eternal view

From somewhere beyond the sky

Unblocked and uncontained

Sees truth

Sees love

Sees life for what it is

Inexpressible beauty

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Sweetened love

Through wisp-like haze

As though the dream

Alone, betrays

Waking sweeps

Within the gate

Of fallen light

And dreamblown fate

Fleeting hope

‘Twixt prismed fears

Lofty light

Falls over years

Alone, this heart

Pulls strings like song

A gift now born

Where I belong

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The year

Measured with the immeasurable

Laughter, sometimes riding the wave of tears

Love, hearts brimming

Like hot chocolate mugs topped with whipped cream

To survive the winter’s chill

Solitude and silence

Those sacred sisters

Beckoning to a life of peace and purpose

Faith, always the silver lining

Peering behind the looming clouds

Of questions and sorrow and uncertainty

A year is measured in minutes and days

Seconds and weeks

Months and seasons

But the immeasurable

Always far more remembered

For it is what makes a life

Poem a Day #1 – August 18

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the flute of unokaMy last two posts were about the bestselling novel Things Fall Apart. The thing is, the thought of writing dialectical journals and literary analyses don’t always inspire creativity. Often, the required word count and outside sources cause my inspiration in writing to dwindle considerably, especially if the book is one that I would not have even read if given the choice.

But poetry seems to come naturally to me, especially when my emotions are touched by something. Now Things Fall Apart did not have many “touching” scenes. One scene … maybe. But as I read, I thought of the contract between Okonkwo, the main character, and his father, Unoka, who is only briefly mentioned in the first chapter. In my dialectical journal, I mentioned how Unoka seemed happier and more content than Okonkwo. Okonkwo was ruled by fear and driven by the passion of hating everything his father had loved.

That contrast struck me, and I began to write. A sort of conversation between father and son …


The might is right

I earn my way

And who I am

By the strength of my hand


My son

Can you not see

It was for you

I played the flute

And you did not dance


Planting and harvesting

Amassing wealth

As my soul’s worth

No time for mirth


Harvests will come

And go as they came

Nonjudgmental silence

We choose to bear shame


If not for my feats

The strength of my arm

What more can I be

Who am I beyond these?


You are warmth in the night

Protection from harm

Joy in a child’s laughter

Whistling in the dark


Betrayed by my tribe

All hope of life

Adrift, like kites

All is lost, alone


I too was betrayed

Still music I played

Beneath the wood’s shroud

There was joy

My son, dance along

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