Prairie Lily Arts

Spring: An Opening Dance

 

"Is it spring now, Mama?" His smiling, little-boy face beams, bathed in sunlight.  I am not sure if his eyes or his feet dance with the greatest joy.  A breath of breeze tousles the cherry blossoms like fluttering silk delicate above his head. 

I watch an open heart... baby boy growing... like so many red buds spreading in the warmth of a new season.

His face tips to the morning's pristine sapphire expanse as if to let it fill him with all that is new... discovering life.  Seeking, drinking, savoring.

"And children's faces looking up

Holding wonder like a cup."

~ Sara Teasdale

Spring. Yes, child. Indeed. When after rest and renewal, beginnings grow.  Shelter falls away.  Beauty adorns like a gallery against the sky. 

The music of laughter floats.

"Shall we?" whispers spring. 

A bow. A curtsy.

An opening dance. 

Suz

Joining my sweet friend, Jenn, today for her photo challenge: "Spring".

Funny Faces and Cherry Blossoms

 
This day, the cherry blossoms whispered hello.  I sought to capture their fluid dance upon a gentle breeze.  Fragile petals shimmered translucent in a warm bath of spring sunlight.  Quiet. Delicate.

This day, my little bear skipped, climbed and jumped through his last day as a four-year-old super hero.  Tomorrow would bring cake and candles and whispered wishes. While I framed images of cherry blossoms, he swung from my legs and told me knock-knock jokes.  His little face was expectant... waiting for my laughter as if he hadn't uttered these same lines dozens of times before... just this morning.  I lower the lens and laugh.  And as my eyes meet his, he dances a wild thing dance and scrunches his little cheeks... cheeks which grow less babyish every day.

This moment the cherry blossoms fade into the background... my little silly one in focus.  May I remember these settings that I might capture a thousand of these moments... the world a beautiful backdrop, the music of laughter, a face I love filling the clear focus of my lens.

This moment.

Suz

Joining my sweet friend, Jenn, today for her photo challenge: "This Moment". The other entries will touch your heart.

Love Is...

 
Love is patient,

Love is kind.

It does not envy,

It does not boast

It is not proud.

When I Grow Up...

 
I love listening to little boy dreams.  I need to stop more often... for more moments... to hear them with my heart... these aspirations soaring above clouds, above obstacles, above limitations.  Eyes dance.  Words race fast. One thought building on the one before, as if constructing life bricks this second out of sheer breath and lamp light. 

 
"Mama when I grow up I want to...."

When does that stop?

When do we stop dreaming? Reaching? Building?

Heart Stories

Growing up is a roller coaster ride.  Exciting. Challenging. Playful. Confusing. Breathtaking. Joyful.

Ever shaping. Molding.

A journey.  The first chapters of a new life.

Curling up with a favorite book under worn quilts and fuzzy blankets has always been a place of calm for my little men and I. Tucked beneath my wing. Soaking up words, pictures... love.

Since they were each but babies, with tender skin glowing pink, I have chosen for them Valentine stories to say, "I love you." 

Sometimes as night surrounds, restlessness tugs and pulls.

I'll Marry You

"Mama, I'm gonna marry you."

Sweet little boy words pouring from his tender heart straight into mine... daily.

And then the day came that he wanted to make sure I knew how earnestly he yearned to know that I would be his and he would be mine forever... that no one else could possibly ever be more important, more beautiful, more loved in his eyes.

He studied the plastic seal from the milk carton.  Small fingers drew it from the cool of the counter.  Little legs not yet tall enough to reach on their own hop down from the stool.  Bare feet pad across smooth wood until they meet my own.  He takes my hand and glides the white ring onto my finger.  Tender little cheeks rise in a sunlight smile.  Expectant eyes search mine.  "Mama, will you marry me?"

Let Them Eat Snow!

 
Silently it floats against the night.  Mounting. Soft as cotton.  Light as down.  A crystal ballet suspended in the air.  I blow tiny swirls into the darkness... as a feathery dandelion gone to seed.  Bare toes sink into its frosty carpet. Like a child on Christmas Eve... I peek.

Sled. Check. Mittens, boots, hats... check.

A full jug of cider waits to simmer in winter spices.  Chili beans for stewing. Cornmeal for rising. Cocoa for mixing, marshmallows for roasting... and a large, empty bowl for collecting.  There shall be snow ice cream tomorrow.

Wasn't It Just Yesterday?

Thinking of Mary cradling her sweet baby boy as this Christmas season begins.  I wrote this a couple of years ago.

 

Wasn't it just yesterday

 When I first drew you close?

In that one miraculous moment

Your life began and everything changed.

In that instant you filled my heart

With all that is goodness, all that is joy,

All that is peace, all that is love.

 

Pulling Up Anchor

Are you willing to pull up the anchor?

You are created a vessel.

Seaworthy.

And granted provision.

Carving Day

If you had dropped by today...

This was us... unedited.

A Fall Day on the Farm

 A breathtaking, easy, fall day on the farm...

Brothers being silly....

Monstrous Dreams

 
Tomorrow, just in the nick of time, we will visit our local Kinsey Family Farm to select just the right pumpkins for this year's jack-o'-lanterns.  It's a little early for sugar plums, so my boys are dreaming of pumpkin bread and hay rides and apple cannons.  (Ok, so is their mama.)

Halloween at our house is much less about monsters and all things gruesome as it is about dreams.  Sure, the boys love to put on the goulish masks in the costume aisles.  Dozens of times over I hear, "Hey, Mama, look at this!" as they see who can gross out the girl.  But when crisp breezes first begin to rustle the treetops, my boys start dreaming.  What hero do they most want to be?  If they could do anything, be anything, what and who would it be?

A Love Letter To My Boys

 
My Precious Boys,

During play today beneath the scorching August sun of Georgia, I listened as a dear friend shared heart words with me.  What if we didn't have tomorrow? 

What if the lessons I've tried to cobble together as an offering to your hearts so far had to be enough?  I would want to know beyond any doubt that you both know how to love.  If I have planted even the smallest seeds in your hearts to love completely, honestly, sacrificially, unconditionally.... the rest will come.  To love with the kind of love God designed for us to offer is everything.  Boys, it is everything.  

No Matter What

 
Sleepy eyes closed.  Small fingers drew his favorite blanket up to his chin.  I can't even remember what it was now... but I had forgotten to do something for him.  I've heard the words spoken often... because I am so very human.  Beautifully they are offered without a need for me to even apologize first.  "It's ok, Mama.  I forgive you."  In the dim light this time came added whispered little boy words I will never forget, "I will always forgive you."

Out of the Park

 
Sometimes you just want to knock one out of the park.

I remember during revival one balmy summer evening much like tonight, we all gathered for a game of softball in the open land behind the church.  I was up.  I could hardly lift the wieldy old wooden bat into position.  There was nothing athletic about me as a little girl.  And I knew if I even made contact with the ball it would just drop like an iron shot at my feet.  Dread washed over me.

How he knew, I do not know. 

Voice of Gratitude

Each week I find joy visiting the blogs of so many friends participating in the Gratitude Community at Holy Experience.  On "Multitude Mondays" they add to their rolling lists of blessings in their lives... big and small... obvious and subtle... fleeting and enduring.  Yesterday, in the still of the night, I thought about writing my first installment to join them.  Somehow my thoughts strayed to our plans for learning this year.  Those ideas spilled into thoughts of my boys... their distinct differences, their unique strengths... all of the things I appreciate and treasure in their young selves.  And then it struck me.  Do I tell them enough... specifically... what I appreciate about them?

 

Ready to Fly

  
"Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."  Luke 12:27

Oh, how there are times my heart succumbs to worry.  Out of this knotted, constricted state comes needless toil, fruitless spinning.   This is especially true of my parenting.  My mama heart longs to shelter these lives entrusted to me beneath my wing, wrapped in this nest I've made, that no harm may come to them.  Yet, they flutter their wings; they raise their voices; they prepare to fly.  The world awaits.

"Is it my turn now?"  He had waited so patiently for me. 

Guest Post: The St. Louis Book Signing by Andrew Malphurs

 
I am pleased to welcome the first guest writer at Prairie Lily Arts and doubly so to introduce him as my son, Andrew, a recently published young author.  I previously shared with you here that one of Andrew's goals for the year was to publish a piece of writing.  How delighted he was to have both a family history story and its companion illustration published within weeks!  While Andrew was keenly aware that publication can be a long and elusive quest, he was determined to capture the flag.  I love that about my little man... a heart that envisions... a spirit that attains.  Andrew, I love you. 

For You...

They know me.  They smooth over my shortcomings as if they never notice.  They cheer my every victory as if it is their own.  They bubble over with little-boy breathless giggles through my silly days.  They quietly offer patience through my focused days. They say I'm beautiful whether I'm skimmed in flowing black velvet, or just rose up slowly from warm, drawn covers.  They know my passion for chocolate fudge and potato chips.  They know my disdain for blue cheese and caviar... fish eggs, they'll tell you.  They know exactly what is about to be heard from my lips, before my voice makes a sound.  They know me.

They know my heart.

 

Undaunted Dreams

In January I talked to my little man about goals for the new year... dreams... ambitions... what-would-you-do-if-you-knew-you-wouldn't-fail kind of goals.  One frosty morning, draped in a quilt and narrow in focus, I was clicking away at the keyboard when he approached me quietly... paper in hand. 

"Would you like to hear my goals?" 

The click-clacking stopped.  What was in this young heart?  The one where I can see just a glimpse of the man to be?  I turned my face on his.  The world would wait.  Dreams would begin.

"I want to get published."

 

Gentle Men

 

Where have the gentle men gone? Not just gentlemen... but gentle men.  In so outright shaming acts of gentility and chivalry have we not only lost our gentlemen but the gentle men?  We have scoffed when gentlemen open doors, remain standing until ladies are seated, order on a lady's behalf, or otherwise change their decorum to reflect deference for a woman's sensibilities.

Aye, therein does lie the rub?! We refuse to recognize that men are created to be dominate creatures, providers, protectors, defenders, warriors, conquerors and all of the characteristically male behaviors which naturally follow and support this design.  We refuse to recognize that women are created to be nurturing creatures, cultivating an environment of love, learning, growth, nourishment, renewal, tenderness and safe harbor for our mates and our children.  We cast off these designs as mere labels and limitations.

In our pursuit to be modern, to be politically correct, to be equal, we have sent a clear message that gentlemen need not apply.  And so one by one, they disappeared...  these men among men, so strong in character and secure in themselves that they come bearing true gentleness.  Being gentle is not an indication of weakness.  On the contrary, in a gentle man one finds abundant strength.  But in our world of independence and equality we sacrificed perfect design.  We lost the moments of jackets draped across our shoulders, having our hair brushed slow and smooth, having coarse, boisterous speech softened to bright, attentive eyes, having arms opened to tenderly receive.  We lost our gentle men.

What If....

What if?

Quick.

Can you list five? Impulsively.

What if you could change your day, your year, your life?

What if....

Or are you finished dreaming, growing, refining?

 
Have you stopped viewing life through a lens of possibility and hope?

We are careful not to tread on the dreams of a child. 

The story of a child has just begun...

When 1+1=1

How many times have you heard the words, "I love you.."?  Whispered softly in the dark.  Called out into the wind.  Greeting you at sunrise.  Slurred together in haste.  Poignant, paused, penetrating.  How many times?  How many ways?  From how many voices?  In how many places?

I can't begin to count.  Apparently I can't add either.  Did you know that 1+1=1?

 

I wasn't applying the principle of love to the equation.  Yet my baby boy knew the answer... before he could write those three words, he knew what "I love you..." really represents.  He knew all about fractions and wholes and adding.