Prairie Lily Arts

It's Friday

In the dark, quiet hours I draw still.  I linger over the words of John... Matthew, Mark, Luke.  Tears spill in streams.  Surely the sound of heartbreak can be heard in the silence.  Oh, that I could be Simon of Cyrene this day... to do something... something to bear the load of my own weight upon the back of the One who never failed.... the One who loved... this much.  It's Friday.  And my heart aches to breaking.

Suz

"Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, 'Thou sayest that I am a King. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice." John 18:37

 

Drawing Near to His Heart

 

Moments come when walking hand in hand, the heart yet desires to draw nearer. Moments come when mere inches seem too great a distance. Moments come when eyes fix upon eyes... whispered words flow directly to the soul... yet the heart longs to be one, to know the mind that even conjured the thought.

I hear His whisper into my heart, His hand upon my own. Yet I long to close the distance.

As Easter approaches, a dear friend confides in me. "I always feel as if I lost out." The entire season slips from our grasp as busyness swirls. How I know. How I know.

So I determine to stop... to draw near through the words of His beloved disciple, he who would be His chosen brother... that I, too, might walk those final steps, experience those last days... and drink of His presence, resting against a strength, a wisdom, a love like none other.

For though He's not yet returned, He is so preciously near.

"A little while, and ye shall not see me and again, a little while, and ye shall see me, because I go to the Father." John 16:16

Suz

Spring Unspoken

 
The spoken word,

But introduction.

 

The meeting of eyes,

A setting of the scene.

 

But it is with the human touch

That the story of life is told.

 

And the most tender of hearts

Breathtakingly,

Exquisitely,

Completely

Unfolds.

Suz

Re-Posting: A Broken Heart

 
Coarse and heavy, the rock we placed last year now rests in the palm of my hand.  My finger traces the inscription, the writing of such a young, yet wise, heart.  Dayenu. 

Dayenu.  It was enough.  Sufficient for me.  Entirely undeserving and yet for me the price was paid. Ultimate, unconditional, sacrificial love... beyond understanding. Tears fall silently against dry stone.

It is time, again, for us to build our Calvary Hill.  Are you looking for a fresh perspective, a hands-on way of experiencing Easter's beauty with your children? Let them cup wet earth, plant tiny seeds, build three crosses, feel the cold tomb... and watch grace grow.  May your hearts open to quiet moments of awe... steeped in grace.

Broken alone... completed in Him,

Suz

 A Broken Heart - Original post 3/26/10

 Sometimes the blogging universe

 brings unexpected gifts of friends and experiences...

gifts that can change your lens on the world.  

Tucked in my inbox this week from Ann Voskamp at Holy Experience 

was a link to an Easter project from Janna at Mustard Seeds.

It spoke volumes to my heart.

(Not to mention it involves mud. 

Did I say I have boys?!) 

My search for a fresh perspective was answered.  

  

 We would create our own hill of Calvary. 

Our own rough terrain.  

Our own rugged cross.

Our own cold tomb.

 Our own representation of love.

The truest love. 

From Humble Beginnings

Raindrops cling like crystal chandeliers to tender leaves emerging, as if to magnify the day's scant light.  My feet fall soft on damp ground yet to be tilled and readied for the year's planting.  Where winter weeds now sprawl tangled, soon heirloom tomato stalks will rise, towering over squash vines and bush beans.  Cucumbers will teem crisp and fresh for crocks full of Mama's bread and butter pickles. Herbs will frame against the rocks, lending their fragrance to sultry summer evenings, as butterflies dance in pairs above purple plumes and roses of red velvet.

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".

Just Dig In

 

Do you sometimes find opportunities, holidays... whole seasons slip away while you are stuck in planning mode?  I am guilty.  I plan and pre-plan trips, special occasions, and projects.  But I am learning to set aside schedules, research and lists in exchange for sheer spontaneity, enthusiasm and action.

Next week is the official launch of The Homeschool Village Garden Challenge, and I don't want your family to miss a moment! Regardless of space or resource constraints, gardening is an attainable and amazing way for your family to grow memories together.  That, and, well... kids just like to play in dirt!  (Ok, so do I.... let's be real.  The farming gene didn't skip me.  I'll take muddy hands over a lovely manicure any day.)

So while I am sifting through seed packets and hunting down tools scattered throughout the garage, I thought I would share a few ideas and resources with you.

Back To Roots

 
The smell of tomatoes garnet bubbling into sauce thick. Corn silks clinging to my skin. The snap of crisp beans emerald. The ping, ping, ping of magenta and white striped horticulture beans tumbling from pod to bowl... the speckled gray-green mel-mac bowl even a little girl's fumbles couldn't break.

Summer in our house meant harvest.  Crocks were filled with cucumbers pickling, and canning jars bobbed in steel pots billowing with steam, weighing heavy on every stove burner.  The kitchen grew hot and humid before morning gave way to the high noon sun.  My mom would tie an apron about my waist... my sister's... her own.  Dad laced up muddy boots and set to tending rows.

Tuesday's Review Day at the Village

I wasn't sure if my eleven-year-old son understood what it meant for us to begin intentionally studying, building a biblical worldview.  His first reflection on why this was an important endeavor left me with a quiet smile... and a bit of wonder.  Young minds so often see clear to the essence of a matter with a simplicity that yields depth.  They lack the clutter, the distractions, the baggage of preconceptions. 

And so we begin a new level of exploring why it is we believe what we believe.  I am grateful to set out with the trail map of Apologia's Who Is God by John Hay and David Webb, the first volume of a new four-volume series, What We Believe.

So what shapes, defines, focuses your lens on the world?  Join me at The Homeschool Village for today's review?

Susan

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.

The Hush of Hello

 
With an especially quiet heart,

I remember words aren't necessary to share with you

a window on my world.

I dearly love cherry blossoms.

This week they bid hello.

New, delicate, beautiful...

Like the swirling skirt of an elegant ballgown

Dancing gently upon a breeze of sun.

Suz

Love Is... Patient

 
The potter's masterful hands cast the clay upon the wheel.  He labors gently. He lingers in the moment.  Haste does not provoke him to pluck the work after but a few turns. He tenderly molds, shapes... encouraging the work to take form.

Once again I see the same words come before me in different variations from different angles but the same words nonetheless.  I've learned to listen.

"Love is patient." I Corinthians 13:4

Yet we hear, "Always leave them wanting more."  The world teaches us in both our professional and personal lives to leave people wanting more. Draw them in.  Partially fill them. But leave them thirsting a bit.  Leave them wondering a bit.  And in many of our relationships this practice seems successful, at least superficially, because we covet what we can't have... because the hunt is exhilarating.  Are we afraid that if we fill their needs that they won't return?

Review Day At the Village: The Well-Versed Family

Happy Tuesday means Happy Review/Giveaway Day at The Homeschool Village!  Join me in taking a look at Caroline Boykin's The Well-Versed Family.  Share your family's focal verse below the review post to enter to win a copy for your home.

Our verse? I Corinthians 13:13.  "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.  But the greatest of these is love."  Love.  It's what John 3:16 is about. Colossians 3:23. Deuteronomy 6. Psalm 103:12. Proverbs 31.  Old Testament. New Testament.  It's what it's all about... unconditional, incomprehensible love.

See you at the Village,

Susan

Winter's Last

 

 
What seems cold

Is warm... and about to grow warmer.

What seems stark

Is budding... and about to prove full.

What seems harsh

Is soft... and about to blossom tender.

Though the sun is masked,

These clouds of gray are but a blanket's comfort.

Trees towering bare

Teem with life anew.

Winter bids an unassuming adieu.

Double Malt... Double Straws

 
I had to laugh.  I had to laugh out loud... breaking the still of a quiet house, dim with sleep.  I laughed at myself... simple girl... in a big world.  Sometimes that world seems much smaller when the Facebook exchanges come from those in countries of unrest... not knowing whether the day would mean violence too foreboding for children to join together in play and song, when the morning's conference call brings together colleagues around the world... sunrise for some... sunset for others, when dear ones I haven't seen or heard in years feel like they are but a step away.  In those moments, indeed the world seems smaller... closer.

Curriculum Reviews and Giveaways

Join me each Tuesday at The Homeschool Village as we review curricula, books and resources which not only offer options for homeschool instruction but provide resources for your journey as a family.  To provide a variety of perspectives, homeschool moms from our review team will link with my review each week.  And the fun part?!  Each publisher/author sponsors a giveaway to a participating reader!

Today we are reviewing a delightful Spanish language immersion program, Speekee.  I hope you'll stop by each week and discover some new gems for your family!

Come explore the community we call The Homeschool Village! 

Susan

Words of Love

Tenderly I open pages aged delicate.  More than words, more than poems, songs of two hearts overflowing... the love of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning spilling out in ink. She wanted so wholly to please that for so very long she could not even bear to show him those of these that were hers, lest they not fully express the soul music she longed to sing into his as if a bow across heartstrings.

Among the leaves of print I find a note card... adorned with roses stained by time.  Flowing script speaks of the sale of an estate.  Between the lines I read love.  Time is but air.  We must breathe it in, drink it in, feed it to our hearts, drawing it into our deepest core...  or it is gone.  It does not come again.  It doesn't linger by the path as we hesitate.  It is simply for that moment.  Followed by another... and another.  Until a river of months and years and lifetimes have been swept in its current.

 

Now is now.  Now is the moment to listen rather than hear, to hold rather than loose, to gaze rather than glance, to love rather than feign... neither deflect.

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?

New Growth

 
Grass brown yields spongy

Beneath gentle footfall.

Toes brush against,

Sweeping back and forth...

Unveiling it...

New life.

Tiny green leaves tender

Spring forth.

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.

Heart Felt

We have fallen in love with heart felt wreaths.   

 

Ok, I fell in love with heart felt wreaths.  (The boys just got silly posing with the heart.  Imagine, if you will, the two arches becoming rabbit ears.  Apparently to little-boy imaginations, it wasn't a stretch.)

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?"

Window on the World

 Through a lens obscured,

Light streams.

Like an icy wall,

Shimmering crystal slips away

One drop at a time,

Wrapped in the warmth of the sun.

 

Skies clear,

Like sapphire pools washing.

Barriers melt.

The Still Moments

 
Frozen.

The world slows.

A breathtaking,

Reflective,

Stillness.

How often do we reach,

Struggling to unlock words...

When stillness speaks?

When eyes read each letter written upon your soul,

When fingers interlock,

When tears are cupped like unbroken crystals

Lest they splash upon the floor,

When a rosy cheek of slumber

Rests peacably upon your shoulder,

When laughter floats

As feet leave the ground...

Stillness speaks.

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.

Now is Now, Happy New Year

 

"Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,

And the days of auld lang syne?

And the days of auld lang syne, my friend,

And the days of auld lang syne,

Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,

And the days of auld lang syne?"

 

When the fiddle had stopped singing Laura called out softly, "What are days of auld lang syne, Pa?"

A Clean Slate

 Photo courtesy of Luetta Barton, Birch Meadow Farm, Lancaster, MO

"Like diamonds scattered across the countryside..." Pa said.  The tree farm rested beneath a blanket of white... fresh, pure, kissed with glistening crystals against a brilliant sapphire sky.  A sparkling winter morning. Like a cooling summer rain or the tender green strands of spring, each season brings something refreshingly new.  A clean slate.

Since I was a little girl skipping around my mom's classroom, I've loved the allure of a freshly-cleaned chalkboard.  Even more so, I loved the crisp contrast of the first white strokes etched upon a clean canvas.

We see it in the New Year.  A fresh start.  New beginnings.  Unmined. Untapped. Waiting for discovery.  I am setting goals.  Looking ahead.  Prioritizing. Strategizing.  Ready to make it happen.

Truly that new beginning was beneath the tree, beneath the star, within the stable.  The Gift of Christmas brings us renewal, hope, potential... eternity.  Love unconditional.  That changes everything.

My Christmas List: Joy

 
This blur of days between Thanksgiving and Christmas can become pure chaos, an overload of events, shopping, preparations... lists of lists.  Somewhere lost in the noise is a Savior... waiting for me... for you... as quietly as He rested that night in a simple feed trough beneath a stable roof. 

I let the distractions fall away.  I look into rosy-faced boys upon dreams drifting.  I draw covers close... and dream. Big.  I wash squirming little fingers smeared with paint from popsicle-stick ornaments strewn across counter tops splattered.  I draw out my own brush, dipped in red.  I hold the bowl fast as small hands stir dough stiff.  Mine will be a gingerbread man with red and green sugar crystals.  I hear carols being sung in silly boy-verse.  I add my own chorus, off-key.  We laugh.  We laugh.  Until we can't breathe.  But we can.  Letting it all fall away, means we can breathe.  And there is joy.

My Christmas List: Wisdom

 
I've taught it to my sons.  They need not know all the answers... but the way to the answers.  Yet when I pray for wisdom, I pray to know... to know the beginning, middle and end... to know with the foresight that just isn't mine to have. 

I think of Christ's birth and I pray to be wise... to receive the same depth of wisdom displayed by the wise men, the shepherds, Mary and Joseph.

And my Father drapes His peace about my shoulders and teaches me the same lesson I teach my sons.  It's not about knowing all the answers... but knowing the way.

Wisdom.  Would you join me for a still moment today at The Homeschool Village as I come before the manger... and pray for wisdom?

By treelight, 

Susan

My Christmas List: Humility

December settles about me, all in a whirl and yet... somehow still.  As I quiet my heart, I think of Mary.  I remember that she was but a girl... simple... faithful... humble.  God hands down, in grace, the most amazing miracles when He searches hearts and finds simplicity... faith... humility.

Would you grow still with me for a moment today at The Homeschool Village as I place humility on my Christmas list?

With our hearts toward the Baby, I walk with you this Christmas.

Susan

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.

 

Giving Thanks: A Life of Plenty

 

I could not begin to number the blessings in my life.

Thank you, truly, for visiting this quiet place...

for strolling along with me...

some for a moment...

some for a lifetime.

Won't you join hands with me

at The Homeschool Village

as I offer simple, heartfelt thanks

for a life of plenty?

Blessings to you this day and always.

From my family's table to yours,

Susan

Giving Thanks: Small in Number Great in Spirit

 

Reflecting on the words of  William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation... and giving thanks for those so small in number, so great in spirit, who planted the seeds of our nation.

"It was replied that all great and honourable actions are accompanied with great difficulties, and must be both met and overcome with answerable courage.  It was granted the dangers were great, but not desperate; the difficulties were many, but not invincible.  For, many of the things feared might never befall; others by provident care and the use of good means might in a great measure be prevented; and all of them through the help of God, by fortitude and patience, might either be borne or overcome. 

Giving Thanks: Writing On the Wall

 
When I host Thanksgiving, I encourage my guests to write on the wall.  It's a tradition we began a few years ago.  (I've since forgotten where I first found the idea.)  On the wall between the kitchen and dining room, I stretch a piece of white butcher paper.  Each guest chooses a colored pencil, each person with a different color.  And the outpouring of thanks giving begins.

In a Scrabble®-esque fashion we write single words for the blessings in our lives.  We are rather free-form.  Usually a little one writes first, out of eagerness... and the rest join in no particular order or turn taking... until all pencils are put to paper at once.  Little ones writing (or coloring) low, and adults arching over.  Depending on your number of guests it can come to look as much like a game of Twister® as a game of Scrabble®!  Some memories bring breathless little-boy laughter. 

Of Things Great and Small

 
When you feel most small,

Consider the possibility...

With each word, each touch, each act

Remains the stroke of your brush

Upon the artwork that is life...

A canvas which stretches beyond yourself,

Our Christmas Buddies

  
His little-boy arms could scarcely wrap around the box.  He drew it tighter and tighter to his chest.  I knew he didn't want to let go.  We stood in the back of the sanctuary before everyone else arrived.  The boxes had mounted over recent weeks in a towering pyramid against the back wall.  It was his first year to pack a Christmas box.

We didn't know the distance it would travel, or even the means.... where it would finally stop... what our tiny recipient would look like.  But we knew he was our precious "Christmas Buddy", and that he needed my little man that Christmas.  Would it be his first Christmas gift?  May it not be his last.

Veteran's Day Prayer

 
Lord,

Comforting Father.

Sustaining Provider.

Shield of grace and mercy.

I thank You, that You hear my whisper.

I marvel, that You see each and every one...

Each soldier...

And each heart holding them

With heartstrings which wrap the world.

A Surprise Present

 
Time passes so quickly these days... as water through my fingers.  Surely Christmas had not arrived in a blink.  Yet I woke in the middle of the night last night to find a gift in the quiet of the darkness... waiting to be opened.

How many of us who write, who blog, have found ourselves falling asleep over the keyboard?  Keys click-clack into the wee hours when the world stills enough for thoughts to flow.  As I closed out of applications, I noticed a blog visit from a familiar name... The Homeschool Post.  I clicked over and found my little corner of the world listed among those I admire, among friends, among those who welcomed me into the blogging community not even a year ago.  I paused at that screen with tears of appreciation.

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?

Safe Harbor

 

What is your instinctive reaction to this fellow?   Jaws outstretched?  A few yards away?

Well, in this shot he's bored with me... yawning, actually.  I thought he was beautiful and delightful in his easy lingering as I played paparazzi.  Yet, I remained cautious... uncertain of our respect for one another.

So it is sometimes in our relationships with others.  We have misperceptions.  What we instinctively respond to as a threat, is sometimes no threat at all.  We misjudge.  Conversely, sometimes we misplace our trust, falling in harm's way.  Still other times we become wary of others and wary of ourselves and avoid a connection at all.  Yet, a part of each of us reminds us of our deep need for safe harbor.

Fall Reflections

 

Fall called this afternoon from our back door. 

So my little guy and I headed down to the creek. 

We discovered the world along the way. 

Just a Little Girl

 
Tonight I pulled out a simple, white cotton handkerchief worn soft.  It was my dad's.  More than twenty years ago when I was part woman and part girl, wandering my way through my first broken heart, he handed it to me to dry my tears.  I sat tucked up under his arm in his big, black pick-up truck like a little girl.  When he pulled away that night, I kept his handkerchief clasped in the palm of my hand.

Since then, I've experienced so much on this crazy ride of life.  And on days like today, when I've learned life's lessons the hard way, I've opened my dresser drawer more than a time or two and held this handkerchief.  Recently someone described me as a little girl.  I've thought about that a lot tonight.  I suppose I am.

Are You Ready?

May your dreams

Be your compass.

 

Mama's Bed

I hear his breath beside me, this little man of mine, with a long, quiet, slumbering rhythm.  His tender cheeks grow rosy, pressing against silky white cotton. Wisps of still baby-fine hair cling to the warmth of his face.  The night air has grown cool, but he burrows deep into quilts and blankets and feather pillows piled plush and welcoming.  The old milkglass lamp with its knobby hobnail texture glows softly in the dark. 

There are nights when I hear the call of a little-boy voice, closely followed by the muffled padding of feet running across the carpeted floor.  Tiny toes grip the edge of the old bed as his legs stretch their maximum span to climb up into a waiting respite... comforting and secure. This is one of those nights. When the world seems less certain, even to a little boy in Superman jammies, mama's bed chases away the worries... and dreams come sweetly.

Mama's bed.  New to me.  Old to the world.  Oh, that it could whisper this night. 

Strong Enough To Love

 
 
West Point graduate... by sheer grit.

Recipient of more promotions in the Mexican War than any other officer.

Tactical mastermind.

Lieutenant General.

Stone wall.

Strength.

 

I Will Be Here

It was decided. 

There would be a wedding. 

It would be a beautiful spring wedding in a chapel which once knew the footsteps of Daniel Boone.  There would be fresh lavender.  Brothers and sisters would join them at the altar.  My little man would wear his first tuxedo.  A treasured cousin would read 1 Corinthians 13.  The steeple bells would be sounded by a lifelong friend. I would fan her train and set her veil just before I took the arm of her soon-to-be brother-in-law and walk down the aisle.  The double doors would open to the sunshine, and Daddy would give her away.  For months my sister and I shared late night talks and plans and hopes for that day.  Dresses. Shoes. Cake. Flowers.  Music....

For the ceremony, she chose the love song Steven Curtis Chapman wrote for his own bride,  "I Will Be Here".  I listened to it for the first time and fell in love.  I sang the words over and over again.  I still remember the bride and groom exchanging glances.  "I will be here... to watch you grow in beauty and tell you all the things you are to me.  I will be here."