My second daughter and our third child was a born a month ago today. Isn’t it interesting, how the moment my son was born I posted; then I tried to post something beautiful and eloquent when my daughter was born and it took two tries. Now, I am a tired, exhausted father of a highly active three almost four year old, a very wiggly two and a half year old defying all attempts to be potty-trained, and a new baby. Where, O Lord, is your well of inspiration to uphold me in this time? I sorely need it.
It has been about a year since the last time I wrote any poetry to this blog, so perhaps I should try my hand at it again. Here goes:
Today the sun shone after many days of rain
I raked leaves, and noticed their many colored hues.
Tumbling them over into the street for “Leaf Day,”
The sun shone down out of a blue azure sky,
Wanly from the the southwest.
It is, after all, Fall.
Inside a baby’s voice is raised
Inside a mother soothes with milk
Inside fingers tap idly while the baby sucks.
Rest? Renewal? A Peaceful house and heart?
O Lord, teach me to center myself there-even if it’s a dream. ~stc
Not bad for a rusty dad. I think, after further reflection, I am tired for many reasons. One of them is that I have added another part time job to my existing part time job as I seek to fulfill my multifaceted calling. Yes, I still feel called to outdoor ministry. Yes, I still feel called to be a good father for my children, and now I am going to add being a part time pastor, just for icing on the cake? I must be slightly crazy. But, God-willing and God-helping, I will do my best. I pray the Holy Spirit will enable, encourage, and even intercede if necessary! Perhaps this spreading thin is a chapter, of sorts, that I must read through before I understand whatever lesson it is that I am being taught.
O Lord, I have ears, let me hear! Amen.
When my son was born 15 months ago, I wrote this poem (found in my blog dated 1/22/2011):
Outside the rain is falling.
Silver clouds drip their tears of joy at this new birth.
The evergreen trees, washed out in the fog,
Speak to me of my worlds, then and now, here and there;
All is quiet after birth, and I hold my new-born son,
Gazing out at falling rain.
This morning as my wife was in labor, I wrote this one:
I sit and wait, gazing out at spring fog.
Slowly, slowly, the time goes by as we wait
For our second baby to be born.
Listening for her heartbeat,
I sit and gaze at spring fog.
Now that my daughter has arrived, I wish I could write as elloquent a poem as I did in 2011; but today I am compelled to give voice to…
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