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Write Now!
This blog started as a 'Lenten Writing Project', where we wrote each day in Lent. Now that Summer is here, let's keep up the discipline of writing with a weekly writing challenge! A prompt will be posted each week and anyone is welcome to join in and post their writing here or participate just by reading it.
Every writer has their own special light to add to this blog and all of your writing offerings are appreciated, whether poetry, prose, essay, thoughts, lists or comments and encouragement.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Lenten Writing Prompt #34
Write about something that is broken and write about the beauty in that brokenness.
The first thing that comes to mind is a broken heart. One has loved and for some reason that love has ended, yet the heart does not cease to try to regain it, though the mind knows it will never find that particular love again.
The beauty in that pain is that we are not alone during this time. We may feel terribly alone. abandoned and left behind. But we are not.
We may feel unloved or somehow deserving of the loneliness we now find ourselves in. But we are not.
We may feel that our loving of another was in vain as now they and their love are gone. But it was not in vain.
The beauty of this pain is that eventually we will discover these truths on our own, in our own time and in our own way. We will discover that we and those we have loved were always under His care, always in His presence and always in HIs love.
And then our hearts will become ready to love again.
In a drawer underneath my t-shirts with some other life memorabilia lies a pocket watch.
A simple, well used common pocket watch. Instead of a chain it has an old shoe string tied to it.
It came from a drawer in the farm house where, in years gone by, my parents and my grandparents and my great grandparents all lived.
In all the years that I have had that pocket watch it has never “told time”. That is no longer its job. It’s work now, is to take me back to the people I loved and love still. And it does that job beautifully.
Victoria was 38 years old last December. I got her for my first Christmas and right away, I think I bit her eyelashes off. She was a fancy doll – very realistic, and my parents called her my “baby sister doll”. Fabric body and hard plastic extremities – about the size of a real newborn, but her features are of a 6-month-old, as was I when I got her. I named her Victoria – I think she was named for a twin from a soap opera that my mom watched (I changed her name from ‘baby sister doll’ to Victoria after I started school). I even kept a baby book on her – tracking her pretend development. She used to “cry” when I put her on her back – like those cylinders you can tip up to make a sound like a cow or a sheep, but that function is now long-defunct and almost forgotten. Stuffed with Kapok, which I learned after my sister and I fought over a toy shopping cart she was sitting in – my sister toppled the cart and I grabbed Victoria out of it so that she wouldn’t get injured. In so doing, I ripped one of her legs off. I’m not sure how the other came off, but she is now legless.
I remember my sister and I were so sure that Victoria was ‘alive’ – a quality given to all our dolls because we loved them so much, but we knew that Victoria was the queen of all the rest of the dolls. She was definitely ‘alive’. There was no doubt by her gaze that she was a knowing, alive being that would go about her day when we were not looking and then freeze when we came in the room. In an effort to nourish her, we shoved candy into her parted lips and leave the room, hoping that when we returned, the food would be gone – proof that she was alive and had enjoyed a Skittle snack. That food remained in her mouth for years – she was so tricky. It never shook our faith. There are scrapes of light blue on her head – paint from my childhood walls, where she spent every night in my bed, blessing my sleep until I was a teenager. Even then, she remained in my room and was treated with respect for all the cumulative love that she contained from over the years. She is now missing both legs, many eyelashes, her crying function doesn’t work, her eyes do not open and close at the same time and her original soft pink skin tint has turned to gray. She has been washed down many times with a washcloth, a baby wipe, a Clorox wipe, but she never looks any healthier. She in fact looks like a dead legless baby.
Nevertheless, my kids know her and love her and are totally not creeped out by her. Victoria gets to experience a new generation as a beloved plaything through my kids, who treat her like a prize – Their mom’s special doll that they get to play with…and they do get to play with her. I will not put her on a shelf, because that’s what she likes to do – play. She told me so herself and it’s written in her baby book.
Her name is Victoria because it is written on the back of her neck. She is a Madame Alexander doll and can be rebuilt at great cost. And, just like the Velveteen Rabbit, and Busterjane and Adolf, she has been loved to life. She also represents all the love your mother and grandmother and aunts send you, so no wonder she's loved to life! Love, Mom :)
Broken things I do not like. I wish they'd go and take a hike, or whizz away upon a bike to where they might find magic glue and be restored to almost new, with happy paint o'er all their blues. I do not like them and here's why. Their suffrings cause my heart to cry.
It's just not right, not meant to be. Yet, everywhere I am, I see giant egos on smashing sprees. Oh how I do not want to look and face how far we've come amook, broken away from the plan in the Book I do not like what causes pain. Let me make this very plain.
I do not like a world of dark, that takes a toll and leaves a mark. I do not like sounds of its bark. I'd rather walk in a sun-filled park. Scary goings on you see beg response from you and me for captives of brokiness to be free. I do not want to hear it now. This creeping call like a cat on prowl.
You know I've often tried to fix and gotten into a pickly mix, coming out briney, discouraged, sick. I like to relax now in warmth of the whole, hold me and mine out of the life-stabbing cold away from forces bent on harm to our souls. Poor broken things not you that I hate. It's what has put you in your sad state.
Wafts of discord, let me be! Go somewhere else and fiddle your fee I do not like your stinking debris!
That persistent voice says, "Good, be mad. Rant, rave deplore; then take a stand. For hope, faith, strength, simply reach out your hand. Those birds in your tree are singing our song. You may be weak, but I am strong." Broken pods release seeds that spring up to belong. Taste and see, I always say. I'll try again to not shy away.
Broken I've been, but don't have to stay. Lord, stick me together for this one more day.
by Pat Mason
ReplyDeleteThe first thing that comes to mind is a broken heart.
One has loved and for some reason that love has ended, yet the heart does not cease to try to regain it, though the mind knows it will never find that particular love again.
The beauty in that pain is that we are not alone during this time. We may feel terribly alone. abandoned and left behind. But we are not.
We may feel unloved or somehow deserving of the loneliness we now find ourselves in. But we are not.
We may feel that our loving of another was in vain as now they and their love are gone. But it was not in vain.
The beauty of this pain is that eventually we will discover these truths on our own, in our own time and in our own way. We will discover that we and those we have loved were always under His care, always in His presence and always in HIs love.
And then our hearts will become ready to love again.
Broken
ReplyDeleteWindows
Pathways
Relationships
Shattered
Hearts
Families
Countries
Crumpled
Wings
Pages
Promises
Willing
Spirit
Breathing
Love
oh. Deep breath
DeleteIt’s Work Now
ReplyDeleteIn a drawer
underneath my t-shirts
with some other
life memorabilia
lies a pocket watch.
A simple, well used
common pocket watch.
Instead of a chain
it has an old shoe string tied to it.
It came from a drawer in the farm house where,
in years gone by,
my parents
and my grandparents
and my great grandparents all lived.
In all the years that I have had that pocket watch
it has never “told time”.
That is no longer its job.
It’s work now,
is to take me back to the people I loved
and love still.
And it does that job
beautifully.
A break from the past
ReplyDeleteA path to the future
JackieD
I love that!
ReplyDeleteVictoria was 38 years old last December. I got her for my first Christmas and right away, I think I bit her eyelashes off. She was a fancy doll – very realistic, and my parents called her my “baby sister doll”. Fabric body and hard plastic extremities – about the size of a real newborn, but her features are of a 6-month-old, as was I when I got her. I named her Victoria – I think she was named for a twin from a soap opera that my mom watched (I changed her name from ‘baby sister doll’ to Victoria after I started school). I even kept a baby book on her – tracking her pretend development. She used to “cry” when I put her on her back – like those cylinders you can tip up to make a sound like a cow or a sheep, but that function is now long-defunct and almost forgotten. Stuffed with Kapok, which I learned after my sister and I fought over a toy shopping cart she was sitting in – my sister toppled the cart and I grabbed Victoria out of it so that she wouldn’t get injured. In so doing, I ripped one of her legs off. I’m not sure how the other came off, but she is now legless.
ReplyDeleteI remember my sister and I were so sure that Victoria was ‘alive’ – a quality given to all our dolls because we loved them so much, but we knew that Victoria was the queen of all the rest of the dolls. She was definitely ‘alive’. There was no doubt by her gaze that she was a knowing, alive being that would go about her day when we were not looking and then freeze when we came in the room. In an effort to nourish her, we shoved candy into her parted lips and leave the room, hoping that when we returned, the food would be gone – proof that she was alive and had enjoyed a Skittle snack. That food remained in her mouth for years – she was so tricky. It never shook our faith. There are scrapes of light blue on her head – paint from my childhood walls, where she spent every night in my bed, blessing my sleep until I was a teenager. Even then, she remained in my room and was treated with respect for all the cumulative love that she contained from over the years. She is now missing both legs, many eyelashes, her crying function doesn’t work, her eyes do not open and close at the same time and her original soft pink skin tint has turned to gray. She has been washed down many times with a washcloth, a baby wipe, a Clorox wipe, but she never looks any healthier. She in fact looks like a dead legless baby.
Nevertheless, my kids know her and love her and are totally not creeped out by her. Victoria gets to experience a new generation as a beloved plaything through my kids, who treat her like a prize – Their mom’s special doll that they get to play with…and they do get to play with her. I will not put her on a shelf, because that’s what she likes to do – play. She told me so herself and it’s written in her baby book.
Love It! ,
DeleteMarlene
Her name is Victoria because it is written on the back of her neck. She is a Madame Alexander doll and can be rebuilt at great cost. And, just like the Velveteen Rabbit, and Busterjane and Adolf, she has been loved to life. She also represents all the love your mother and grandmother and aunts send you, so no wonder she's loved to life! Love, Mom :)
DeleteBy the way, we are not broken, but repurposed.
ReplyDeleteI Do Not Like Them, Yes I do!
ReplyDeleteby Marlene Obie
Broken things I do not like.
I wish they'd go and take a hike,
or whizz away upon a bike
to where they might find magic glue
and be restored to almost new,
with happy paint o'er all their blues.
I do not like them
and here's why.
Their suffrings cause
my heart to cry.
It's just not right, not meant to be.
Yet, everywhere I am, I see
giant egos on smashing sprees.
Oh how I do not want to look
and face how far we've come amook,
broken away from the plan in the Book
I do not like
what causes pain.
Let me make
this very plain.
I do not like a world of dark,
that takes a toll and leaves a mark.
I do not like sounds of its bark.
I'd rather walk in a sun-filled park.
Scary goings on you see
beg response from you and me
for captives of brokiness to be free.
I do not want
to hear it now.
This creeping call
like a cat on prowl.
You know I've often tried to fix
and gotten into a pickly mix,
coming out briney, discouraged, sick.
I like to relax now in warmth of the whole,
hold me and mine out of the life-stabbing cold
away from forces bent on harm to our souls.
Poor broken things
not you that I hate.
It's what has put you
in your sad state.
Wafts of discord, let me be!
Go somewhere else and fiddle your fee
I do not like your stinking debris!
That persistent voice says, "Good, be mad.
Rant, rave deplore; then take a stand.
For hope, faith, strength, simply reach out your hand.
Those birds in your tree are singing our song.
You may be weak, but I am strong."
Broken pods release seeds that spring up to belong.
Taste and see,
I always say.
I'll try again
to not shy away.
Broken I've been, but don't have to stay.
Lord, stick me together for this one more day.
Lenten Prompt # 34 Monday March 26 2012
ReplyDeleteWe are
each of us
in some way
like broken pieces
Broken
away from
God
Some days we come together and make our Peace,
like a beautiful stained-glass window
or
a kaleidescope picture
but many days
are just
broken days
with broken people
like broken shards of glass
each of us broken
in some way
broken away
from God
God, help us to remember that You are the One Who keeps us whole, through Jesus, Our Saviour and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
s.h.