a poem, aged 4 years

Our house on Harvard had a kitchen window that was right next to a busy walkway.  I wrote this poem on April Fool’s day, 2014.


Windows open,
spaces commune.
The inside welcomes the outside,
private life seeps into public.
The clank of dishes drifts outside,
the smell of breaking bread
teases passersby.
It is spring again
and life is shared.

The wonder of unfailing love.

(October 2015)

The wood clears
making room once again
for time on the log
just past our line down
the hill in the holler
next to where the barely creek
trickles by.

The outside world is nonexistent
in this place,
deafened by the hills and the trees.
Or so I thought, until the
voice of an announcer at a
nearby park trickled in.
Oh well.

I come here because I am
anxious and this seems like
the best self care for me.
A pen, paper, and the quiet.
Nothing can distract me but
God’s glory- and Harvey’s crunching.

Plagued with indecision and
the inability to stick to
a path and just be content.

Should I? Should I? Should I?

So I try and rest.

I leave the dishes.
The boys watch TV
and I walk.
Walk past the toys that need
picked up.
Crunch through the leaves
that need raked.
I come to the place where the leaves belong to, even benefit,
the earth and the toys don’t need put away.

Back up I sit on my knees
looking at the sugar maple next
to the house.

How far God went to fulfill
His promise to us- He even
threw in the deep desires of my
heart. A sugar maple that
will blaze a fiery orange
every fall.
A reminder of His unfailing love.


“Birthday Dinner”

I found this poem in my journal from nearly two years ago on Brad’s birthday.  It made me laugh so I thought I would share.

Behind schedule.

Light grill

and when hot enough,

put chicken on.


Go to check.

Barely cooked.

“I’ll give it another couple of minutes”,

betray and turn oven up.

Transfer chicken,

fretting over lost charcoal.

Sides wait patiently

for their star.

Open oven,

not enough.

Make the difficult decision

that often leads to destruction


Yes, this is the dinner that inspired the poem. As you can see, the chicken made it;)