Overzealous to inherit

Bending under the weight of wholesome prodigality,

Heavy with red lovelies of liquid crunch,

This improbable desert bounty needs props.

Lacking foresight and common sense,

Over-eager to bring forth good-natured fruit,

It ran ahead of its strength.

.

Never mind the obvious result when you

Just put too many apples on one tree.

Maybe some can be spared for that darn rabbit.

Many will fall and ferment.

Maybe the strain will be too much.

.

Next time -- if there is a next time --

Do plan ahead and tally up your apples

Before the buds come on, for goodness’ sake.

Where I'm From

A writing exercise based on this poem by George Ella Lyon. Hope you enjoy my plucky attempt. :)

 

I am from hot rocks and thorns,

from Saguaros and monsoon dust.

I am from brown carpet and rust-red brick.

(Full moon shining through open vertical blinds

a witness to coyotes’ unholy rejoicing).

I am from the caterpillar I ate when I was 4,

and the tunnels under our three rows of corn,

from the mulberry tree’s lowest limb

with a peanut-butter bucket on a string

for my servant sister to fill.

 

 

I am from Hop on Pop and Rush Grush,

  from Nancy and Jim.

I’m from the homemade bread on Saturday nights

and mariachi pancake mornings,

  from “Talk nicely” and ya-gotta-get-up reveille.

I’m from Oh, Carden, we love thee,

  from warm water covering my white dress,

  the name of God resonating distantly familiar.

 

 

 

I’m from Lester and Ella’s branch,

Sky-blue eyes and hands that mirror mine.

From Christmas Eve piñatas as we shivered barefoot.

  Sunday night British Bulldogs.

Outside my bedroom window are hard blue mountains.

Under my feet solid desert rock.

I am from the warm foothills

of Heaven.

 

Day 36 - { my mother }

 

"All that I am, or hope to be,

I owe to my angel mother."

~ Abraham Lincoln

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have thought and thought about how to write this post. How do you write your feelings about a person who is most precious to you and so close that you can't even think about yourself without thinking about her, too?

How do you write about the one who first taught you who you really are and who you are meant to become?

How can words ever express a love so strong and a gratitude so deep as what I feel for my mother?

I decided prose just can't cut it here. And so, a poem. This, to me, tells the sacred work that my mother has done in my life.

 

 

Out of all the blessings that I feel to thank Heavenly Father for, this is perhaps the greatest. Her influence on me for good for eternity is truly immeasurable.

 

Eighteen Months

Today marks Benjamin's 18-month birthday. It would have been his first day in Nursery! So sweet to think about! Of course, he would be the cutest little curly headed boy ever, toddling around on chubby legs. I think he has light blue-gray eyes. . . .

And I would be sitting so comfortably in Relief Society, breathing a huge sigh of relief that I didn't have to wrassle with him all through Church anymore.

Today I'll probably sigh, but it won't be of relief. It won't be completely of sadness, either. The sadness is still potent sometimes, but it tends more towards a wistful thoughtfulness now. I feel more of the reality that I have such a beautiful son, about whom I never need to worry.

The poem I want to share for this post is one I started writing well over a year ago. I had had this powerful thought about the fact that having a piece of my heart permanently missing from earth, while painful, has the useful effect of loosening the hold this world has on me. It totally changed my perspective about the length of mortal life, and the purpose of trials.  So I wrote about it.

Today also marks my Grandpa Bailey's 91st birthday. He died just a few days after Benjamin. (My poor dad--he went from speaking at his grandson's funeral to speaking at his father's funeral only six days later!) I miss him today, too.

The sealing power of temple covenants through the Atonement of Jesus Christ is what makes experiences like these not only bearable, but cause for joy! Treasure laid up in heaven cannot rust or decay. Each painful loss here equals the deepest happiness there.

So I added to the poem about my treasured son, and revised it a few times, and here it is: :)

 

Day 22 - { easter morning }

Tomorrow morning is one of my favorite times of the year. I love celebrating Jesus' Resurrection!

We had a wonderful trip to the Memphis temple today. We did our normal switcheroo routine, so that each of us gets to do a session, while the other enjoys the boys.

I love these pictures that DC took during his turn with the kiddos.

(My half of "enjoying the boys" was not quite as positive and full of the Spirit as you would hope, especially for just coming out of the temple. It started before we even left the parking lot--they were loudly arguing about what color the temple is! Sheesh. It was only downhill from there. My shining example of patience did hold out for about 20 minutes, though, which is longer than usual lately!)

Anyway, I think the best part, besides actually being in the temple, was the ride home. Hummer fell asleep, and the other two were watching "Wall-e" in the back seat, and so DC and I had nearly TWO HOURS of uninterrupted conversation. Now that is heaven. We talked about Benjamin, what we imagine he is doing now, why he doesn't have to experience earth life like we do, etc. We discussed decisions that need to be made regarding our sons here on earth. I asked my Darling how he thinks I am doing. Am I passing the test?

We realized that today was a very appropriate day to be in the Lord's House, performing work for the dead. As Mormons, we know that Jesus Christ, in the time between His death and resurrection, was in the Spirit World, organizing the missionary work for those in spirit prison (see 1 Peter 4:6, and D&C 138:30).

I love thinking that we spent this day before Easter helping with those missionary efforts by providing the ordinances for those children of Heavenly Father who need them to progress! Maybe Benjamin was serving alongside us today!

And now, some Easter thoughts. . . .

I hope I have written often enough about my feelings about my Savior, Jesus Christ, that anyone who even briefly reads this blog knows that I love Him with all my heart.

(Some of my favorite past posts about Him: My Truest Friend -- Ten Months -- Day 8 - {modern prophets} )

I wish that we celebrated Easter more thoroughly, more on the level that we do Christmas! One of my favorite Pres. Hinckley quotes is: ""There would be no Christmas if there had not been Easter."

And so I attempted to write some of my thoughts about what Easter morning means to me. . . .

(I know it's not the best poetry but hopefully it describes the beauty and hope I feel when I think about Christ's Resurrection. The scripture following gets the job done for sure. :)

 

 

easter morning

a tomb burst open

satan's power baffled

fatal crack in death's stone

 

easter morning

a life gently returned

tears spent and dried

a family firmly reunited

 

 

 

Let the mountains shout for joy, and all ye valleys cry aloud; and all ye seas and dry lands tell the wonders of your Eternal King!

And ye rivers, and brooks, and rills, flow down with gladness.

Let the woods and all the trees of the field praise the Lord; and ye solid rocks weep for joy!

And let the sun, moon, and the morning stars sing together, and let all the sons of God shout for joy!

And let the eternal creations declare his name forever and ever!

And again I say, how glorious is the voice we hear from heaven, proclaiming in our ears, glory, and salvation, and honor, and immortality, and eternal life; kingdoms, principalities, and powers!

~ Doctrine and Covenants 128:23

 

Praise be to God for the matchless gift of His Divine Son! I will sing to Him tomorrow.

How thin the veil between the worlds
On the day of birth
And the day of death.

One moment your spirit resided
Within a sweet, perfect body
Cradled within mine.
The next it had fled
Back to where we all long to be.

A sacred gift it was
To be so close to Father in Heaven
As we welcomed you from His presence
And bid you farewell as you returned.

A holy privilege it is
To be your mother.
The only time you knew away from Him
Was the time you spent next to my heart.
~ written for Benjamin by his mother, Michelle Baker, on April 13, 2008

This morning Mom said goodbye before leaving for home, and said, "Happy 6-month birthday to Benjamin! I'm so glad he's in our family." I loved the feeling of celebration that we both felt. She also gave us a special gift, a Willow Tree sculpture of a couple holding a baby. (I'll post a picture when I get home).

I'm about to leave for the Provo Temple with sweet Mandy and Manda, and that will also be in honor of this day. Becky called and shared her love. She posted a beautiful tribute on her blog. I had been having a really hard time lately, but today I feel a lot of comfort, and actually joy again, similar to what I felt the day Benjamin was born.

Thank you, most beloved family and friends, for your unfailing concern and care for me. I feel so grateful to Heavenly Father for surrounding me with such love through you.

And to Benjamin,

I love you, my son. I miss you, but hope to feel you close today. I'm so grateful to have you!

Love,

Mommy

My soul's clock is ticking

I have a dear friend back in Tallahassee who is a very talented writer, even having recently published a children's book. We used to go to a writers' group together, and I will always be grateful to her for encouraging me in my creative verbal efforts! :) She sent me this poem a couple of months ago, and it fit so well how I feel. I have really good weeks where I feel almost normal, and then I have down weeks where I just want to stay in bed and cry and eat chocolate. (Not that I do, but that's how I feel). Thank you, Norma, not only for expressing beautifully what living with grief feels like, but especially for letting me "lean on you" through our emails!

Invitation

Don’t expect too much of me

Of something I can’t give,

I’m still searching who I am

and how I want to live.

My mind and heart are wounded now

the scars are wide and deep,

but my soul’s clock is ticking

with time-washed healing sleep.

So if you care to wait around

on the periphery,

One day I’ll reach out again

in new maturity.

--Norma J. Sundberg--

copyrighted, permission given to post on this blog

(original title: A Death Called Divorce)

There must needs be opposition. . . .

This poem by Emily Dickinson surprised me by expressing clearly how I have felt about the gospel since losing Benjamin. It helps me understand the WHY. I have always appreciated the gospel, and the beautiful doctrine of eternal families, but I don't think any of us appreciate it fully until it is applied specifically to our family--when a brother, a mother, a son has died. "To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need."

SUCCESS.

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear!

Pioneer Lullaby

I've had this song running through my head for the past few days. I first heard it when Clayne Robison sang it at BYU. The last verse is especially beautiful to me.

Pioneer Lullaby
Low, lie low, my dear little one,
Under the starlight, under the sun.
Under the bluebells, under the grass.
Low,—lie low as the solemn wheels pass.

Yesterday, yesterday two little feet

Danced on their way, and the summer was sweet.

Faith whispers soft as I bid you goodnight.

My angel walks through a garden of light.

Blessed, oh blessed the day of our Lord,
Blessed the dead—who rise at his word,
Blessed the angels who swing wide the door.
Blessed the time when I hold you once more.
Blessed the time when I hold you once more.

The Bright and Morning Star

We have our Christmas tree up now. It was wonderful to decorate it together for Family Home Evening last Monday.

I had so looked forward to cuddling a newborn son as we celebrate Christmas this year. To hold him while pondering the birth of our precious Savior would have been so delightful. But I almost wonder if the grief that fills my heart this year makes Christmas even more meaningful and gives it a deeper joy.

The words of a song that Mandy sent me fit my feelings right now perfectly:

Green leaves are fallen, withered and dry;
Brief sunset fading, dim winter sky;
Lengthening shadows, dark closing in;
Then through the stillness, carols begin.

O fallen world, to you is the song!
Death holds you fast, and night tarries long.
Jesus is born, your curse to destroy;
Sweet to your ears, a carol of joy!

Pale moon ascending, solemn and slow;
Cold, barren hillside, shrouded in snow;
Deep empty valley, veiled by the night:
Hear angel music, hopeful and bright.

O fearful world, to you is the song!
Peace with your God, and pardon for wrong.
Tidings for sinners, burdened and bound,
Carol of joy, a Savior is found!

Earth wrapped in sorrow, lift up your eyes!
Thrill to the chorus filling the skies.
Look up, sad-hearted! Witness God's love;
Join in the carol swelling above!

O friendless world, to you is the song!
All heaven's joy to you may belong!
You who are lonely, laden, forlorn:(O fallen, O fearful world, O friendless
world, to you . . .)
Now unto you, (Carol of joy, now unto you . . .) a Savior is
born!

--Text by Eileen Berry--Music by Dan Forrest, b. 1978

How grateful I am for "the bright and morning star," our precious Savior (Revelation 22:16)! I can't wait to hold my sweet baby again!

Race for the Sky

Recently DC played on a faculty recital at nearby university. The piece he played for was "Race for the Sky" a four-movement work for soprano, violin and piano written in memory of the tragedy of Sept. 11, 2001.

It was a somber, moving piece. The poetry for the different movements is from various New Yorkers who expressed their emotions poignantly and sometimes anonymously in the days following the tragedy. I will include here links to the last 2 movements, as performed by G. Secrest, soprano, D. Cutie, violin, and C. Fuller, piano. Below is the text for the last movement.
Click here to listen to DC's solo, the third movement.

Click here to listen to the final movement "Don't Look for Me Anymore."

don't look for me anymore (Alicia Vasquez)

don't look for me anymore

it's late and you are tired

your feet ache standing atop the ruins of our twins

day after day searching for a trace of me

your eyes are burning red

your hands cut bleeding sifting through rock

it's my turn, I'm worried about you

watching as you sift through the ruins of what was

day after day in the soot and the rain

I ache in knowing you suffer my death

don't look for me anymore

hold my children as I would

hold my sisters, hold my brothers

hold my children for me

since I can't bring them up with the same

love you gave me

and I'll rest assured

you're watching my children

don't look for me anymore

go home and rest. . .

Elegy to a Deflated Exercise Ball

It was a yellow ball, with rubbery spikes.

It was always in the living room. (yikes)

The boys were taught to leave it alone.

Oh, why did I ever let it roam.



It was given to me by a dear, good friend.

Alas, one day, it reached a sorry end.

For Hummer's wrath did wax sore

When he was asked to pick up his toys off the floor.



Woe betide the yellow ball.

Hummer's countenance did fall.

He issued threats in his three-year-old fury

And found a push-pin in a hurry.



I was in the kitchen making lunch

When suddenly I had a hunch

That Hummer was all-too-quiet for good

I looked up and by the ball he stood,

Dreaded push-pin in hand.



Alas for my yellow exercise ball,

Deflating slowly in the hall!

Our comeradeship was all too brief.

What shall I do to the little thief?



Dear reader of my humble blog,

Please comment and advise me in my fog!