Poetry Wednesday, Vol. 95

We are in the thick of it.  Three weeks into school, we all are sick, we all (and I include myself here) are whiny and coughing.  Abuela comes tomorrow, and I had really hoped to have a few projects done by the time she came, or at least I had hoped to not be sick!  This week we have been taking it easy, minimal school work, lots of TV, tons of tea and orange juice, enough echinacia to give us all the squirts and plenty of eucalyptus infused baths.

Even without being sick though, I wake up feeling behind.  This fall has been different for me because I have been attempting (attempting and attempting) to wake up early.  Early enough to read or exercise, early enough to pray before the kiddos get up.  I've been waking the girls up early so they can do their math and other school work before the boys wake up.  The husband is an early riser, and every once in a while we are able to pray together if my rising attempts are successful.  And by early riser, I mean 5 or 5:30.  Who does that?  What is wrong with him?  But maybe that's what I need to do.  Don't tell him though.

 More often than not by 7:30 I find my pulse racing, my temper shortening and harsh words escaping my mouth.  That's 7:30 AM by the way.  As in the morning.  There is just so much to do.  And I don't even mean the every day tasks of laundry, food, school, friends, etc.  It's the bigger stuff that needs doing.  There is so much my kids need to learn, so many things they need to see and experience, and how can we possibly fit it into one day?  One childhood?  They're grumpy today and there is a lot of complaining about the teensy amounts of work I ask them to do, maybe I've failed as a mother all ready!  We were going to read that book then do the project, but our museum membership is almost done and we need to go there, and now someone is biting someone and will he continue to do that when he's thirty and how will I teach them to love other people if they can't even love each other?

On the mornings that Mike and I are able to pray together, the day starts so much better.  On the mornings I pray by myself things are better.  Maybe there is something to that.  Maybe I need to pray more than I need to sleep.

We haven't done anything good for anyone in so long!  When will we ever be able to teach our children how to love the poor, how to give sacrificially, how to embrace Jesus in each person they meet?  We can't even embrace each other half the time!  I just yelled at Del and made him cry for being a boy and doing boy things.  I just stomped around like a teenager because I was asked yet again for a snack.  How will they ever grow up to be what I know they can be if I can't act like a grown up?

Stop.

Breathe.

Pray.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning Poem
by Mary Oliver

Every morning

the world

is created. 

Under the orange 

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again 

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands 

of summer lilies. 

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails 

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere. 

And if your spirit

carries within it 

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging --- 

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted --- 

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly, 

every morning, 

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy, 

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.