Cleaning the Closets

I have written random poems, reflections, rants and ramblings that are crammed into computer folders.  They are hidden away, shoved behind a closed door marked "writings."  I've decided to fling wide the doors of my 'closet' and air these collections out.  

Who knows:  maybe I'll find a treasure. Maybe some of these wrinkly messes will bless others. Or, maybe they're back there for a reason.  Help me clean out my closets.  

I'll be posting some writings.  Let me know what you think!  If I suck at poetry, let me know (gently).   Let's see what is back there, dusty in a corner, ignored and unfruitful.

Here's the first one. It's probably not my best, it's probably cheesy, but here it is. [You'll note that when I wrote this I only had "4 limbs" to mother but this amount has doubled!  If I were to re-write it I would add an additional paragraph about 2 year olds, there would be more mention of laundry, and the hum of a dishwasher and a crying baby would be somehow heard above the beating drum of my predictable rhymes].

Just Another Day

I awake, get dressed, and fight the fatigue

a little boy greets me, running at full speed.

Smiling and talking 100 miles per hour,

“tractor, truck, cookie, train, cake, and tower.”

Breakfast and dressing, diapers, and tag,

dishes, and laundry, one more dirty rag.

Rooms to be organized, owies to kiss

4 limbs that want wrestling, an appointment to miss.

I groan and I sigh, “If only today,”

“could be something different: extra-ordinary,” I say.

“No. It’s just another day.”

But then I think upon that statement and wonder how it could be

that I’d want more than my life, even at its same speed.

Food in the pantry, roof overhead,

clothes for our covering, sheets for our bed.

A husband and father who works, receives pay

then comes home to kiss me at the end of our day.

Our nation's not at war, our health: intact.

Our family is supportive, our wealth: a fact.

Some have no peace, no hope in the divine

And me? I have both. Ingratitude is my crime.

How can I possibly complain in remorse

that today is simply ordinary, a typical life’s course?

Instead:

I’ll choose joy and be thankful once more

for the balls thrown right at me, and food on the floor.

I’ll laugh at the experience of moments like these

I’ll smile, and I’ll savour, and I will this breath seize.

I'll awaken to my life, the one that I hold

it is fragile, it is blessed, it’s a mystery to unfold.

Even when I wonder what life is like ‘out there’

as I stare out the window and feel it’s unfair:

I’ll remember to praise the Giver before this day ends.

because even if this day’s ordinary, God did for me send:

Hope for my future in chaos and pain

a savior, His presence in the dark, dreary rain.

Provisions, protection, Christ: my hope and my source

And He is the ‘extra’ in every ordinary days’ course.