Tag Archives: dream

I Think I Shall Still Remember

ache, life on the foreign field, Poetry, , , , , , , , , ,

When I am old and gray-haired and stooped

I think I shall still remember

How we sat on the balcony tonight

Beneath a cloud-shrouded moon

In an ocean of sky;

How our spirits sang and swooped and soared

In awe,

And how the lights glimmered on the mountain

As it listened to our song

As all mountains do.

 

Yes, I will remember how the rain, light-footed

Came dancing down, teasing us

While the wind played in our hair, sweeping

To the tune of the songs we sang.

And the raindrops rested on our glasses

Forming little half-moons in the glimmer of light

Fairy lights,

While in the distance the mountain slept

Yet in its sleep still listened to our song

As all mountains do.

 

And there was laughter and there were tears

Spun together in harmony of song

And our prayers floated up like dandelion dust

Caught in the night wind; driven by worship;

Our hearts soared to heaven and our spirits blazed

With fire,

While the mountain sighed in its sleep

And listened to us dream of heaven

As all mountains do.

Rainbow Desires

Poetry, , , ,
As I was looking across some poetry I had filed away, I came across this poem, written about 3 years ago (3 years already?!). I was reminded again at how much things I have written in the past often mean more to me later than when I wrote them. I needed this tonight.

 

Like rainbow colored playdough in childish hands

Are all our deep desires

Sent from the Father of lights, Father of all

Kindler of all dream fires

 

Left on our own, we shape our dreams

And in our desires delight

Not knowing that what we have done is done

Through unskilled blinded sight

 

We mold and shape with fumbling hands desires

What we think our destiny

Till our Father in love reaches down and whispers

“Child, child, give it to me.”

 

But no, I wail, I cannot; it must be mine, mine!

These desires belong to me

My Father’s hands are inexperienced; he cannot know

How I want it all to be!

 

What if my Father drops my dreams?

What I he waits too long?

What if the colors lose their hue?

And life its rainbow song?

 

Through a rain of tears I look down in my hands

At the feeble dreams I’ve made

And wonder who could better- Creator or created?

Bring glory from rainbow shades?

 

“Delight thyself in the Lord and He will give thee the desires of thine heart.”

Lonely

ache, life on the foreign field, Poetry, , , , , ,

 

Lonely in the nighttime when upon my bed

Still and prone I lie, and buried dreams

Come rushing to my mind like waves

Washing my resolve into a thousand streams

That flow a thousand different ways

Lonely for the comfort of another fellow dreamer

 

Lonely when the rainclouds slip beyond the mountain

I crest the hill and glimpse the glory

Of a thousand colors dancing wild

My spirit claims the beauty; the promise of the story

Flung and hung in rainwashed sky

Lonely for the spirit of another rainbow chaser

 

Lonely when the mountain vistas roll away

To touch the edge where land and sky are sewn

A thousand roads lie yet untraveled

A million hearts lie yet alone

In the endless valleys that sprawl below

Lonely for the heart of another mountain roamer

 

Of Ambivalence, Hope and Hatpins

ache, love, , , , ,

Two words have been on my mind lately.

Hope and ambivalence.

According to dictionary.com, the definition of ambivalence is this:

1.uncertainty or fluctuation, especially when caused by inability to make a choice or by a   simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things.

When I read the definition, I thought to myself, “It feels so good that at least the dictionary understands the story of my life.”

There are times when I know exactly what I want. If I would sit down and count them, I could probably count them on one hand.

Whether it’s ordering off a menu, or deciding on a career, I feel like Philippa Gordon in Anne of the Island, who was struck with such indecisiveness that when faced with the decision of which hat to wear, she would put them on the bed, close her eyes and jab them with a hatpin.

Sometimes I do it too. I can’t decide what to wear so I go “eenie meenie minie moe.” And sometimes I have to do it several times before I get to the point where I can be happy with the results. I know, it’s weird.

But what do ambivalence and hatpins have to do with hope?

Because hope is such a strange thing. It’s what keeps us alive, yet it’s also what keeps us in pain. It’s such an enigma, oxymoron, puzzle, whatever you want to call it. We love it, we call it, we lure it, but when we have it, it hurts. So we shelve it, we box it, we draw boundaries around it, we sit on it, we smother it, we numb its beauty with the narcotic of fantasy. And yet, we live on it. We can’t live without it. An old, old book says, “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.” Yet, wouldn’t it be better not to hope at all, rather than to hope and have it deferred? A Thai friend of mine has this saying on his Line (a popular messaging app in Asia)profile picture. “Mai wang, mai pit wang.” Meaning, “If you don’t hope, you won’t be disappointed.”

I know that’s a lie. But the ambivalence inside of me rages. If I hope, I will be disappointed. If I don’t hope, I will die. Hope is what keeps me alive, yet sometimes that life feels like death.

To hope or not to hope?

This ambivalence is what keeps us standing on the edge of the river, dipping only a toe into the water when we could jump in. It keeps us wavering at the counter of McDonalds, keeps us paralyzed and unable to make long term commitments because of all the “what if’s”, and it keeps us jabbing hatpins at hats on the bed.

I wish I had some kind of profound way to end this post. Some deep, wise thought that seals it up and leaves a good, satisfying taste in my mouth and lets me finally go to bed, feeling like I’ve got it figured out and that I’ve left a wise impression on my readers.  But that’s not what hope is like. This elusive, ethereal, yet powerful thing. It’s an emotion, yet not an emotion.

Perhaps, perhaps there’s something that lies in the choice. The act of choosing. Not the jabbing of the hatpin, but the deliberate choice to hope. And maybe it has something to do with faith.

Perhaps. I really don’t know.

What do you say?

Awe

Adventure, Poetry, , , , , ,
IMG_8570
Doi Pui, Chiang Mai, Thailand. Photo credit Lori Hershberger

Dreams come

Spinning on the fingers of shafted light,

Caught on the echoes of a far off song,

Whispering in the stillness of a midnight watch,

Bursting in the glory of a rising sun,

Or….

Calling on the expanse of a thousand

mountain ridges rolling, rolling, rolling

rolling, until mist, horizon, and sky

meet as one.

 

Lord, here am I.

Send me.