When Dreamers Dance

Simply because dreams keep hearts alive.

Dancing with enticing ocean waves

Glass winged butterflies

Mourn the inability to swim.

While leaping into breezy spaces,

Gleaming stone fish 

Dream of scaling distant heights.

Foreigner and familiar stranger 

Merge at the surface.

Diving into deep pools

Traps damaged flimsy wings

Magnetically toppling hardened 

Steely climbers below the 

Twisted parallel tracks of 

Hesitantly determined trains,

Carrying infant hearts

In trembling crafted cradles.

Frightened martyrs fight boldly

For ancient queens retreating

Gracefully across wired curbs

Sporadically hopping the distance

With the ebb and flow of 

Bottled diamond messages

Bobbing amidst tangled sea grasses

Under a stung blue moon.

Bumblebees laugh at the folly

Of children sliding on banisters

While Irish lasses freely ramble

Thundering fields of streaked light,

Futilely chasing wild horses into 

Bloody battles crossing divides

Where dinner bells and songs are 

Drown out by the clashed cry of war.

Building paper dreams 

Bigger than aged airy houses

Empties celebrated cornucopias

Into frozen wastelands,

Compromising hallowed chambers 

Of sheltered snow globes geared 

For wiping out on black ice

Melted slowly by ringed fire.

Responsible travellers check

Burdened weight of cargo

Gingerly leaping doormats

On wings of lyrical lunacy

Waving polka-dotted flags

Over shark infested waves of 

Subtle uncertainty tossing

Casually upon plastic shores.

Perch upon a rugged cliff

Consume a wedge of brutal pie

Cup hands and dip into icy

Creeks flowing through rusty cages

As energy jumps magnetic fields

Stepped down for soft landings,

Reality sparks transformation of hearts

That never wake from the dream.

Weighted Change

     We've seen an overflowing bustle of activity spill out everywhere at our house the past couple of weeks.  Reconstruction mode has sparked digging out a pit, and laying the foundation of a great wall intended to hold up and bolster a new family gathering place under the canopy of studded black velvet and whispy blue optimism.  Lines have been drawn and new stories are being pulled off of shelves with eager anticipation of a school year unsullied by smudgy eraser marks and wrinkled speeches lost under bedded chaos.  Change is pressing away the illusion of carefree summer afternoons lounging under waving trees, while watching happy hens scratch the ground and cottony charades transform in the sky.  Fruit ripens on the vine, weighing down branches and spilling out onto old wooden tables and work benches.  Multi-colored hot jars are lifted from boiling baths and steam burns tender skin.  Air conditioners buzz incessantly and are drowned out only by the deafening waves of insect songs rising and falling in the black muggy haze.  The mountains whisper the slipped secret back and forth that summer is waning.  Autumn begins its timed descent dropping clues of bleeding leaves and seed maturation along trailing creeks. 


      Change calls for us.  Even though it beckons from afar and nudges us along with carefully placed clues, it is not voluntary.  Eventually it sets in with a heavy, inevitable beauty.  It's gentle breezes and heavy weights can lift us into airy castles or sweep us into pressured vats.  We may make struggled attempts to fight against it like stubborn toddlers refusing to sit still for a hair brushing, but no matter how hard we struggle or how fast we run to escape it, change brushes us forward, unhindered by flimsy excuses of unpreparedness.  God knows change is necessary and can sometimes be difficult for us to flow with.  He will alternately pursue us or gently hold us through our stormy sessions of unwillingness to surrender by lovingly turning a deaf ear to our temper tantrums.  Then He whispers ever so quietly into our hearts that instead of crying out against it's crushing weight, we can discover relieving counter pressure hidden in submissive silence if we stop struggling and pause to listen for the breathed promises of a new season of growth.  When we gather our harvest of blessings with aching muscles, bow a submissively grateful head to God, and taste the renewing goodness of creation, it prepares our hearts for the protective crushing weight of winter's blanket.  Bow down and give yourself freely to God for anticipated transformation.  Allow yourself to be consumed by the entirety of the process.  So that when the weight is finally lifted and closed doors open, you are able to recognize what is worth celebrating as spring's light crosses your threshold. 

Weighted Change

A fragile heart grew protected fruit

Among pale green leafiness in lofty dreams.

Admired for it’s wild sweetness

Plucked casually under early summer sun

Set aside to ripen momentarily.

As sands passed through time’s keeper

It is swept up by the pendulum’s swinging.

Brushed into the presses for preserving

Reason ceaselessly crushing weeping

The weighted finality of change.

All that is left is juice and mashed pulp.

Maybe someday there will be wine

No, it will not be strawberry sipped under the moon.

Aged far beyond transparent fragility

Bittersweet maturity deepened the colour.

Merged in a battered sturdy cask

Black cherry tones lace earthy dark grains.

Siphoned as a kin's homemade brew,

From musty depths into corked brown glass

Masqueraded with a little dust on a shelf

It waits.

The Lesson

     My Dad used to give us a lot of chores to do.  Picking apples perched on extension ladders, pulling weeds, picking rocks, shoveling snow, butchering chickens, stacking wood, and taking out the compost.  That is only the short list.  We did not like it.  We bulked, we sulked, we dawdled and drug our feet with the dramatic expertise only a child can display in the face of good old-fashioned work.  For me, there was nothing more dreaded than the stomach churning threat of forced time in the corn field picking rocks or pulling weeds.  That hung over my head all summer, heavier than the oppressive cloud of mid-August humidity.  Banished to the buzzing heat in worn-out sneakers and mismatched clothes from some hand-me-down bag, I would come up with a lengthy list of fun things I could be doing, while convincing myself I was the only girl in the world, except my sister, stuck in a field doing the two-handed yank of quackgrass and topping dandelions that were bound to haunt me with their regular reappearance forever.   There was no getting out of it.  Weed pulling and rock picking were my parent's favorite method of diffusing negative attitudes and yanking out rebellion by the roots.  

     As a child I felt the sting of punishment, but what I didn't see was that God was also using those moments to actively teach me deeper life lessons.  The ones He knew I would need for the rest of my life.  Those sweltering summer days in the corn field clanking stones into an old backhoe bucket or finger-numbing mornings bracing myself and shovel against drifted banks of snow were part of my physical preparation for the challenges and obstacles of life.  Training my body, mind, and heart to lay down physical connections to my soul so I would have a infrastructure of active coping mechanisms when things around me appeared out of whack. 

     My Dad never caved to murmured complaints or allowed us to drag our sneakers in defiance on the gravelly driveway.  He appreciated the value of simple labor when it came to developing perseverance, curbing fear, and clearing room for new growth.  He made certain that the seeds were planted in our minds and hearts even if the shoots of that did not take off until years later.  Like my Dad, I think God does the same thing.  He points us in the right direction, and goes about setting us to certain tasks designed to teach us.  He challenges us to stretch and grow and asks us to take on simple tasks we sometimes find meaningless and repetitive. As adults we can find ourselves guilty of reverting to dragging our feet and balking at what our Heavenly Father sets us to.  However, if we get our bodies committed to the tried and true method of simple physical labor we can discover our minds and hearts will follow suit. As an adult, I love pulling weeds.  There is nothing more satisfactorily simple than a vigorous session of yank and pull while talking to God about whatever negativity is trying to lodge itself inside me.  The physical act of pulling and tugging helps aligns my mind to take over easing it out of my heart. 

     I am so thankful for the lessons God taught me through my parents and life on a small farm.  As a parent I am amazed at how many simple opportunities God gives us to teach our children about Him and coping with life.  Some of those lessons require stretching out of our comfort zone and are hidden from view.  However, if we look back at our own childhoods, we can find lessons designed by Him to mirror the challenges encountered in everyday life.  Simple tasks like weed pulling, shoveling snow, washing dishes, sweeping, and gardening can be turned into life lessons for our children to carry through their walk with Him.  They are tried and true methods of teaching them active, physical ways to connect to God with heart and mind while working out the internal kinks that are bound to cramp things up along the way.  Let us not neglect to teach our children some simple ways to remove obstacles, listen, alter their perspectives, and count their blessings.

The Lesson

I told you to climb.

Did you catch sight of it?

Clenching the ladder

With fear-narrowed eyes

I set it for you

At the very end of the branch

Under dense cover

So fingertip faith

Learned to hold tightly

Before grasping the prize.

I sent you for it.

Were you able to find it?

Chewing stranded hair

As spinning wheels jammed

I placed it there

On the other side of the vice

Next to the grinder

So developing minds 

Learned to carefully listen

Before picking up the hammer.

I made you go out.

Could you finish the task?

Huffing mumbled clouds

Against drifted icy banks

I sent them for you 

Along the rutted trail

Down the bank

So stubborn hearts 

Learned how to dig out

Before carving new paths.

I pointed you to them.

Were you able to pull?

Squatting in the dirt

With rising summer-baked ire

I put them there for you

In between tender shoots

Strangling vital life

So rooted hurt

Learned to clear obstacles

Before harvesting the fruit.

I told you to do it.

Could you finish the task?

Brushing splintery debris

With achingly numbed fingers

I dumped it there for you

On the icy concrete slab

Amidst dismal pelting sleet

So bound hardening hearts

Learned to thaw and melt

Before pouring out love.

I called you to it.

Did you find them?

Reaching into smarting spaces

Swiping hands across stained cheeks

I grew them for you.

Scattered in tangled brambles

Hidden from view

So busy hands

Learned to alter perspectives

Before counting their blessings.

Shaunda M. Eck