Between Decembers

I knew Christmas would come again. I knew it. It was just the idea of all of that time between Decembers. So far away, one to the next. So much stuff, so much life, to get through in the meanwhile, before the magic could happen again. As a child, always my day after Christmas thoughts.

My mom kept Christmas packed up in several sturdy brown moving boxes. On basement shelves in places where we had a basement, on shelves in the garage where we didn’t. I remember many times as a little kid, looking at the boxes.  Longing for Christmas. Feeling sad, but also feeling excited. Because the boxes were like a promise.  I couldn’t see inside them, but I was certain, without even needing to look, that there were wonderful things within. Wonderful things that were coming, just not yet.

Then somewhere, in between years, Christmas lost that magic.  Life left me lost as well, longing, for so much more.

I’ve been in a season of uncertainty for almost two years. And I think about those boxes from time to time.  How Christmas was inside, even though I couldn’t see it. Two years, this place of my own between Decembers. Stuff, and life. Dark days. Lots of dark days, but in the midst of the darkness, I remind myself of this promise. That God has a beautiful purpose for me. A perfect plan for my life. I know this time of waiting is necessary as He prepares me for what is to come. I know that some days it requires of me, to the point of exhaustion, incredible faith and trust, and oh there are days when I am tested almost to beyond what I can bear.

Those boxes and longing. And coming light. The true promise of what Christmas is. The greatest gift. The birth of Jesus Christ, and I am filled with excitement, anticipation. Yes, those boxes. Of mine. To remind me-a new season.

My Christmas is coming.


Her very often, “where I wish I was right now,” how it’s been a while, way too long since she walked on a stretch of sandy beach, endless almost infinite shifting soothing, beneath her feet.


A handful of sand, magnified 300 times, individual grains highlighted, diverse and beautiful. Bits of pink coral and black polished rock and iridescent shell.


That picture of herself, there on the beach. Lemon cotton and lopsided smile and long long salt tangled hair. After that day she’d gone on to live her life, one step away at a time, away from that picture of herself. Until the grains all but disappeared.


Still, lemon cotton and lopsided smile and long long salt tangled hair, and so so so much more.


A handful of sand.

Strawberry Moon

I missed the Strawberry Moon.  Not because I forgot about it. On the contrary, I watched the sky throughout the day, took measure of the clouds, wished and willed them into clear blue. But it wasn’t meant to be. I sought consolation in the fact that there are many other wonders of this world for me remaining likely nevers. It did not help, because there are other once hoped likely nevers that I am not missing. A loved one’s illness. Bitter divorce. Seemingly monumental struggles with mental health. No, I missed the Strawberry Moon. A once in a lifetime, that held a lot of significance for me, I mourned, as I tried to fall asleep amid thunder and lightening. But it was still there, I promised myself. That Strawberry Moon. High above the dark and gray. Still shining over me.


Yesterday walk, and to happen, by accident, to see quick stepping flight the up ahead, a young one, hand covering mouth, stifling a sob, so like yesterday me, and oh yes, oh yes, I get that kind of heart ache, and nothing, nothing you can say or do but just leave them be, because whatever it is, you know you must allow them their alone, to grieve.

Bare Bones

This is what you get with me.

Generous curves, and gentle rolls of lavender vanilla lotion scented skin.  Legacy of heredity, and childbirth, and too much chocolate.

This is what you get with me.

Twenty plus years of traditional and trusting in the value of such, and crushed that I would someday have to defend in the choice I made, my worth, to anyone.

No, this is what you get with me.

Soft, and kind, and gentle in my spirit. Not one to set the world on fire. In the traditional sense.

I never will.


Black stockings, and laughing like crazy, and a fiery spirit, when I care.

I don’t want the whole world.

This is what you get with me.


For International Women’s Day

Lost and Found

Ship of one hundred pieces.  And each and every piece replaced, over time.  What was the dilemma again? Whether the current ship counted as the original ship? She considered this idea in reverse, tracing with the tip of her left index finger, the long crooked years ago old scar running the length of the top portion of her right index finger.

Dismantling the past.

Digging through the trash, that’s how she’d cut herself.  On pieces of broken glass whilst trying to second thought reclaim an old shirt. Reluctant relinquishing. The first piece of  herself to go.

Still, an original scar.


I’m this week (last minute) linking up with Tara’s 100 word challenge, here:

This was fun!



I keep, beside my bed, an empty picture frame.  Silver and glitter and shining. Sun across snow.  I got it to hold the future that exists in my someday, when I shall look back and say, I was like a palm tree once. Storm bent. Nearly flattened to the ground. But now, sun and silver and glitter and shining again. Tall, in a brighter season.


When I am cloaked in doubt,

my hope so grounded in the world

that I fall short of dreams,

I picture the moon,

distant yet still luminous,

borrowed from its backdrop

of depthless deep blue velvet,

pinned to the collar

of my black wool coat.