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grace on November 5th, 2010

Everet's fancy footwork

grace on November 5th, 2010

Everet's Handiwork

grace on November 5th, 2010

I started out with poetry. I used to spend hours reading children’s poetry books when I was small just because I loved the rhythm of the words.
So, when at nine years old, I started going to Pioneer Girls –kind of a Christian form of Girl Scouts–I had to pick poetry as one of my badges.

Here is my first–or first recalled–poem.

Puppies warm fur
Bristles near cats
Soft as silk
Cuddly.

The next poem I remember writing was when I was deeply delving into the rhyming word. This can often make your poems come out sounding silly, especially if your main goal is to rhyme.

Reading is nice, The nicest I’ve known, Because it makes me feel at home.

Okay, maybe not the best work but I was ten and just learning.

So, when I was ten, I also read “The Diary of Anne Frank”.  This book made a huge impression on me.  I remember sitting on the outdoor steps with my sister announcing solemnly that I was going to be a writer.  My sister took it all in with proper awe which made me feel like my decision was even more important.  But in many ways it was one of my important decisions because that was when I really started writing.

At that time, I went to boarding school for MKs–or missionary kids for those who aren’t familiar with the abbreviation.  After lights out, I would stay up in the bathroom writing short stories and poetry.  I also started my first journal–you know, like Anne Frank.  When someone would whisper loudly, “Are you ever going to get out of there?”  I would finally go to bed but only to continue writing the story or whatever it was into my dreams.  At that age, I always accompanied my stories with illustrations.  I never thought of art in the same way as writing  but it was still another part of me.

And that was only the beginning!

gary on November 5th, 2010

I walked along a garden path,

a garden warm and green

tended by a cool caressing breeze.

I saw flowers I had never seen.

I studied them on bended knees.

I tended them with utmost care,

but they withered with the sun.

I cried and knelt in prayer

wearied from the work I’d done.

Grieved with loss, with pain,

I cast myself upon the ground.

The wind blew wild bringing rain,

washing away my moaning sounds

until the day came with the sun.

Then! I had a waking dream.

Before me grew a scarlet rose

on a stem with a silver gleam.

It far surpassed the others

which I had labored for.

And when the sun grew hot

she withered not,

for she is watered by the hand of God.

Notes: I was watching the video of our wedding recently and found that I had read this to my wife in front of all our family and friends.

Inspiration: My wife and Isaiah 58:11 NIV  The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.

gary on November 5th, 2010
Reyna's Beautiful Day Age 9

Reyna's Beautiful Day Age 9

gary on November 5th, 2010

Reyna Age7

gary on November 5th, 2010

Everet Age 6 - Hamburger Monster

gary on November 5th, 2010

gary on November 5th, 2010

Heart longing,

a tidal wave rushing.

Striving to reach across the miles.

Emotions boil with rockets fire.

I look in a glass and see chaotic style.

Head pounds with an avalanche of brass.

Rushing, crushing,

still I’m longing

as I sink beneath my own destruction,

smiling!

gary on November 1st, 2010

A million hammers fall upon the anvil of the sky,

causing sparks to fly like spears into my heart,

cold fire o so painful.

 My soul in anguish;

 rain washes away the tears.

I cry out, no one hears.

The rain which once caused my life to grow,

now with force erodes away the soil of my soul.