Constance's Song

You learn to hold the Hand of God
You learn to walk the narrow way
You learn the hardest path to trod
Becomes the one away from God
When you do not obey

You learn the only peace of mind
Depends upon the strength you find
In arms that hold the lost and blind
And point the way to Truth

You learn to bless the grace of God
You learn to walk the narrow way
You learn the Comfort of the rod
The Shepherd’s staff, the Will of God
When you learn to obey

You learn to walk upon on your knees
To ask the Savior “Help me, please.”
The Holy Spirit intercedes
And leads you back to Love

~from an old work in progress currently gathering dust.

I was thinking of my story, the one this song (well, these lyrics, really) appears in. Thinking about why I started writing it and why I let it go half-finished for so long (about 3 years now). It's a story that falls between two markets, the Christian market won't like certain things and it's too Christian to sell in the mainstream market. Not salable if I believe the gurus.

Mainly though, I put it away because there were only a few parts that met my high standards. Okay it is a rough/first draft, but still!

'If I wouldn't put my name on it,' I thought 'why am I still writing it?' And so the characters sit there, living, breathing, patiently waiting to have the rest of their story told.

And some days they hum a little tune so loudly it rings in my ears. Like today.

A Smug Little Pillow

So few things that I've been making lately can be put up on this blog. Christmas presents are in full swing but since my family occasionally read this blog it's not safe to post photos of their Christmas gifts until after Christmas.
Ergo, random postable project: this fat little two-sided throw pillow. Just because.

Simply Color

"The simplification of anything is always sensational." -- G.K. Chesterton

A Genesis RAP: The Story of Lot

Yo, My name is LOT and I’m here to say
I gotta little story ‘bout getting my way
I see something good I just gotta have
Like land for my sheep and fields for my calves
I want the land with the fields and streams
That rich rich land is the land of my dreams
[b-boxing]

Uncle Abe, you know, is a kindly dude
So he puts up with my attitude
I take what I want an’ leave none for him
An’ he lets me do it ‘cause we’re blood kin
[bb]

I shouda known better but I didn’t care
I was bein’ greedy didn’ wanna share
So up in the hills and far away
Ol’ Abe and his peeps live from day to day
While me and my fam live a life of ease
Down in the valley doin’ as we please
[bb]

Now the land was good but the towns were bad
Every kind a’ sin was the latest fad
But I couldn’t see how they made God mad
I just saw all the riches they had
Sodom and Gomorrah were tempting to me
So I moved in my whole fam-i-ly
We lived in the city and thought it was grand
A big big house and lotsa good land
[bb]

Some angels came and said run away
The Lord is gonna bomb this city today
I didn’ wanna listen, I’m sorry to say
But it’s a good thing we didn’ get to stay
‘Cause fire and brimstone started to fall
God was so mad He destroyed ‘em all
[bb]

Even my wife is a pillar of salt
I gotta admit that’s mostly my fault
If I could go back an’ do it again
I give the good land to Abraham
BEin’ greedy just doesn’t pay
Kindness is the answer e-ver-y day
Everybody:
Kindness is the answer e-ver-y day
[bb]

And why did she write this you ask? I've been filling in for the Kindergarten (Sparkies) Storytime at our church's AWANA -- and let's face it it's hard to keep the attention of 17 or 18 five year olds. Coming up with new ways to tell the stories keeps them interested. Why rap? I don't know, I don't even like rap, but the kids loved it. :D

Flying Geese

Still a favorite quilt pattern, "flying geese" has been around for centuries. I thought of this quilt today when I heard the geese flying overhead. High and behind the clouds they flew, and the sound of their calls came faint but clear in the early morning hours as I curled warm and sleepy in my layers of quilts.

Leaf Burning Deep

All Hallows Day burns yellow
with the fire of martyrs,
with the licking flames of ancient

judgment. Gusting
maple red, and glowing
the zealous sun overflows
a wind seared sky.

Clouds circle the heavens,
like wild white geese
who fly against

this ardent azure sky.
On the seventh day
the trumpets sound
in Jericho. A shout rings out,

a sign, a frost, leaves crumble
from the trees and fall. For
a moment they were green

and growing, grasping still
to oak and walnut, poplar,
ash. They clung as though
the planet burned,

like Rome,
like the bush of Moses,
like the Saints at Pentecost.