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Life after Forty

Posted on Mar 25, 2016. See more in In My Words

  Ahead of  me on the journey by a decade, friend, mentor and often guide Marchiene Rienstra told me the other day about an insight that came to her on one of her morning walks in Sedona.  May this poem honor her insight, a way of passing it forward.     Life after Forty That year I turned forty you turned sixteen, beginning to show the...

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Do You Do Well to Be Angry?

Posted on Mar 24, 2016. See more in In My Words

In this political season so fraught with angry people – it’s worth asking “Do You Do Well to Be Angry?” A question God once asked the Hebrew prophet Jonah, and the title of a message I gave a number of years ago. Sadly – what makes the biblical stories still relevant is that too many human weaknesses never change. We humans...

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Put Down Your Pack

Posted on Nov 12, 2015. See more in In My Words

Margaret Atwood once said – “I write prose to know what I’m thinking. And poetry to know what I’m feeling.” For me too – poetry was the right vessel to convey the emotions that swept over me after my brother called with words I had been longing for – for four long years. Closure on a tragedy – time for healing to begin.

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Valentine

Posted on Feb 14, 2015. See more in In My Words

Well – it has been awhile since my last musing post. Life raced by. Full of good things like: Hosting retreats and workshops for Jack Ridl. Delighting in the birth of (now 5) grandchildren. A bit of traveling. And their were also the unexpected bends in the road that send us scrambling – for words that help us make meaning, sense of the senseless. During this time I never stopped “fooling around with words.” I’ve been working a participant in Jack Ridl’s Landscapes of Poetry workshop as well as regularly taking his One-on-One mentoring sessions. All this to explain why new posts will more often be poetry than prose.

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God’s Desire?

Posted on Feb 7, 2011. See more in In My Words

As I page turn the glossy pages of the art book, one photograph stops me. I look again. The image is of bolts of coarse, white cloth clean as a blank page “seated” on a molded bench in an ultra modern airport. I think – installation art. Cloth, dipped in plaster of Paris perhaps, shaped to suggest the slope of human shoulders, the diminutive...

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Himself

Posted on Jun 10, 2010. See more in In My Words

“He didn’t mean it,” my father said. And he blushed. The red rising from his neck, a tide of shame rolling upward to those high, prominent cheekbones. It was something I had never seen before – my father, embarrassed, looking away uneasily. We were out for lunch, something I’d been trying to do weekly since the diagnosis. Alzheimer’s they had told us. The...

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