Distractions

My biggest distractions

are not

Others,

they are

Myself.

My thoughts run like

trains through central station.

Express and freight, criss crossing.

God, husband, children, writing,

homeschool, laundry, meals, service.

Multiple lines at once,

and all too often hijacked.

I start my prayer

“Dear Heavenly Father”

Only for thoughts to flit off,

Did I turn off the stove?

I begin reading scriptures,

“And it came to pass,”

and ten verses pass

before I realize my thoughts

had taken a scenic tour of a

book I’m writing.

So I refocus.

I start again.

I pray for help with my

own distractedness.

The blessing of a headache

This takes me back to writing in gratitude for something that I tend to complain about

      

The blessing of a headache

I do not like headaches,

I do not like them Sam-I-am.

I do not like them in the night.

I do not like with all my might.

I do not like them in the day.

I do not like them in any way.

But the ache is rare,

The message clear.

The pounding knock

upon my head.

Hark, listen, hear me now,

Slow down, sleep more, and careful tread.

Your body's fighting hard.

Rest, and then I'll stop the

rapping that you dread.

Focus

This one I wrote for a child who needed help seeing things from a new perspective. And learned I needed the lesson too.

       

Focus

When "I" and "me"

is all I can see.

My trials are mountains,

my triumphs walls.

Both stopping and

imprisoning me in walls of

self centered blindness.

When "Thee" and "Thine"

Direct my eyes divine.

His hands lift to

higher vistas.

His ways lead to

heaven's panoramic joy.

Focus on self,

to damming death.

Focus on Christ

to eternal life.

Invisible phone

               

When the van wouldn't start,

even after prayer,

I reached for my phone.

My purse is small, holding

phone, wallet, and I-pod.

But search and search again,

I couldn't find the phone.

I wanted to call the insurance,

for road side assistance.

I wanted to call my husband,

to come pick us up.

I wanted to call for help.

I prayed again,

turned the ignition.

Nothing.

A trek to the lube shop.

Pointed in the opposite direction,

to the mechanic shop.

Little boy tagging along.

Then as I reached into my

purse, to pay the bill,

I pulled out my phone.

Because it was invisible,

we didn't pay for a tow, and

my husband didn't lose leave hours

he was saving for the family trip.

And I spent many hours,

one-on-one with my child who

wants most in the world

--my attention.

My calling prayer was answered.

Interruptions

My life is made of--

“Mommy, look at this”--

broken moments of time.

A scripture caught between--

“He hit me”--

efforts of patience.

Writing fractured into--

“I'm hungry”--

half sentences.

Children are not--

“Will you please let me finish”--

interruptions.

They are the

Focus of my life.

Dyslexia and the Gift

This poem is in gratitude for the Book of Mormon and how it is helping my seven-year-old learn to read.

Dyslexia and the Gift

Two years trying to learn to read

He still stumbles over “and” and “the”

“p”, “b”, and “d” are mirrors of the

same shape but different sounds

Slowly, bit by bit, sounding out

moving letters. He asks,

“just half a lesson today?”

We make it to lesson 60 in the 100 lessons.

Halted at the same place as last year,

when we took a summer break before trying again.

How to learn past this mountain?

He's not my first child, nor this the first

“tried and true” method to teach reading.

He's smart. He can read out loud a

twelve digit number with its proper

“billions”, “millions”, and “thousands”

as well as translate it onto an abacus.

He's motivated.

But the letters swim,

slipping away from him as he

grasps their slick sides.

Then sweet words from my Grandma Stewart

“Remember how your sister learned to read?”

I open the book, the one he's heard

every day since he was in the womb.

I run my fingers under the words

“I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents”

I read each word and have him repeat,

then ask him to sound out “having”.

One word read in a line, a big word.

He grins.

Many minutes later he recognizes “of”

It doesn't swim away.

“And” still causes trouble.

But he reads three verses with me.

The next day and the next

we open the scriptures and read.

“And it came to pass as he prayed unto the Lord”

He sounds out a whole line with

only help on “prayed”

“Mommy, I'm reading!

I like this so much better than the

reading lesson book.

But the words are longer and harder.

Why is this easier?”

“Why?” I catch at the tears

“Because this book is

Heavenly Father's book.

He wants us to read it.

He is helping you.”

My son tells his five-year-old brother

“You should learn to read from the

Book of Mormon.

The Holy Ghost will help you.”

His first testimony,

born out of the trials of dyslexia.

The Father and the Son

The Father and the Son

Mosiah 15:1-9

Our Savior, the Son,

suffered according to the flesh.

His mortality allowed him to

experience, suffer, know,

our pains, our trials.

Though sinless, he bore our sins.

He reaches out with knowing mercy,

intimately acquainted with our griefs.

He understands, he nurtures, he heals.

If we will but turn to him.

Our Redeemer, the Father,

God-begotten and God-empowered,

chose perfect obedience,

despite the trials of the flesh.

He shows us the way,

because He walked it perfectly.

Empowered to suffer the

atonement without dying.

A terrible suffering that caused Him,

our Creator, to shrink and yet He

endured it to the end,

opening the doors of

repentance, and to enter

God's presence again.

Empowered to take up His

life, after He'd given it for us.

Opening the doors of

resurrection and eternal life.

The Son and the Father,

titles of Christ.

His mortal side gave Him suffering,

so He could pay for our sins and

nurture us with perfect understanding.

His divine side gave Him power,

to open the doors of eternity for us.

For us. He did all this for us.

And for His Father.

With Love.