I know you’ve spoken in your own small ways: A turn and tease, a playful push, a grasp; To tell us, “Hi, I’m here.”
But, sadly, we are not yet fluent In the language of miracles and spirit.
And we’ve been waiting, oh so long, Praying for so long, Loving for so long, Longing for so long.
Before that thought and twinkle first appeared, You already lived inside our soul as one. A perfect, tender fruit Grown from grace By the springs of hope And nourished in the sunlight of wisdom Rained down.
Yes, expectation Is a fun game. But now it’s time to play A new way.
If home is where your story begins, Then I don’t recall a chapter before you.
There must have been no prologue; At least not one worth mentioning. Perhaps, the editor removed it for clarity. All the better, For the story worth telling Must be the one that starts with you.
So, if home is where your story begins, Then my story began here with you.
And if home is where the heart is, Then my heart was stuck far too long In the pages of the lonely flyleaf and the dull copyright.
Was I homeless before my heart found you? I can’t remember. I don’t want to. Perhaps, the realtor was banking on a better market. All the better, For the home worth sharing Must be the one that’s here with you.
So, if home is where the heart is, Then my home is forever with you.
My wife and I were recently in the throes of potty training with our charming toddler. And like travailing the thick jungles of an uncharted rain forest, navigating the new land or Toiletdom has been interesting, to say the least. Like a good movie, it’s been full of suspense, mystery, drama, and intrigue. There have been unexpected turns, plot twists, and shocking character developments. The potty pangs are real.
But each day we kept going and did not give up, and neither did she. As we cheered on our child and celebrated each triumph the days got better and dryer. We would remind her over and over again, “You can do it!” And then, when finally the floodgates of her bladder opened up to descend into the bowl of destiny she squealed with delight, “I did it!” Her glimmering glee as she mastered the potty has been truly inspirational.
Perhaps you are enduring the refining fire of a similar forge. Do the days seem dire and the universe ungovernable? Is your patootie simply pooped in more ways than one? Are you in the midst of an inauspicious space as you seem to have had yet another accident in the underwear that is your life? Then let me take a moment to encourage you to take heart.
If you feel like life has dealt you handful of gerbil droppings, then throw them away, that’s gross. If you feel burdened and overwhelmed by all the worries of life, then don’t hold it in, that’s not healthy, just let it all out. If you’re straining with too many demands, then don’t push too hard, just wait, eat some prunes, and try again later. Does everything seem to be full of poop? If it’s brown, flush it down. Just like our toddler, you too can wave adios to your troubles, and say “Bye, bye poopie!”
You can do it. You can succeed in this next challenge of life training. You can overcome the rump scoundrels that cause mental constipation, emotional diarrhea, and spiritual incontinence. You too can proclaim from the misty mountaintops, “I did it!” Yes, yes, you did indeed.
As In Life, Such Is the Potty
Oh what ominous porcelain peak that lurks before me?
A forbidding cliff, a fearsome instrument of torture I’m sure.
Must I ascend this frosty alp, this saucy summit?
My bawdy bowels tremble.
My delicate derriere is in dread.
My keister shivers at the touch of the dead cold ceramic.
Oh hindquarters, don’t fail me now.
Take courage and sit strong!
You wayward whoopsies don’t miss the mark.
As posterior plumps on exterior of the galvanized gourd,
Please don’t slip and be sure all exits remain interior.
Behold, this throne of smelly terrors once my bane,
Now subjugated to my will is but a hollow seat.
My caboose celebrates in serendipity!
I’m a big boy now.
Oh, dear scorned and neglected one! Day often approached in despair, As the final, sweet moments of weekend expire. A day bemoaned and begrudged; Oh poor, little Mondays.
None want to wake to you, All want to wait for you. Marker of the week, The work begins with you, As sighs and fruffy grumbles float across the office space.
But may it not be oh Dawn Breaker, oh Bringer of New Life! Accused of fussy scruples and pedantic pontificating. Nay! You saucy little rascal. You plucky tortoise who shall win the race.
With new week, comes new focus, new resolve. It is New Year’s resolutions every New Monday. Tis cause for celebration. May we shout and rejoice. Another opportunity draws nigh to be the gladiator champion of productivity.
So pour the robust beans, That scalding, hot elixir of the heavens. Breathe in full and deep the crisp, morning air. Admire the glittering lights of dew resting and waking with the dawn. Seize the day; grasp hold and leave your fingerprints on time and space.