From Dark to Light

There's something about the darkness
That pushes my happy down;
There's something about the lack of light
That makes my spirit frown;
 
Why can't I call forth happy dreams
When I'm in the throes of night?
When everything seems so hopeless
And my breath is locked up tight; 

There's something about the early hours
Between the dark and light
When I wake to possibilities
And readjust my sight;
 
There's something about the morning
That lifts me up again,
And promises light and laughter
If I choose to let it in;
  

There's something about the song of a bird
In that early morning light,
Or the voice of a friend who calls to say,
'You're loved; it will be alright';
 
Those voices of encouragement
Like rainbows after rain,
Have power to lighten up my dark,
and lift my happy up again.

 

and lift my happy up again.

 

If Memory Serves Me
 
If memory serves me,
How lucky I'll be,
If that wonderful waiter
Brings laughter  to me;
I don't mind repeats,
Let me taste them again;
The heart warming moments,
The faces of friends;
When he comes to the table
Of my grateful mind,
Tactfully leaving
Sad choices behind,
My heart will make sure
That I've gratefully left
A tip for the server,
A nod to the Chef,
And a take-away box
For the smiles that are left–
Yes, I'll have to admit
That the banquet was great,
The service outstanding,
Even though I still wait
For my cell phone and keys
To appear on my plate!
 

 

I wrote the following poem for my mother-in-law Joan on the occasion of her 90th birthday, six years ago; she has now passed on but her memory will remain with us as will the gifts of wisdom, and her wish for our family ties to be kept strong.

For Joan:
 
The love of a child
For the mother who holds
Him from infancy to adulthood
Is a bond like no other;
A daughter-in-law
Has a whole lot to learn
About  this woman
Who enters her life:
His mother;
 
To understand her essence,
Her own brand of love,
Her struggles and wisdom;
Her words: 'A life is not worth living,
If you aren't giving,''
Ring true within me;
We are alike, yet unique,
Two comrades in four arms,
Growing in deep respect
For each other;
Our family
Stronger
 From the joining of
These two mothers' hearts.

 

Some memories are kept in a secure car on life's train; others are just passing through.  As we shuffle the cars, let's always be the smiling conductor!

The Memory Station

If I forget to tell you
What it is I just forgot,
Please don't think
That I don't care,
Or that my memory's shot;
My thoughts are simply racing
Around a busy track,
And may have missed
A stop or two,
Or have fallen
Through a crack,
But not to worry,
I'll keep pulling
Memories from  my pack
Till what it was
That I forgot,
Remembers to come back!

At this time of year, I always love watching the maple trees coming into bud and bloom; they were always a favourite flower that I'd bring home for mom on my way home from school.  She was so gracious to greet my offerings with enthusiasm and find jars to display these wondrous flowers! Next would be dandelions and clover and wild roses.   ' Crimson and clover' just popped into my head - loved that song!  It came out in 1981 when I was the young mother of three.  Ah, memories of chasing the three of them across our lawn, trying to coax them into clothing of various sorts, or into just wearing something!  Those precious moments, though they were busy ones, went by way too fast.  I tried to capture one of my own early memories in this little poem; I hope it stirs some of your own warm memories and adds to your garden of smiles:

Mom's Garden 

Before I learned
To read or write,
I'd bring her flowers
I thought she'd like;
Some pansies from
Her garden bright,
Or a blossom from our tree;

 

I'd find such wonders
On my way,
And I was sure
That she would say,
How beautiful! and never mind
A few holes in her garden,
Here and there;
 
She seemed to know
The joy I felt,
And knew just how my
Heart would melt,

To see her smile
Then hug me tight,
And plant a kiss,
In pure delight!
 
The fanciest flowers
Could not compare
To the seeds of joy
That she planted there;
Her garden of kindness
I'll tend with care,
And water it daily
With laughter and prayer.

 

A Litter Lament 

Down in the laneway,

A ruckus arose,

A cackling and cawing,

A quarrel of crows,

Pushing and pulling

With feathers a-flap

Till the tie on the bag gave way with a snap!

Then, a squawk and a squabble,

Over what they would gobble,

Or some silly bauble

That someone discarded

Its worth unregarded

They would bring to their nest,

With all of the rest

Of the treasures they dug

With each hopeful tug;

 

Litterbird, Litterbird, fly away home,

Stop spoiling my work,

Leave my garbage alone!

Every two-winged, two-legged,

Four legged critter,

It just takes one thought

To decide not to litter;

Let's stop all the squabbling

That tears us apart,

Pick up our litter,

And polish our hearts.

 

The Wave

Twice today, I have been the grateful recipient of a friendly wave; at least that is what I assumed the fellow in the passing truck, and the lady walking her dog coming towards me down the street were going to do. I was pretty sure that I knew each of them until they came within range and I realized that my enthusiastic waving was being met with questioning stares.  No matter, I gave the wave a huge smile follow up and I felt better as their smiles grew and they hesitantly returned the wave.  I may not have known them at all, but I figure that it was better to wave in error than to let fear of making a mistake spoil those special moments.

There is nothing wrong with saying hello to a stranger on the street or offering them a wave, and certainly a smile; it may be the only bit of warmth that he or she receives on that particular day, or possibly for many days.  It certainly picked up my own mood and jolted me out of self absorption that was not nearly as interesting; if we can't laugh at ourselves on a regular basis, then we become dull very quickly—best to sharpen up those smile muscles, smooth out our wrinkles, and join the wave! 

I raised my hand

And held it high,

In  a friendly wave

As a lad walked by;

A friendly wave,

How brave, how brave!

 

Strangers, yes,

But his eyes met mine,

A little bit shy,

But with hopeful shine,

He tossed a smile;

What class, what style!

 

With every wave,

To someone new,

My steps were lifted,

My spirit grew;

My wave had power

An awesome tool,

How cool, how cool!

 

 This is a humorous look at our dependence on technology, and how sometimes we all need to take a break before we plug in again!

Plug Me In!

 

"I'm dying! I'm dying!"

My poor cell phone cried,

But I paid it no heed

As I headed outside;

The garden was quiet,

Time flew along,

The birds in the trees

Held me rapt with their song;

Back in the house,

No pings could be heard,

No greeting from Siri,

Not a single ring stirred;

"I can't understand

This new state of mind;

It's just so unlike her

To leave me behind,"

One last desperate try;

To the birds looking in,

"I really don't mean

To intrude on your din,

Tell her all is forgiven,

But time's running thin;

Please tweet her my message—

Please, please, plug me in!"

 Kindness is essential in the healing of our world.

The Quality of Kindness

 

The quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven

Upon the place beneath.

It is twice blest:

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

                        ..... William Shakespeare

 

The quality of kindness

Is the most precious of our treasures;

The humblest, yet most courageous;

From eye to eye it beckons—

Look long and deeply into mine,

We are one, you and I,

In our pain and in our joy;

In my yearning to find hope,

Am I misunderstood?

Have I misunderstood you?

We are all brought to tears,

By the touch of a kind word or act,

That drops like healing rain

Upon the wounds that we carry;

Let us hope that our eyes

Fully opened,

Will look deeply into the beauty,

In the eyes of our brothers,

And encourage

The quality of kindness that waits there.

 

Ode To My Refrigerator!

O wondrous white container,

That keeps my veggies fresh,

I've come to pick out something,

But I really must confess

That I haven't got the foggiest

Idea why I came;

While you stand, wide open, patiently,

I must accept the blame;

You know that I'll remember,

After I've closed your door,

I only have to leave the room,

We've been through this before;

As I head across the living room,

I hear you call me back,

"Perhaps you'd like to take your phone?

You've left it on my rack!"

 

I used to have a music box

That played a sunny tune,

Oh, how it used to cheer me up

When scary faces crossed the moon!

When the many scary faces of fear and its angry, unpleasant relatives try to bully their way across my hopeful moon, I try to remember the power of the music box!

I love music boxes, wind chimes, bells, and bird songs—anything that causes the air to vibrate with a bright hopeful sound. That's a love that I've carried with me from childhood, when staying over at Grandma's house provided some wonderful tinkling memories. I've written and posted a poem (attached above) about one of my wonderful Grandma memories that still lives in a special bright spot in my heart.

The key to the music box is never far from our reach; we are given a chance to unleash  hopeful notes each time that we direct a kind thought towards someone. That first note of kindness is all that is needed for a host of smiling vibrations to set out on their journey to the moon and back - How good is that!

By collecting bells of all sizes and materials, I've tried to keep those memories alive. At family get-togethers here, it is a treat and a scramble for the kids to grab one of the bells and call us in to dinner!  I've made a point of passing on some of my tinklers to the grandkids; hopefully, they will feel the love that goes with the bells and surrounds them each time that they ring out their gleeful notes (perhaps sometimes a little loudly!)

Here's a poem that I wrote about a warm tinkling memory from my childhood:

Grandma's Music Box

Up on tiptoe, hands outstretched,

My fingers found the key,

Once,

Then twice,

A final twist—

And the music was set free!

 

I held my ear up close to hear

the magic that came out,

So happy was each tiny note

That gaily jumped about;

 

Then, I quickly scrambled into bed

When Grandma climbed the stairs,

And lay there with the covers up,

All set to say my prayers;

 

I loved the smell

Of Grandma's hair

As she hugged me into bed,

And just before we went to sleep,

I turned to her and said,

 

"Thank you Grandma, you're the best,

You are so good to me;

Do you think, perhaps,

Just one more time,

You could turn the music key?"

 

Grandma's hands

Reached for the key,

The song leaped to her hand,

Once more she was a little girl,

The leader of her band;

 

She kissed my cheek

And gave a wink,

As she smiled at my delight;

She closed her eyes

Till the music stopped,

And then,

Turned out the light.

 

Spring is now officially fourteen days away; someone needs to let the snow suppliers know that they can scale back on the deliveries any time now. I'm looking at four feet of snow in our back yard, and although it is giving us a beautiful, bright, blank page to write on, I don't need to be writing a tome! 

Actually, a blank page may be what we all need right now, with the potential to reassess and to start living life with a new sense of appreciation for the gifts that we have been blessed with. We are all grappling with the knowledge that, as we sit in uneasy comfort, our brothers and sisters in the Ukraine have had their lives torn apart. We wonder what the future holds for us all, and what we can do to help to promote peace.

I believe that peace has to begin within each of us, one moment at a time, one kind thought at a time, building exponentially from kind word to kind word, caring smile to caring smile, one act of forgiveness to total forgiveness of others, and of ourselves. In the words of Desmond Tutu, "Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world." 

Wisdom Springs and Joy Sings!

No one ever lives in complete isolation,
For within each of us,
Wisdom dwells,
Our spirit's dear companion;
Living alongside our human essence,
In quiet contemplation of our desires and
Our efforts to give;

Its sole purpose is to guide us to giving

In constant, selfless ripples;
It is the voice within
That puts a stop on our tongues
When hurtful words prepare to leap forth,
Or when we would voice an untruth;
It asks only for a diet of humility,
And a letting go of earthly ambition;

It is not a solemn companion,

But a joyful spirit;

It is not bound up in pettiness,
But laughingly loves us,
Revels in every smile that we let escape,
Every kind act that we follow through on;

Those actions let it know that it has been welcomed and heeded,

That God, the giver of the gift, indeed dwells here;

We are totally and forever enfolded in His loving embrace,
We are never alone.
 

Solomon's Respect For Wisdom:   "I esteemed her more than sceptres and thrones"

 

 

This message was sent to you from:

Edie Batstone

E-mail:  edie@ediebatstone.ca

Website:   www.ediebatstone.ca

Address:  Box 2167, Prescott, ON,  K0E 1T0

Telephone:  613-925-4835

 

If we have contacted you in error or to Unsubscribe from future emails please reply to this email with Unsubscribe in the subject line.

 

A memory gives us a chance to time travel!  How do you make a memory—a happening that touches the soul and stays?  We all have hurtful images from the past that can hang on and hold our hearts captive, robbing us of our potential to create joy, but warm memories, the best ones, happen when we are taken by surprise; they are able to stir a huge heartfelt laugh, or maybe a tear.  Memories grow stronger and more precious when they are shared—let's get busy and start building that time machine, with the cogs of our honest, humble foibles and in the beautiful gifts that lie within each of us.

                                                Love forgave, kindness smiled, and hope grew a precious memory.

 

The Gift

 

There are gifts that we give

To the ones that we love

That leave rare and indelible marks;

Little glimpses of something

That words can't explain,

Scripted in thoughts

That weave their refrain,

Playing time and again in our hearts;

 

There are moments we touch,

Without touching at all,

When we meet in our memory room;

When a smile meets a smile,

There is healing that happens;

We're reminded that hope

Lies within every challenge,

Within every gift still to come;

 

There are beautiful treasures

To gather and share,

Memories to make every day;

As we clear a place for them,

Let their roots grow,

Their buds are just waiting

For someone to say,

"Can your happy memories come out and play?"

 

 

Be Kind

I rose from sleep,

And there it came,

To stop my breath

To squelch my flame,

"You are unworthy,

Yours the blame,

You cannot hope

To win life's game"

But, deep inside,

I heard the words,

Encouraging,

"Be kind, Be kind"

 

How hard it is

To seek and find    

The path that leads

To peace of mind;

To heed the voice

That climbs the slope,

Carrying the seeds of hope,

To light our path,

 to conquer doubt,

The way is clear,

Its voice rings out,

"Be kind, be kind",

 

Pride will entice,

And ego take,

Crushing spirits

In their wake;

Their heavy shoes

Will weigh us down,

Direct our gaze

Inward and down;

Love stops cold

That toxic wheel; 

Walk together

And we'll heal,

Arm in arm,

In kindness, building hope;

 

Be humble in our giving,

Humble in receiving,

Take pride in our gratitude,

Take pride in each kindness,

Take pride in every act of respect,

Take pride in acknowledging

That we are all children of the same family,

Sharing the playground together.

 

A Humble, Silent Prayer, and a Sincere Smile -

The most powerful forms of communication

When we drop to our knees
And let it all go,
Open our hearts
And let the tears flow,
Deep in our souls,
Someone listens and knows;
 
Prayer is like a rescue ship,
A boat that's waiting, moored;
When fears are overwhelming,
 When those I love are threatened,
 In quiet desperation,
I take a step aboard;
 
My Companion bids me welcome
As He reaches out His hand;
He tells me He has heard my plea,
And that He understands;
There are miracles in progress,
Things we cannot know,
But when we call out from our hearts,
There's no way that He'd say, 'no';
 
When we make the choice to push off
From our comfortable, safe shore,
When we risk being surrounded
By fears we can't ignore,
By dark waters of rejection,
Of doubts that make us question,
He reminds us that we're gifted
With a life preserving smile;
 
That when tossed with firm resolve,
To lift another from despair,
Becomes the echo of His answer,
The hope that follows prayer;
For the giver and receiver,
Both are pulled into His craft,
To rest until the waters calm,
Until the storm is past;
 
No smile left behind.

 

 

An Ode To The Whittler

How much wood would a whittler whittle if a whittler could whittle wood?

And why does the whittler whittle even when no one tells him he should?

 

Every creation is a part of God's plan, commissioned by Him; He loves our mistakes as much as our successes, for they show Him that we have answered His call - that we have stepped forward, that we are trying. The Master Whittler has faith in us and is always hopefully waiting  to answer any requests we have for assistance in how to use the tools he has given us.  One of man's basic needs is the need to share - No matter our colour, race, creed, or orientation, we all share a common desire to draw the very best out of whatever creative medium calls to us and to share our efforts. 

God  holds us closely, turns us in His hands, loves us in spite of and because of our flaws, and smiles in wonder at His creation.

 

He took the block of wood in hand,

And sensed its inner seed;

Within the grain, a spirit,

Beckoning to be freed;

 

He closed his eyes and held it still,

And still did the Whittler wait,

For the voice that lay beneath the skin

Of  this wood inanimate;

 

He felt its roughness, and its warmth,

As he slowly made a start;

With hopeful eyes,

He whittled, 'till he

Gently formed its heart;

 

His gaze fell on an error

As he held it to the light,

A mistake, or a suggestion

To re-direct his sight?

 

He bent his frame into the work

As he held it reverently,

Lost track of worry, time, and place,

And let his mind go free;

 

Smoothed at last, and polished,

He turned it in his hand,

Smiled in grateful wonder,

And swept away the sand;

 

The Master watches, and He guides

The hands of everyone,

And we cannot know the outcome,

Until the Whittler's done.

 

Lord, I am not perfect,

But I know that you are not finished with me yet;

When you are, I will be exactly what and where I am supposed to be.

 

 

                Hopefulness

Let me walk today in hopefulness,

And open my gifts with glee,

Let hearty laughter

Tickle my toes,

And wash off the hurt     

Of yesterday's woes.

Setting my spirit free;

 

Let me paint a picture of playfulness,

A visual song of joy;

Let my soul create

A work so bright,

From a hopeful palette

Filled with light,

That fear cannot destroy;

 

Let me greet each day with gratefulness,

For it offers a brand new start;

With my ears attuned

To the wonder of sound,

A smile on my lips

To prepare the ground,

For the words of a hopeful heart;

 

Like the little birds playing o'er fields of grain,

Falling, then touching, and rising again,

Let us offer glad thanks

For the golden expanse,

That beckons us all

To create our own dance,

Not sit on the sidelines of hopefulness.

 

 

 

    A Song Of Hope

 

Whenever sadness settles in,

nettles in,

meddles in,

The song that I am coaxing

From the recess of my heart,

I give my smile a hefty spin,

A swing, a lift, and then, a grin

Breaks out and like a little bird

Soars into the sunlight, to where its song will start;

 

It tells me there is light out there,

Joy out there,   

Hope out there,

Out past the melancholy -

The lazy spirit's haunt,

I'll free my feet and drop those shoes,

The past is past, the future new,

I still have things to say and do;

Life is so much more;

 

Every moment's promise is

A chance for us,

To build and thus,

To add to God's creation,

The gifts we have to share;

Let our words express our very best,

Thoughtful works of art;

An instrument as yet unstrung,

A song of hope as yet unsung,

Waits to add its colour

To the canvass of the heart.

Light, Love, and Shadows

'Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you.' - Maori proverb

Where do we look when the light is obscured,

And the shadows seem to have broken their bonds,

When we feel that hope is a distant dream,

And the love within

Is drowned in the din

Of our soul crying out 

For a road past our doubt,

Where surely, there must be a happy beyond;

Those shadows fall back when we turn towards the light,

For darkness cannot intrude into love,

Though it looms so large at end of the day,

And though it may try

To foster the lie

That it is much stronger,

That it will last longer;

 Love always chases the darkness away;

To ebb or grow brighter is our choice to make;

As we open the portals of our eyes and smiles,

And send our love flying in 'heartbeams' of light,

Our search comes full circle,

We need look no further,

The prayers of the humble,

Cause darkness to crumble,

We are masters of shadows; they cower in fright.

Isolation Blues!

Isolation Blues!

These days, we're all singing the Isolation blues in our own unique ways; some of us are feeling very out of tune and trying hard to reach those positive high notes;  For some of us, we are finding the verses getting annoyingly repetitious!

Please forgive the musical irony - It comes after listening to the many wonderful concerts, at so many levels that are being generously offered by musicians, artists and athletes, both locally and around the world to raise money to help our fellow countrymen during this time of crisis.

All of us want to contribute whatever talents we have, to express our love and thanks to all of the front line workers putting themselves at risk every day, and to help the less fortunate.   Giving back in whatever way we can,  particularly the act of sacrificing closeness with our family and friends, makes us all part of this wonderful 'Team Canada'.   

As I was breathing deeply, and letting go of the stress for awhile, I wrote a simple little poem that expresses a desire for peaceful happy times.  It also encompasses gratitude for the silver lining in all of this down time - a chance to really look and listen to each other, to our children and grandchildren, and to appreciate the really important elements of life.

What if?

What if there was no war to fear,

No hurtful words

To wound the ear,

No vain attempt

To have it all,

No selfish smirks

When others fall;

What if we gathered smiles and flowers,

If loving acts

Were our super powers;

If we rose each day

In gratitude,

Spreading smiles

In happy mood;

If we, like children, saw the world,

One tiny wonder

At a time,

With curiosity

Unfurled,

Each challenge,

But a tree to climb;

What if we saw our work as play,

And laughed,

As little children do;

While giving love

In simple ways,

Needing just to hear,

 "Me too!"

Then, let us lay our troubles down,

And take some time,

Be still awhile,

Take our cue

From little ones,

Paint rainbows,

And share a smile!