by Candyce Roberts
At first,
A flower may look a simple thing.
A dash of color nodding as the wind walks by.
An accidental blush beside a busy road.
But the flower speaks as deep to deep
Changing guest and grower,
Reshapes the musing of admiring eyes
Until wonderment catapaults a flurry of questions.
Who thought of scattering this river of lupine beside a dry creek?
Who imagined a waxy purple petal dripping from a tangled vine?
Who poured cinnamon, pepper and lemon into the bud of a rose?
Who knew the flower would answer to spring’s whisper and winter’s chill?
That such beauty would pierce the heart of man and bleed joy into his life?
A flower may look a simple thing.
But simple she is not.
along the path
by Candyce Roberts
by Candyce Roberts
Running again on dry hard ground,
Forever fighting a silent war
Against words and knives of days long past.
I’m waging a useless war against dead people.
I’m so tired, I say. I can’t run this race or fight this fight any longer.
So I make my plea...
“Take it away, my old family, my old name,
Stop my steps to redo the battle.
Burn it up, the bloody shame,
the unexpected tears.
Let me be born again to a new family.
Could you please, start me all over?
Grow me fresh from the ground up, from new seed,
Like a flower poking it’s head through the deep rich soil at the call of spring.
Be my mother, my father, my sister, my friend, my family.
Give me your name so my name is your name.
As if I had never been born before and now is my first day.
I want to shine in your eyes.
Grow under your watch.
Hear your words and promises,
Know your hand of help.
No other name or family do I want, nor can I have.
The old has withered and killed me.
Raise me up from a guiltless bloodline.
Sing to me of a love in the son.
Kiss me clean with showers of grace.
I’m ready right now ...to let you create the new me,
the all together true me.”1 John 3:1 (How great is the love the Father has lavished upon us, that we should be called children of God. And that is what we are!)
John 1:12 (Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God.)
Romans 6:10 , John 3:3, 2 Corinthians 5:17; Psalm 143, Philippians 3:7, 1 Peter 1:3, Galatians 6:15, Hebrews 11:40
Early Morning On the Lake
while waking up on the deck of our cabin on Mica Bay, Coeur d’Alene Idaho, June 2009
In the distance, a lone kayaker.
Alternating paddles catch the sun’s light and throw a spark into the cool
morning air.
Two old fisherman troll between the docks casting lines that glitter like
cobwebs as they spiral to the water’s surface.
Farther off, the sun lays a silver pyramid atop the water’s steely blue face.
Into the silent mix, drifts the song of a chickadee at home in her tree off the deck.
 |
| Mica Bay, Lake Couer d'Alene |
Grace Awake
by Candyce Roberts
Grace awake in my heart
Sees the longing for love unfettered
Hears unuttered cries to be "Ok."
Though I walk unadorned and frightfully battered,
Grace--when I listen--quiets the constant slander
Of which I have become a fool-hearty caretaker
“Not right, not good, not enough, not ever enough”.
Yet, I hear the steady whisper of grace in my heart
calling me to cling to better words and echoes...
“Painted pure.
Seated in heaven.
Anchored in hope.
Planned for a purpose.
Made free and new.
Laid bare yet loved for all time.”
Beautiful grace awake in my heart
stays though I wander
May I hold it dear,
never trade it away
for graceless gods who care not,
who cannot listen or see
or free me from me.
Everyday Everywhere
I run where the red tailed hawk cries overhead.
My pebbled trail is the same traveled by the mottley coyote who stares me down, then slinks away.
I float lazily in still, warm waters, weightless, effortless,
My eyes glued to slower moving creatures
whose floppy flippers wrestle fuzzy grasses from the rocks below.
I tramp where bunches of bears bump and rustle through red berries and redwoods
Where chubby cubs nose into camp chasing up lost scraps and tasty morsels,
Where chunky marmots squat at the base of a granite ledge watching and waiting for what I don't know.
I stand amongst roses and poppies and red trumpet buds
While iridescent hummingbirds flirt and graze and suddenly flee.
Leaf strewn paths lead me along waist high grasses, home to the lonely grey heron, who lifts up and away as soon as his eye catches mine.
What a life is this life splayed out in front of me.
What a portion is mine.
Lord, let me not lose sight or touch, sound or smell of all around me.
For it is you I see and feel and hear
And everywhere it fills me up.
I run where the red tail hawk flies and cries along the wind waves over head.
My foot falls on the same ground traveled by the motley coyote who stares me down, then softly slinks on.
The
Turn
by Candyce Roberts
All moments are one moment
Curling into each other
Like the foam and floss of silken waves
Threading themselves together
Colliding and changing from many to one.
Over and over, again and again.
All moments boil down to one moment.
The moment you reached out and touched my shoulder
Turned me around and looked at me like you knew me.
The moment you asked me to walk with you a while.
Stay with you a longer while.
All memories are one memory.
The one I see and hear and taste over and over and over.
The instant of time when I heard your voice silence all others,
The moment you told them, “Leave her alone.”
Every moment before bled into that moment.
Each moment since springs deep from
The moment you saved me from falling apart.
based on the story of Mary, Jesus, the perfume, her hair, his protection of her heart...this story became real to me one day while I was running, crying and running, listening to accusations
Song Of Spring
The idea for "Running Home" In Paul's own words:
Phillipians 1:21-24
For me to die is gain, to live is Christ. If I am to go one living in the body, this will be fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far, but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.
Phillipians 3:14
I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.
1 Corinthians 15:54-55
Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where O death is your victory? Where O death is your sting?
1 Corinthians 13: 11-13
For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then I shall know even as I am known.
1Samuel 2:6
Brazen Love
A Walk In the Park 2/26/16
Song Of Spring
because we belong to him, we belong to each other.
wild by nature, tamed by grace,
plucked to be planted in new soil,
sprung from the same holy root.
because we belong to him,
we hear the same waterfall of mercy,
and wear different colors of the same love.
because we belong to him,
we belong together,
singing the sweet song of the everlasting spring.
by Candyce Roberts based on Romans 11 & 12
Running Home
In this world,
Death means nothing
And everything.
It costs nothing--is belittled because it belongs to everyone.
Yet it takes all, gives all to the grave.
The world will not shudder at my death
nor shed one tear at my passing, timely or not.
Perfect. My feet are not in this sand.
My head has no pillow here.
For to me, dying is gain—it is THE moment I have been running towards, even pushing for all of my life.
My greatest accomplishment--which is no accomplishment at all because in fact it is the greatest gift--will be to cross over and leave this body behind.
And once unfettered, to see every hidden thing uncovered.
Oh to be, Eye of His Eye,
Breath of His Breath!
To have his eye,
to breathe his breath,
to be lost in and put asunder by the purest of love and devotion.
To bask in the light which obstinately obliterates and fully condemns the dark.
In the list of earthly cravings I have witnessed, I have come to crave the only path worth taking and on it will run full bore to meet the gravedigger who has snatched death from the grave.
The idea for "Running Home" In Paul's own words:
Phillipians 1:21-24
For me to die is gain, to live is Christ. If I am to go one living in the body, this will be fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far, but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.
Phillipians 3:14
I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.
1 Corinthians 15:54-55
Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where O death is your victory? Where O death is your sting?
1 Corinthians 13: 11-13
For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then I shall know even as I am known.
1Samuel 2:6
it’s beautiFALL!
Up on the ridge,
a lone golden leaf splits from its home
and twirls toward the rocky path
It travels silently between a forest of naked arms
upstretched to a grey, quiet sky.
It’s that time of year again.
The time when a walk in the hills
has a surprise around every turn.
The tired landscape baked by summer’s sun
has gone to sleep.
Sweet misty rains have washed every giant oak clean and brought life to swatches of fuzzy moss and blackened bark resting side by side.
Shorter days have beaten back the blanching heat and every night brings a respite of cooler air to breath color
back into the land.
It’s the time when the land once brown gives rise to orange pierced with lime green and firey red etched with gold.
It’s just beauti-fall!
by Candyce Roberts 11/14/14
Waking Up
This morning for some reason,
I am picturing myself as a baby, being picked up,
And held by one stronger and more certain.
The little one, crying and fidgeting,
quieted simply by being held.
I am fully aware of the steadiness and calmness
of the arms that hold me.
A transfer of power has taken hold.
Calm, quiet, passed from the strong to the weak one.
“Don’t cry."
"Don’t be afraid little one. I’m here."
“It’s going to be
ok."
“I’ve got you. You’re ok now.”
Craddled and rocked by love.
Brazen Love
Who did she think she was?
No one. That’s who she was.
The murmuring went like this:
She shouldn’t be sitting there… at his feet.
Unheard of.
And where did she get such alabaster?
Where the perfume?
It’s not hers. Too expensive.
Now what’s she doing?
She’s unraveled her hair.
In front of everyone.
What’s the matter with her?
Someone stop her.
She’s embarrassing us. Him.
Hair unfurled, she’s pouring gold on his feet.
What could she possibly be thinking?
Disgraceful.
In front of everyone… the way she’s looking at him.
Now she smells like him, drenched in his fragrance.
Just sitting there. Not working. Not thinking of the others.
What about the poor and needy?
She must be mad. She has lost herself.
And then the voice that slays every shame:
“Leave her alone.
She’s mine.
I cherish her…the one whose heart has leaned on mine,
I see her whole self, abandoned to me, no thought of you.
She can’t see you anyway. Can’t hear you.
Leave her alone.
She’s mine.
Among all here, she will be remembered.
Whenever anyone talks of me, they will speak of her naked, brazen love for me and wonder why they have not done the same.
Whenever anyone talks of me, they will speak of her naked, brazen love for me and wonder why they have not done the same.
She is not ‘no one’.
She is mine.”
By Candyce Roberts
from Mathew 26:6-13, mark14:3-9, John 12:1-9 and Luke 7:36-50
After Reading I Peter Chapter 1
I am a stranger in the world,
An alien on the land,
An enemy of time.
I am a longtime companion to the earth sea and sky.
A lover of the invisible essential.
A holder of the ardently searched for secret.
Yet, though you see me here, I live in a heavenly home
A habitation untread by darkness, tear or loss.
O inexpressible glorious joy!
O love of my life!
You have cherished and change me from dross to diamonds
My hope fulfilled has trumped even the longing of angels.
For love has overtaken every part of me
And ferried me into the everlasting heart of God.
By Candyce Roberts
2/6/14
A Walk In the Park 2/26/16
It's snowing plum petals:
feathery-light
white missives
of spring.
It's raining sweetness
from baby pink blossoms
tickling latent emotions
stored up since winter's frost.
Heaven is walking right out of the sky
landing next to me
taking my hand and leading me on.
feathery-light
white missives
of spring.
It's raining sweetness
from baby pink blossoms
tickling latent emotions
stored up since winter's frost.
Heaven is walking right out of the sky
landing next to me
taking my hand and leading me on.
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