Sunday, June 30, 2013

bleeding hearts.

i thought you were dead
your last bloom long forgotten
you resurrect hope.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

winged hope.

“We are all butterflies. Earth is our chrysalis.” 
― LeeAnn Taylor

Monday, June 24, 2013

lantern bearer

a lamp you gave me
cyclone of light and shadow

Tuesday, June 18, 2013


Today my eyes beheld your glory
in the clouds.

Today a mockingbird sang me peace.

Today a breeze caressed my arm
to quiet the voices of my pain.

Today my heart beat blood and
tears and regret and a faint rhythm of hope

in a Love that wins.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

i miss your hands.

i miss you, mom.

i miss your hands,

the way they held a pen

or brush,

the way they hovered over

a box full of color

and chose, unerringly.

they were large hands,

still strong

when you were drawing.

they were soft,

i remember.

i held them after you left

and i remember.

i miss your hands

and your heart,


Wednesday, June 12, 2013

the artist in her element

Sue Rovelstad (Mom) in her studio at the Cranbrook Academy of Art, circa 1952

so beautiful then
even more beautiful now
you live forever

Sunday, June 9, 2013

empty nest

you built your nest well
a labor of love, bearing still
your spirit's essence.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

"The mold in which a key is made would be a strange thing, if you had never seen a key: 
and the key itself a strange thing if you had never seen a lock. 
Your soul has a curious shape because it is a hollow made to fit a particular swelling 
in the infinite contours of the divine substance, 
or a key to unlock one of the doors in the house with many mansions.

Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, 
because you were made for it -- made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand." 

— C.S. Lewis (The Problem of Pain)

Monday, June 3, 2013

if it were not so, i would have told you.

"Let not your heart be troubled: you believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you to myself; that where I am, there you may be also. "

— Jesus, John 14:1-3

Addendum, 6/4/13 
(My mom's first birthday in heaven.)

I was thinking about the above verse again, this morning, and about how it's so hard to picture heaven in our mind's eye. "In my Father's house are many mansions ... I go to prepare a place for you." In some ways, it is a comfort to imagine a home, lovingly prepared for each of us, according to our personal taste. (I am comforted to think of my mother in a cozy home filled with art and color and beauty, because she loved her home so very much and made it a magical place for all who went there.) 

But there are times when the word "mansion," and even the more modern translation, "dwelling place" seems so ... generic. So unspecified. Distant. Unknown. And the unknown is often scary. What will heaven be like? What exactly is He preparing for me, and will I like it?  As I was thinking about these things another verse popped into my mind:

For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible ... all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 

Did you get that? The One who created this old earth, which despite everything, is still chock full of miraculous and awe-inspiring places, is the One who says, "I go to prepare a place for you." Just think of the powerful imagination it took to create the wonders that exist in our world. The colors alone are astounding. Then imagine what this world was like when it was new. It's tired, now - we've given it quite a beating. But the place Jesus has imagined into being for us? It's pristine, unspoiled, perfect. A place of wonders. A place where nothing and no one will ever fade away, not ever. 

So I'm imagining, with Him. A new world, made perfect, forever. And when it's time - a personal escort to take me there. And now it doesn't seem so very far away, after all.