Saturday, October 3, 2015

I Am A Christian

JOHN 3:14-17

14 And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, 15 that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. 16 For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. 17 For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.


A gunman singled out Christians, telling them they would see God in “one second,” during a rampage at Umpqua Community College in Oregon Thursday that left at least nine innocent people dead and several more wounded, survivors and authorities said.

The dead (who stood up, identifying themselves as Christians) were:

Lucero Alcaraz, 19

Quinn Glen Cooper, 18

Kim Saltmarsh Dietz, 59

Lucas Eibel 18

Jason Dale Johnson, 33

Lawrence Levine, 67

Sarena Dawn Moore, 44

Treven Taylor Anspach, 20

Rebecka Ann Carnes, 18.

“He started asking people one by one what their religion was. ‘Are you a Christian?’ he would ask them, and if you’re a Christian, stand up. And they would stand up and he said, ‘Good, because you’re a Christian, you are going to see God in just about one second.’ And then he shot and killed them,” Stacy Boylen, whose daughter was wounded at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, Ore., told a reporter."  I will not now or ever say the name of the murderer.  He sought notoriety, which none should give him.





23 The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord


My prayers go out to the families of these Christians whose lives were cut short by evil.  I can't believe this is happening in America. (Where is the outrage?  Why are all the mainstream media outlets leaving out the fact the dead were killed for being Christians?!?). My heart is broken for the grieving families of these brave souls who willingly stood up for Christ, knowing they would be murdered for their beliefs.  I am utterly in awe of their courageous, strong faith, and of the courage of Chris Mintz, who was shot 7 times rescuing others, & is expected to live.

I pray that our leadership will give them and their families the same respect/honor they gave to those precious Christians in Charleston who also died needlessly.  We are all God's children. xo

What power words have...

All is flux, ever moving/changing.
In a hundred years...all new people.
This poem made me want to disappear
utterly.  What power words have... ~Marion


Jack Gilbert

We are given the trees so we can know
what God looks like. And rivers
so we might understand Him. We are allowed
women so we can get into bed with the Lord,
however partial and momentary that is.
The passion, and then we are single again
while the dark goes on. He lived
in the Massachusetts woods for two years.
Went out naked among the summer pines
at midnight when the moon would allow it.
He watched the aspens when the afternoon breeze
was at them. And listened to rain
on the butternut tree near his window.
But when he finally left, they did not care.
The difficult garden he was midwife to
was indifferent. The eight wild birds
he fed through both winters, when the snow
was starving them, forgot him immediately.
And the three women he ate of and entered
utterly then and before, who were his New World
as immensity and landfall, are now only friends
or dead. What we are given is taken away,
but we manage to keep it secretly.
We lose everything, but make harvest
of the consequence it was to us. Memory
builds this kingdom from the fragments
and approximation. We are gleaners who fill
the barn for the winter that comes on.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

My Granddaughter Wrote A Poem

Mary going for a spike at volleyball

I Am From
By Mary Mace

I am from Louisiana to Tennessee,
from late nights outside with the stars dancing in the sky.
I am from warm family rooms and my mother's

I am from Marion and Ray
from artwork to literature.
I am from 'Fancy Nancy' to 'Why Are You So Grumpy',
"be aggressive" to "mama's always right".
I am from the sweet smell of cookies and the love
that came with them.

I am from family and church,
from colors as loud as bull horns.
I am from hugs and kisses,
from goodnight stories.
I am from love as strong as metal.


My only granddaughter, Mary Mace, wrote this poem for a homework assignment last week.  She's 11.  I read it and cried like a baby.  We often read the same books to discuss them.  (I also have my oldest grandson's college sophomore reading list that I'm reading along with).  Not to mention all those wonderful 'Fancy Nancy' books by Jane O'Connor that I sent her since she was a year old...which my daughter read to her over and over.  She loves her family, reading, writing, books, playing volleyball (hence the "be aggressive") on her school team and learning.  

She is the greatest poem I've ever written. 

Saturday, September 19, 2015

An Old Woman's Painting By Lynn Emanuel

                                                             <^>  Calla Lily after rain...  <^>


By Lynn Emanuel

Scrape the sun from the wall of  the sky. 
Cast the great nets of  autumn over the houses. 
Even the throat of  the lily is a dangerous inlet. 

Let the world stand wearily on the stoop of  the jail 
of  the world and the light of  the mind, that small lamp, 
pearl of  shine, let the night come to it, as iron filings to a magnet, 

"The Nerve of It:  Poems New and Selected" by Lynn Emanuel

                        August sunrise...

                                     Zinnia, fading as time marches on....

                                  Zinnia, ravaged by time...

           Amidst the fading flowers, new life...

           The fading flower is the most beautiful...

                         Sister Zinnias...

Thursday, September 17, 2015

6 Days Till Fall...

         Hummingbirds at one of my feeders...


Charms of hummingbirds
floating like dandelions---
Summer's last goodbye.  

                             ~Marion, 9/17/15


September 27: RARE Full Blood Moon, Lunar Eclipse, Super Harvest Moon!  The next one is in 2033.  Don't think I'll be here for that one. 

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Buy This Book!

I never told this story here before, but my Mama's famous banana pudding is so good that my older sister's son proposed to his wife with a bowl of it.  He put some in a square Tupperware container and with that candy lettering you buy at the grocery store in the cake mix aisle, wrote "Will You Marry Me?"  Of course, she said yes...then ate the banana pudding and the proposal.

Well, this book of short essays by Rick Bragg is overflowing with Southern stories way better than mine.  I'm only about 20 pages in and haven't stop wiping my eyes from crying tears of sadness and laughter.  It's that kind of read.  As Dolly Parton said in "Steel Magnolias":  laughter through tears is my favorite emotion...

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Two Poems and Some of My September Bloomers!

    Zinnias fading on this breezy, humidless, gorgeous day.

   Cannas blooming wildly...again.  Such a faithful flower...

            Beautyberries shimmering...

            Rose being Rose...

        Crape Myrtle...

By Wendy Videlock

They are fleeting.
They are fragile.
They require

little water.
They’ll surprise you.
They’ll remind you

that they aren’t
and they are you.


By Joyce Sutphen

I feel older, younger, both
at once. Every time I win,
I lose. Every time I count,
I forget and must begin again.

I must begin again, and again I
must begin. Every time I lose,
I win and must begin again.

Everything I plan must wait, and
having to wait has made me old, and
the older I get, the more I wait, and everything
I’m waiting for has already been planned.

I feel sadder, wiser, neither
together. Everything is almost
true, and almost true is everywhere.
I feel sadder, wiser, neither at once.

I end in beginning, in ending I find
that beginning is the first thing to do.
I stop when I start, but my heart keeps on beating,
so I must go on starting in spite of the stopping.

I must stop my stopping and start to start—
I can end at the beginning or begin at the end.
I feel older, younger, both at once.

“Older, Younger, Both” from Coming Back to the Body by Joyce Sutphen. © 2000 by Joyce Sutphen.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

This Is the Dream by Olav Hauge

This Is the Dream
by Olav Hauge

This is the dream we carry through the world
that something fantastic will happen
that it has to happen
that time will open by itself
that doors shall open by themselves
that the heart will find itself open
that mountain springs will jump up
that the dream will open by itself
that we one early morning
will slip into a harbor
that we have never known.



"Olav Hauge was born in 1908 in Ulvik and he died there eighty-six years later.  As a younger son in in a traditional Norwegian family, he received virtually no land.  The older brother got the main farm, and Olav lived all his life on what he could produce from 3 acres of ground.  During his late 20's, he spent some time in a mental institution.  At 65, he married the Norwegian artist Bodil Cappelen, whom he met at one of his rare poetry readings.  He settled into married life very well, and the house cheered up considerably.  He died in the old way; no real evidence of disease was present.  He simply did not eat for ten days, and so he died.  People who attended his funeral, which took place down in the valley where he had been baptized as a child, describe a service full of feeling and gratitude.  A horse-drawn wagon carried his body back up the mountain after the service.  Everyone noticed a small colt that ran happily alongside its mother and the coffin all the way."

From the Preface by Robert Bly in "The Dream We Carry" by Olav H. Hauge.

I highly recommend this book.  The poetry is amazingly touching.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Psalm 91 - God's Poetry & Comfort

Psalm 91Safety of Abiding in the Presence of God

91 He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord“He is my refuge and my fortress;
My God, in Him I will trust.”
Surely He shall deliver you from the snare of the fowler[a]
And from the perilous pestilence.
He shall cover you with His feathers,
And under His wings you shall take refuge;
His truth shall be your shield and buckler.
You shall not be afraid of the terror by night,
Nor of the arrow that flies by day,
Nor of the pestilence that walks in darkness,
Nor of the destruction that lays waste at noonday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
And ten thousand at your right hand;
But it shall not come near you.
Only with your eyes shall you look,
And see the reward of the wicked.
Because you have made the Lordwho is my refuge,
Even the Most High, your dwelling place,
10 No evil shall befall you,
Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling;
11 For He shall give His angels charge over you,
To keep you in all your ways.
12 In their hands they shall bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against a stone.
13 You shall tread upon the lion and the cobra,
The young lion and the serpent you shall trample underfoot.
14 “Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him on high, because he has known My name.
15 He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;
will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honor him.
16 With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.”


  1. Psalm 91:3 That is, one who catches birds in a trap or snare

Monday, September 7, 2015

Poet - By Keith Waldrop

    A Charm of Hummingbirds at one of my feeders...

A favorite poem I collaged onto a composition book journal.

                       Two of my Blythe dolls.


By Keith Waldrop

The wind dying, I find a city deserted, except for crowds of
people moving and standing.
    Those standing resemble stories, like stones, coal from the
death of plants, bricks in the shape of teeth.
    I begin now to write down all the places I have not been—
starting with the most distant.
    I build houses that I will not inhabit.

Keith Waldrop, "Poet" from Analogies of Escape. Copyright © 1997 by Keith Waldrop.