The Heart Makes A Choice

September 17, 2013

The day began with birds singing

A wakeup melody of praise.

I joined them in spirit

With words of my own

Then proceeded on with my day.

Smiling,

I made coffee

And fed my body

As my soul had been,

And smiled still.

There is turmoil all around me

And though I try

I cannot change it all

But I do not have to let it change me.

Sing  . . .

Smile . . .

Praise . .  .

I choose joy.

By Martha L Shaw – © 9-17-2013

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His Fix-It Shop For the Heart – A Tanka

March 23, 2013

*

It is pouring rain.

Here I sit in hope not felt

Yet I still believe.

I have not placed my fingers

In the holes . . . yet He filled mine.

*

By Martha L Shaw – © 3-23-2013

He is welcome here

He is welcome here


Weekly Photo Challenge: Delicate

December 14, 2012

What is delicate  . . . 

a touch . . . 

a kiss . . .

a memory . . . 

a hand sewn quilt made by one so frail . . .

Time is delicate but its fragments remain forever

in our hearts!

delicate


How Do We Truly Give?

January 16, 2012

You give but little when you give of your possessions.

It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.

– Kahlil Gibran –

I had an uncle who has now passed on.  Growing up, I never really knew him.  I knew of him.  He was generous at Christmas time, sending gifts.   The were appreciated, I suppose.  I can’t remember what he looked like but I remember receiving a gift each year.  The gifts were always something . . . well, completely inappropriate for the child I was when I received them.  A dress that was too small, a toy that was years too young for me, a makeup kit that was years too old for me.  He passed away and all I ever knew of him was those gifts . . .

I had another uncle.  He has also passed on.  He lived far from us, but visited when he could.  We visited him as well.  He was kind and generous, and I remember he sent money to my parents so they could choose a gift for me at Christmas.  I hardly knew him though.  Years passed.  Eventually, as an adult, I got to spend time with him a bit more often.   I came to know him well and enjoyed our visits so much.   He was clever, and funny.  He always had a story to tell.  He loved nature, and loved a challenge.  He always asked me about my life and seemed always to be really interested.  I came to love him as one can only love someone who is really known personally.  Sadly he passed away not long after I truly got to know him, but he blessed my life.  When I think back I don’t think of the presents, but of his presence.  He became a part of me and he still is.  Somehow, I think Gibran knew this uncle. 

 


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