Power, Grace, Sand, Sea

Before we'd even showered off outside the beach house
The waves had come and demolished our sand sculptures, 
Erased our footprints.
No one else would even know we'd spent four days there. 

But look at us, three days later: 
Red faces, peeling skin, a multitude of freckles, 
Sunscreen notwithstanding. 
Four hours from the beach and home again, 
And our bodies still proclaim the story of the sun 
And the ocean

And our mighty Creator God.

And Jesus said, “Who touched Me?”
When all denied it, 
Peter and those with him said, 
“Master, the multitudes throng and press You, 
and You say, ‘Who touched Me?’"
But Jesus said, 
“Somebody touched Me, for I perceived power going out from Me.”  
Now when the woman saw that she was not hidden, 
she came trembling; 
and falling down before Him, 
she declared to Him in the presence of all the people 
the reason she had touched Him 
and how she was healed immediately.
And He said to her, 
“Daughter, be of good cheer; 
your faith has made you well. 
Go in peace.” [Luke 8:45-48]

It would seem that the power that freckled us, 
Burned our faces, 
And still shows its marks on us today 
Did not escape from Him unnoticed. 

Unimaginable perception.
Unfathomable strength. 
He could dissolve us 
With a glance.

And yet - 
(Thank you, Lord, for those two words) -

And YET: 

The clouds burst forth with His mercy!
Oceans swell up with His grace. 

All that I can comprehend of His love, 
Scoop into my tiny pail and take home,
Is but a thimbleful - 
A few grains of sand from rolling dunes
Eight drops of sea from the great deluge.

And yet - 

And YET: 

He. knows. my. name. 
I am etched on the palms of His hands. 
Nail-etched.

Such greatness
Has stooped down to pick me up -
A dull, dead, sandy shell - 

To wash me off, 
Give me life,
Make me HIS.



 

One More Promise

I nestled today against your solid chest

And felt the strength flow through your arms.

I am not much bigger than one of your hands,

And with you I felt safe, loved and warm.

You looked into my eyes as you held onto me

But I couldn't see you clearly yet.

Still I knew you were there as you stared down at me

Because my face felt a small splash of wet.

And as you pulled me back in to the smell of your shirt

I could sense each beat of your heart:

It felt like a promise that you’d always be there --

That no one could keep us apart.

Well, I’m very young and I don’t know a lot

But I was born reaching for safe

And I felt it today in those gentle-strong arms

And that first tender kiss that you gave.

It felt like a promise -- that short nap we shared --

That I can always lean heavy on you;

That when I close my eyes because the world seems too bright,

I can trust you, though you’re resting, too.

I heard how you told my mother today

That you’re proud of her courage and grace;

How you marveled to witness her selfless toil

And then the joy that spilled over her face.

I know that I’m new, but it seems clear to me

That the kind of day that we’ve had --

If it lit up the room so that now she’s a mom --

Would also have made you a dad.

So if I’m hers forever and you want to be

A most faithful father to me,

Then may I ask for one more promise from you?

Could my eyes make one wordless plea?

If you want to give me all you can give,

To model manhood at its best,

Then will you take the hand of my mother and hold it in yours?

Will you choose her over all of the rest?

Will you marry my mother, for better, for worse?

Can you match her courage somehow?

Will you walk the floor with her, long nights and long years?

Could you teach me the strength of a vow?

If you feel that God brought me to you on this day,

If your heart is full from the gift,

Then can you pledge to love us as God wants us loved

Each moment, each year that you live?

Summer School

Last July and August, we traveled up north and then out west. It was a lot of fun, and it did our hearts good when we were able to spend time with family members and friends we hadn't seen in too long.  We also spent a lot of hours in the van, and one day, after some spontaneous stops, I tried to jot down some emotions that were flooding my heart. I just ran across the pages, and I present them here, with occasional corrections, the incredulous question in my mind of "Why did we even TAKE math books??" and a guess or two in places where my penmanship got messy. I was writing quickly that day, trying to catch the impressions before they escaped into the busy-ness of our plans.  Re-reading the lines now, this verse comes to mind: My heart overflows with a pleasing theme; I address my verses to the king; My tongue is like the pen of a ready scribe. - Psalm 45:1 Summer School by Dee Dee Rauscher Today Day 4 of our cross-country drive As we (Husband, our younger 4/8, and I) Drove through a prairie citylet, We had to stop And take pictures at An old-fashioned, Legitimate "Holland Mill." There it stood Majestic and white Looking to all the world Like it was guarding Delft Instead of Milbank, South Dakota. The road we turned on Ran between the Surprising, pristine mill (Looking like it had sat there for A century - but it hadn't) And a cemetery - Also surprising - With gravestones Interspersed in a grove of trees, Strange in this tree-sparse state. The choice was ours, really: Visit the cemetery (Lovely, but we barely considered it) - Stay in the car and keep to our Schedule as we made our way to Aberdeen Or stop. The timeless setting - as this and that Family member snapped photos, Climbed on surrounding platforms, And peered through shading hands At the quiet windmill blades And through dark panes to see the Inner room - Made my own mill cease its turning. Realizing every time we drive out west We have a different arrangement of children with us - Last time we had five, From age twelve down to nearly one - I could suddenly see the need to breathe the moment in Before it's milled away, Lost to the wind, And all that's left are photographs And the cherished memories My net of a mind can keep. I've lost too many of them, I realize now With tears burning my eyes. Forgive me, Lord, for all the Days I waste. Against counterpoint graves on the other side of the road, I am reminded that This is life - As young people frolic and laugh And sit pensively on grass to Frame a windmill in a Viewfinder, As he tells us that the blades Work like a helicopter's, As she lifts her brother up to See better, As they form human windmills And read South Dakota history On the mill's historic marker. This is life. And this is school. Not watered down in textbooks, Not in hard, wooden desks, But in vivid colors And warm breezes, Amidst familiar smiles. An hour earlier we stopped at a Playground - Our one room schoolhouse Out to recess (not a daily event). Four of them - nineteen to nine - On seesaws and Monkeybars Not because the recess hour came But because In the midst of a long drive There was a great Place to play. A couple of hours later We were back in the car, Chasing the bright sunset With at least one notebook on a lap - Math begun, Vacation timeline tended (a voluntary project), Eyes scanning the vast Expanse of Dakota Country. It's been a day of Giggles, silliness, questions, And - In the front seat - Deep thought and realization Of how very Blessed I am; A reminder to my Hurried, greedy spirit - That it's here - To stop grasping for more, To take in The wealth and fragrance Of the moment Instead of running past it, Instead of stepping down the roses To find some imagined path, Shushing the music because in My misjudgment I think It is static, Rushing through the exquisite Moments Because I don't see their Value. Help me to see, Lord, that The evenly hemmed and seamless day My steps keep running toward Is a mirage - That the world would steal from me The perfect, unkempt moments That will too soon Be milled into Memories.