She is more intricate than a one thousand piece puzzle,
as deep as a natural spring,
as dramatic as Broadway.
And I hate that I’m not home with her.
The other day, in a wonderfully detailed, intimate conversation, she said,
“I don’t think I’ve ever told anybody this,
but a lot of the time when I’m talking to people, I listen to what they’re saying …
but in my head, I’m thinking of other words they could have used rather than plain words.
I replace their words with new words in my head.”
When we went to Cairo, she was with me when Kenneth shared his lyrics (here). She sat on a nearby chair and listened, as well. I soaked in his words as if I was his audience of one. Little did I know.
When she and I talked the other afternoon, she told me of some of the things that Kenneth had written in his poetry … she quoted, from what I remember, very close to word-for-word. She told me that she wants to write a book like his. While I basked in his shower of his thoughts and poetry that Sunday afternoon, she soaked in prose, as well.
Truly … she doesn’t miss a thing.
She was asked to write a poem at school the other day. They had covered rhythm patterns a little bit and read some poetry. The class was not given a specific assignment of numbers of lines … or patterns. The teacher just said, “Write a poem.”
So, Joy wrote.
The sub didn’t read her poem during class. But, she glanced over Joy’s shoulder and commented. What Joy relayed to me was that the words of the sub were something like, “I asked you to write a poem, not a BOOK.” If the sub said any.thing else, Joy DID.NOT hear it. All she heard was criticism.
I want to be home with her. I know that God has and will continue to work good from our situation. But, I still miss her. I know that she is learning much about many things. She is growing in wisdom. She is maturing greatly. I still wish we were home.
Here is her poem:
This sweet child of eleven keeps me challenged and entertained. She fills me with energy and a love for things that creep, crawl and fly. She reminds me to watch my tongue because there are impressionable ears listening …. ears that don’t miss a thing. She encourages me in my own endeavors with words, photography and paintbrush. And she, too, sees beauty in the everyday …. the crunching of an apple, the template of a turkey on the end of your arm or the wonder in spring blooms.
This girl …. and the poetry she creates with pencil and attitude … they make me happy … Monday and every day.
I thought I would add to my list of One Thousand Gifts
special gifts that have come
specifically from her.
Today I am thankful for …
292. a deeper understanding of the life of my own mother’s motherhood … because this little one, my youngest, is more like me than any of my other children: dramatic. intense. challenging.
293. the constant reminder to explore … invent … create.
294. still being in the midst of young-mothering. If not for her, my days of mothering youngsters would be complete. My two oldest now “grown.” I’m thankful that she came into our lives. Her ever critical eyes that watch keep me accountable and aware.
295. the backpack that is left on the chair every afternoon at 3:15
296. that there is still a trampoline needed in the backyard
297. that she is now tall enough and heavy enough to legally join me in the front seat
… that we can talk, share and enjoy each other side-by-side
298. baked goods from little hands
299. little gifts like a handful of acorns or poem or a song
300. bright green bed sheets and fun pillow cases on a set of bunk beds