Stanley Yelnats

I knew the haircut hadn’t turned out well
When I put on a hat to hide it
And my sons stated that I looked
Like Stanley Yelnats.

No offense to Shia LaBeouf,
But I’m 35 and female and would prefer
Not to resemble him.
At all.

Invite

I met the incoming student in spring,
His first time at a church service.
I talked him through what to expect,
Loving the chance to be hospitable.

Now the school year has begun, and
The wonder of Facebook offered
An opportunity to reach out.
But that is awkward, really. I hardly know him!

Finally bold, I sent a message and
Six minutes later got a cheery reply, accepting
My invitation to a party and the offer of a carpool
With some other almost strangers.

I have been a newcomer, trying to find my tribe.
Why would I ever think that erring
On the side of welcome would be
Unwelcome?

Friend from Afar

When I heard your voice again,
My gladness burst forth and my voice could hardly contain,
And when we hung up, I could hardly keep from crying
To know that I could have had days
To talk and visit, but instead
Mere hours to share the God-musings
And general happenings of years.

May God stretch the time, as only he can.

We’ll jump right into it, as heart friends do.
How much I have missed you.
How much I look forward to the morrow.

Haircut

As much as I always long for long hair,
Phil prefers short. He likes to see my face.
So I get it cut short, and maybe he likes it,
And maybe he doesn’t,
But I know that it will eventually grow
Until I can pull it back in a ponytail or
Hold it in place with a pen, which is fine
Until I realize I never wake up feeling cute
And should probably get it cut again.

Perfect Not Perfect

I.
In prayer for a friend,
The pain proved too insurmountable.
I think it will not always,
But for now there was a pause.

But this is not her story.
This is mine.

I did not feel regret or concern.
It is not my responsibility.
Such an obvious statement,
And yet … I want to be perfect.

To feel peace that I am not …
That is a part of my story yet unlived.

II.
In prayer for me,
I thought about third grade Amy,
Sobbing because the star for my construction paper
Christmas tree would not have five even points.
Maybe it had six, or maybe the five were uneven.
I don’t remember. But it would not come right.

But I remember the shame of crying in class
And children whispering about it.
I remember Mrs. Grosser’s gentleness as she said,
“Oh, honey. It’s okay. Go wash your face.”
And I went and washed and my face felt better,
But the tree was ruined, and the day was ruined,

And I cannot be perfect and have never been perfect,
But I wanted to be and I wasn’t.

Looking back, I want to tell that child:
Be gentle with yourself, sweet girl.

And I pictured Jesus, as he blessed the children,
Picking up little Amy, and holding me gently on his lap,
And I was just with him. And he held me,
In all my imperfection,
And loved me.

This Didn't Happen (To Me)

I reached Chipotle at 7:02
And though the doors opened,
And a girl remained behind the counter,
The manager came out and refused to serve me.
“You’re too late. It’s after closing.”

Why was this Chipotle closing hours early?

But more than that, I was simply overwhelmed with
Hunger, so that I wondered if I might faint,
Or if hypoglycemic tears would soften this
Stone-faced tormentor, who refused to release
The mounds of food waiting
For burrito bowls.

This was but a nap time nightmare for me.

In reality, for some, food is never released.

Apple Harvest

With no-bake cookies as a ready dip,
A son and I headed out to pick apples.

One apple was far higher than I could reach.
I moved on.

My son declared triumphantly,
“I got it!”

Impressed, I asked how.
“Oh, I broke the branch!”
He replied happily.

Then, as if that thought had just now
Finally reached his brain,
He repeated, more slowly,
“I broke the branch. Hmm.
Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.”

I have heard that teenagers
Lose all common sense.
I have no teenagers yet.
I might be in trouble.