Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Love poems

Because it's Beve's spring break, we have a host of projects lined up.  We won't get to most of them. That's the story of our lives: long lists, big dreams, too little time to accomplish them and still enjoy the journey.   And we're 'enjoy-the-journey' kind of people, so you can imagine how our lists take the hit when something relational comes along.  That being said, today we're clearing out SK's room, which has become my second sewing room in this house.  I used J's last year, but we moved me when he had to come home for his recovery from some surgery or other.  But SK's room, though larger than J's, is very tight with my two tables (cutting and sewing), the various bins for projects, the dresser full of fabric as well as SK's double bed and dresser.  So Beve bought a Murphy bed for the space.  He's wanted an excuse to buy a Murphy bed for the last 15 years, at least, so was thrilled to find one on Craigslist to suit our needs.  Today, I'm a little worried about what he'll discover about my fabric addiction as we empty the room.  It really has gotten out of hand.  But soooo worth it, to make such beautiful quilts stitched with prayer and His presence. (Do I sound like I'm trying to justify something? Hmmm) Beve will set me up in the living room, smack-dab in front of God, the fire and everyone for the next few days while he paints over SK's lavender walls with a clean, bright creamy white.  Then he and a friend will tackle the Murphy bed, wrestle it into place and, once it's firmly attached to the wall, we'll pick up the new Stearns and Foster mattress we bought for it, and I'll cover it with nice sheets, and this quilt:



And now, because I have a room to clear before Beve can paint, I'll leave you with these words not my own, though I love them and feel them and have spoken them as the prayers they were written to be.
From Rainier Maria Rilke's Book of Hours--Love Poems to God

 Ich glaube an Alles noch nie Gesagte
I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for

may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.

Ich bin auf der Welt zu allein und doch nicht allein genug
I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough
to make each hour holy.
I'm too small in the world, yet not small enough
to be simply in your presence, like a thing---
just as it is.

I want to know my own will
and to move with it.
And I want, in the hushed moments
when the nameless draws near,
to be among the wise ones---
or alone.

I want to mirror your immensity.
I want never to be too weak or too old
to bear the heavy, lurching image of you.

I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.

I would describe myself
like a landscape I've studied
 at length, in detail;
like a word I'm coming to understand;
like a pitcher I pour from at mealtimes;
...like a ship that carried me when the waters raged.

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