Something of Value

I rarely sit down to write something that I know will possibly be veiwed by other people without putting some thought into it. I have always insisted that I write for the sake of writing, because I love it. This is true in my own little spiral notebook, but that is not really my purpose here. Don't get me wrong, I love this whole blogging thing. But my thoughts honestly are in somewhat of a whirlwind today so I'll try to avoid what some would call "rambling."
The truth is, I am one of those creative spirits. In temperment I am, as Wordsworth wrote, a poet:

And it would content me to yield up

those lofty hopes awhile, for present gifts

of humbler industry. But, oh, dear Friend!

The Poet, gentle creature as he is,

Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times;

His fits when he is neither sick nor well,

Though no distress be near him but his own

Unmanagable thoughts: his mind, best pleased

While she as duteous as the mother dove

sits brooding, lives not always to that end,

But like the innocent bird, hath goadings on

That drive her as in trouble through the groves:

With me is now such passion, to be blamed

No otherwise than as it last too long.

Something very human, very basic to my nature, those "unruly times" of "unmanagable thoughts" sometimes overwhelm this feeling soul:

Humility and modest awe, themselves

betray me, serving often for a cloak

to a more subtle selfishness; that now

Locks every function up in blank reserve,

Now dupes me, trusting to an anxious eye

That with intrusive restlessness beats off

simplicity and self-presented truth.

Ah! better far than this, to stray about

Voluptuously through fields and rural walks,

And ask no record of the hours, resigned

To vacant musing, unreproved neglect

Of all things, and deliberate holiday.

far better never to have heard the name

Of zeal and just ambition, than to live

Baffled and plagued by a mind that every hour

Turns recreant to her task; takes heart again,

Then feels immediately some hollow thought

Hang like an interdict upon her hopes.

This is my lot: for either still I find

Some imperfection in the chosen theme,

Or see of absolute accomplishment

Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself,

That I recoil and droop, and seek repose

In listlessness from vain perplexity,

Unprofitably traveling toward the grave,

Like a false steward who hath much received

And renders nothing back.

~~

from

The Prelude

William Wordsworth

My own words seem really pale in comparison to this great poet but the sentiments are the same. Don't we all have our hang ups? And I feel very akin to William Wordsworth in this sense. Feeling overwhelmed and out of control, perplexed and without a doubt, self-absorbed...but helpless to pull oneself out of this mire... I know what that is all about.

One day this weekend our family took a drive to a neighboring city for the evening. Except for occasions such as this, when we are out driving in the open by farms and fields, I just don't see the horizon much anymore. On our way, we were greeted by a rainbow in the broad fluffy-clouded sky. My breath was stolen away. A promise. Driving home later, the sunset was brilliant. At that moment, I couldn't help but think God was trying to say something, trying to break through my "vain perplexity," my "subtle selfishness" that focuses on "some imperfection..." and finding, "much wanting, so much wanting, in myself." It's that faint whisper of a shout, that gentle yet persistent yank at the heart. For me it's always been colors in the sky that carried the voice of the Creater to this little creature: "I love you." And that is just what I need to know. Value because of One who finds me valuable.

I have much more to say on this topic but that is enough for now. Good night!

A Minor Bird

What true lover of words and language and poetry and life can read the works of Robert Frost and not be moved? How does a man using such common words and simple language create such music of speech and thought? I love nature poetry and Frost was a master. Reading his poetry is like walking into the woods...and I love woods. A recent reading of the following poem especially struck a personal chord with me. I can certainly relate:

A Minor Bird

I have wished a bird would fly away,

And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door

When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.

The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong

in wanting to silence any song.

~~

Robert Frost

West-Running Brook

~1928~

How often in our homes does our own dampness of spirit seek to silence those little songs that could bring such delight if only we could rise above our own moods? Yes, I am guilty. Indulging in sullen moods when sweetness surrounds us not only robs ourselves but our loved ones of their beautiful and unique songs.

A non-writing writer

Okay, the reason I started this blog was mostly as an outlet for my writing and thoughts (hmm...not an uncommon reason for someone to start a blog, I'm guessing.) Well, it's not that I haven't been thinking a lot, I just haven't written much lately. Occasionally in life (actually, quite often here in the Wittum home) we come to a pool of deep waters and just need time to reflect and prioritize. In fact, I have to admit that this seems to be a fairly consistent state for me. I am intrigued (maybe obsessed would be a better word) with the idea of being a growing person. Maturing, growing, learning...what a great persuit to aspire to, especially when you can look back and be really thankful that you are maturing, growing, learning. At the same time, being somewhat of a perfectionist can also pose a threat to just being plain happy! So part of my journey of growth is simply learning to be a bit more content and (oh boy-sie) joyful even with a floor piled with laundry and a sink loaded with dishes. So, though the old notebook is rarely neglected for long, something's gotta give. One thing I have learned over the years (through many an unpleasant lesson) is that fewer words are better than many and some things are really worth sharing while others simply are not. The wise person knows the difference. Something to think about.

All Grown Up?

Do you ever feel strangly aware that you are an adult? Okay, maybe it's just me, but occasionally I stop and think..."Whoa, I'm all grown-up." Is that possible? I've celebrated 6 Mother's Days with my own children. I'm the mom: the one who kisses noses, peels apples, bandages knees, raises her eyebrows, and says the last goodnight. I have experienced nothing in life so humbling nor so rewarding...and nothing that has challenged me so greatly to keep growing. All grown-up...really? Never. There is always more growing to do.

Something Great

Words of learned wisdom from a 6-year-old, "God can put the good things and the bad things together and make something great."

Children understand much more than we give them credit for. We adults, all of us born philosophers searching for truth, trying to understand the "why's" of life, would be wise to stop and listen to the simplicity of a child's faith.

Pardon my pause...

...to ponder, to reflect, to watch, to play, to find hope and strength and peace renewed.

Pause Movie

My children have a somewhat odd practice of pausing whatever imaginary story they are playing or book they might be reading whenever they need to turn their attention elsewhere for the moment (like a quick trip to the bathroom.) It's really quite simple. I hear my daughter (who recently added ballerina to her when-I-grow-up list) say abruptly, "pause movie!" and run frantically to complete whatever task has interrupted her play. Then she returns and I hear, "unpause!" My son has this ability as well, only, being six, he is much more methodical, carefully saving to his memory base the last two words read in his book before turning it open face down on the couch and saying, "pause book" before making his way to the bathroom or for a refreshing glass of water. I'm serious, this is something that really occurs in our house many times a day. It's absolutely fascinating to me that my children can do this. Of course, I know how to use the dvd remote control as well as the best of them, but put a pause on everyday life...now that's impressive...most impressive.

As a parent, there are times I sure wish I could just hit the pause button...just for a few minutes, so I don't miss a thing. Who decided to push the FFWD on my children? Where was I when that happened? What's wrong with that crazy RWD button?! What, it doesn't work on kids...not even mine? Guess I better take a potty break and get a drink before the show starts...I don't want to miss a thing.

I Love You, Stinky Face

My children and I have found a gem. I Love You, Stinky Face ,written by Lisa McCourt and illustrated by Cyd Moore , has won our hearts. If you want a great snuggle-up-on-the-couch-with-the-kiddos picture book, try this one. It's full of laughs and charm. We love Stinky Face!

I met the greatest guy...

I have to spend a few minutes today on the subject of the most important person in my life. His name is Luke and I am so grateful and amazed to be loved by him.

A few things I really love about my husband:

He has a great red-ish beard.

He is tenacious about the important things in life.

He paces when he's thinking really hard.

He like's altoids.

He patiently listens to my ramblings and to all the little treasures I find in my readings of Frost, Wordsworth, etc.,etc., and may be the only person who keeps up with my blog.

Now, my husband is not exactly excited by poetry, so this is a labor of love: You know what's really great? Seeing him smile at me like he enjoys hearing me read to him just because it makes me happy. Now, that is love.

Something Worth Keeping

I have to admit it, I am a nortorious stasher. I come from a family of hopeless stashers. For years I prided myself in my ability to throw things out, but truth be told, hiding in every spare drawer and crevice of my house and scattered throughout the basement and closets are the products of my attempt to chronicle our lives: My stash of memorabilia goes as far back as I can remember, but has grown steadily with marriage and children. I suppose in some ways this space is another drawer to store my little tid-bits of things I want to save and remember from everyday life...only without the spare rubber-bands, paperclips, near-dry ball-point pens and half-melted birthday candles vying for room among other treasures.

So here's something I don't want to forget, a word that has won an honored spot in our house: top of the dry-erase board:

Magnanimous: [from: magnus (great) + animus (spirit)] 1: showing or suggesting a lofty and courageous spirit. 2: showing or suggesting nobility of feeling and generosity of mind.
Magnanimity: 1: the quality of being magnanimous: loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity 2: a magnanimous act