Lord…

I feel like such a failure with my children.

They look to me for guidance

and find a floundering, insecure child instead.

Sometimes I feel they're the adult

and I the child.

Help me to remember that all knowledge comes from you,

that parents are but representatives of your wisdom and love,

that we are all your children

in different stages of learning and growth.

Remind me that I am to be

what I want them to become...

And thank you for listening to me with such patience,

as I should be showing mine.

My Daughter, My Friend

Letters hidden in a trunk

Their oft' read pages worn,

Speak impatiently of life,

Hint of sadness, love forlorn.

They hunger yet for yesteryear's

Carefree times

And thrills-

Prom nights, dates, and whispered dreams.

Treasured moments, treasured still.

In time, they held

A lock of hair, a tooth,

A program from a play.

Later, scented lavender,

Dried petals from a bride's bouquet.

Age, then wisdom, formed a bond

Enriched by letters through the years.

Tearstained pages from a daughter

Stained once more by Mother's tears.

Last Born

When she came home for a visit

and we embraced,

A part of me wanted to hold my last-born

in my arms,

stroke her hair,

and sing lullabyes to her like when she was a child.

And when on into the night, she endlessly chattered-

A part of me withdrew to observe

my grownup daughter in her new habitat-

with new lifestyles, new friends-

So much a part of her, so distant from me.

And when we said goodbye,

My heart cried;

And later on, in solitude,

my eyes formed a duet with my heart,

and the part of me that longed to hold her,

let her go...

Where is she?

Where is the infant

who made parents out of two children,

and gave new meaning to the word love,

who dressed up in mama's skirts and papa's shoes,

who practiced music for obedience sake

and always came home on time?

Where is the teen who scraped the bike

and then the car,

who hated braces but never complained-

at least not about braces-

who went to church, and complained

about double standards and unfairness of life?

There she is—in her wedding gown—trying not to cry

as she straightens Papa's tie

and wipes tears from Mama's eyes.

Remembering

I walked around where yesterday

the feet of children loudly played,

and traipsed through moss and violets

while fishing to their heart's content.

The grapevine's hanging quietly now-

where yesterday it felt the power

of tireless hands and Tarzan yells,

that split the heavens, for a spell.

Leftover bait,

an empty stump,

the first-aid kit for itchy bumps,

some fishing line still lying there

from yesterday's entangled hair,

discarded bandaid a hero wore,

dried up sandwich,

an apple core...

All tell the tale of yesterday

when my grandchildren came to play.