Tomorrow is Mother's Day, and I look forward to it just as I have looked forward to Father's Day for the past 8 years.... in dread of the reminder that I am now without.  It was once a joy to get to celebrate both my mother's birthday and Mother's Day, but right now, I will do my best to enjoy it for my children, my mother-in-law and for my sweet grandmother.  

I took some time this morning to attempt at the creative again, and this is what I wrote...


Am I My Mother's Daughter?

Oh, she worked so hard!
Up way too early in the morning
To care for her four-legged friends,
Only ceasing when she could no longer physically get up.

Daily, she toiled at the clinic to secure the benefits
For the disease that would quickly claim her life.
Coming home again to enjoy the dream that was now reality,
But without the one she desired to share it.

Four-legged friends sold off one by one,
But the favored one, the favored one remains...
Waiting to be passed on to her daughter's daughter.
There, the dream lies dormant; will it arise in her one day?

Father and mother, where have you gone?
Where is the dream now?

The home built with Daddy now being readied for market,
Brother and sisters waiting for execution; waiting.
Waiting to begin again the strife over the dream left over
In things and Sentimentality.

Oh, she wanted equality,
But little did she know how agonizing equality would be!
That money and land would release the hearts
Of the dearly remaining ones.

Did you see?  Could you have known?
The dream left is a stumbling block,
A catalyst for dismemberment
Of the family you loved.

Am I my mother's daughter?
Where will MY dream be when I am gone?

by Wendie Beddingfield

Wow, I don't really remember the last time I posted on this blog, but I want to go back to putting some things on here that are just from me personally and not any group I'm working with.

This past weekend I attended a leaders' retreat, and before this weekend we were all encouraged to work on our creative side and bring something we created to present to the group.  Well, I'm not generally using my creative side and sometimes think I don't have much creativity at all, but I sat down a few weeks ago and determined that I would write a poem about where I've been these last few months, how God has been working on me, and how I see it all.

TIDE

They are not pleasant,

Nor beautiful nor peaceful,

These visions of the one who bore me into the

World, gasping for life's last breath.

Saline drops line cheeks.

Eyes tighten.

Grief floods in waves, tide rolls in,

And the losing-pain stings as

Salt in the wound loosely bound.

Not grieving as one without hope--

Just as one without “Momma.”

Early memories of health and joy

Winnowed out by weakened limbs and empty eyes.

Wishing not to have witnessed

But thankful to be present—bittersweet.

Prayers of grateful regret.

Broken-heart healing, wound re-opened,

Cleansed and bound again.

Father-surgeon bandages knowing the hurt.

Divine saline touches cheek from above.

Daddy's eyes tighten, tide rolls out.

By Wendie Beddingfield