It starts like this. I take an early morning walk. While walking, I see someone mowing their lawn. Someone else is putting in flowers. Yet another yard is having its lawn fertilized. This reminds me that my own lawn is full of weeds, so upon returning home, I change into my grubbies and search for the weeding tool. The children have used it again, and it’s not where it should be. I search and search, and even though I remember seeing it somewhere, I can’t find it. I settle for using an old flathead screwdriver instead. I get a bucket and kneeling pad and make my way to the front yard to start the task.
By this time, I’m getting irritated and crabby for some reason. I can’t remember if I’ve had any breakfast yet. As if on cue, Philip rings the breakfast bell. He’s been preparing pancakes inside with the children. I abandon my tools and high plans for completing a great and worthy task and go inside where I find a huge spread on the table: blueberries, bacon, powdered sugar, syrup, butter, tea, and cream. Everyone is assembled and ready to eat. My stomach growls. I didn’t know I was so hungry.
I eat the meal prepared by his hands and afterward feel full. Then I find that my husband has already weeded the front lawn.
Writing some of my poems is like that, except the task of weeding the lawn is sitting down at my computer to write something great. My trying to get my tools together is all the false starts. The breakfast bell is the Lord’s call where I stop my “great” task and enter his presence. There I find myself extremely hungry. I discover a huge spread prepared by his hands, and after I eat, I simply can’t help writing about the feast. Sometimes it comes out in lyrical form.
That is how some of my poems are written.
Thanks for sharing this sweet story! Sweet husband and sweet breakfast!