Reconcile with Scarves and Wine

a ball of yarn

We are broken, You and I.

You caused the heart ache.

I caused the bond break.

And sorry just doesn’t cut it.

The past that once was filled with joy is all pain now.

The present empty,

The future, inconceivable.

And still there is that small faint voice

Insisting that I mend it.

But, how can the ripped-up fabric of us ever be beautiful again?

Or healed, or whole?


a ball of yarn

Reconciliation is like the woman who longed to make a sweater.

She searched and searched and found the perfect yarn.

She knit and knit for hours and hours,

And made herself a sweater.

But, the sweater lay untouched in the back of a drawer,

For, though the yarn was beautiful and the stitches perfect,

The collar was crooked and the fit was bad.

She couldn’t wear it and she couldn’t bear to throw it away.

So she took it out from time to time,  felt the smooth stitches and frowned over the way it had turned out.

One day the woman realized that the yarn was still wonderful,

And she believed that it still held great promise.

So she unraveled the sweater and rolled the yarn into a ball,

And started over.

She knit a brand new thing, a scarf.

“Better a scarf that can be worn than a sweater that is of no use,” she reasoned.

She soon forgot the sweater that once had been her dream,

Because the scarf was remarkably beautiful.

And even though it was not what she thought she wanted, she realized that she had something of great value,

From the same material, by the same hand,

Into something new, for something new.


a ball of yarn

“And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the wine will burst the skins, and both the wine and the wineskins will be ruined. No, he pours new wine into new wineskins.” Mark 2:22

A Love like no other

I arrive before he does.  After a brief glance around the room, I strategically select a spot where he is sure to notice me.  The thought crosses my mind that I may be slightly under-dressed.  I should have worn the skirt and sweater that now lie flung across my un-made bed.  It’s a tricky thing, selecting one’s attire.   Classic is always good, but borders on “old lady.”  Trendy is nice, but difficult to carry off and often communicates “teenager wannabe.”

Good-grief,” I think.  “It’s not like this is a first date, or anything.”  The important thing is for him to find me in this crowded place, feel the unspoken desire I have to be near him, and recognize the almost painful, chest-busting love that I want to give to him.

People are everywhere, chattering.  They blur and buzz.  All my attention, condensed to anticipation in seeing that adored face.  Will I see him before he sees me?  Will he feign shyness or beckon me to come to him.  Will he run into my arms which ache for his embrace?

I recognize his curly, dark hair.  Even from behind, I’d know him anywhere.  He turns slightly, searching.  He is looking for me.   His eyes find mine.  His mouth erupts effortlessly into an enormous smile.  He pushes past everyone to come to me.  I am staggered, once again, at his abundant, effervescent love.  All is well with the world as we sit down together.  The program for Grandparent’s Day at his school begins.


Words, words, wonderful words.

Words that taste yummy, sound sing-song and funny,

Words that look colorful, flippant and sunny.

Words that smooth the wrinkles out,

Words that push away the doubt.

Words that break out into laughter,

Words that fit just what you’re after.

Words that comfort- make you strong,

Word’s aroma, lingering long.

Words that seem to beg your stay,

Words that make you fly away.

Words that feel and touch and heal,

Words of love that make you real.

Fabulous words from which to choose,

Why the hateful ones you use?