“Here We Go!”

Just thinking………

A couple nights ago, I dreamed that I was in our family room doing ordinary family room type things. We watch TV there; talk on the phone there, do crafts there, play games there, warm ourselves by the fireplace there, sometimes eat there, visit with friends there. Just….. ordinary things.

In the dream, Perry and I were together when a sudden blinding golden light filled the room. I don’t know if it was outside or not because the light in the room was so intense. And then I began to feel my body tremble from the toes up. I touched Perry’s arm, and said, “Here we go!!!

And our bodies began to raise. It was smooth…. seamless…. and even the ceiling did not stop us. The roof did not stop us. We just kept going up.

I shouted, “Hallelujah!! Praise the Lord!!!” It was a moment that I had longed for, and suddenly with no warning, here it was.

I was so peaceful, so happy, so awestruck, so completely wrapped in worship.

Yes, I believe that Jesus is coming again. Yes, I believe that the world as we know it will end. Yes, I believe that God is sovereign and totally in control and perfect in all ways. No, I don’t know when this will happen.

But it will happen. It might not be just like my dream. But it will happen.

I remember a strange feeling of sorrow mixed with elation. Elated that I was on my way to eternity in Heaven. Sorrowed that not all who I loved would be there. Elated with the glory that was surrounding me. Sorrowed that I had not said more about this to more people.

Lord, come quickly. And give me the boldness to continue to speak of You before it is too late. Amen.

To God be the Glory,

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More Poems

Just Thinking…..

I wrote some more poems….They have not been picked up for publication yet. Probably need more work. But here they are!!!

Factory Tour

Always loved factory tours….

The gears and cogs meshing
round and round
pushing bottles of soda pop
on their stuttering journey to be capped.

Chains and pulleys
moving up and down
placing car doors exactly on the frames
with a satisfying ker-CLUNK.

And snaky conveyor belts
sliding bars of chocolate to the cutting blade
and then catching them below
to slide on to boxing.

Once I was in a pretzel factory.
We watched the dough come out the tubes
and begin to wrap around the pegs
that twisted them into little prayer arms.

The tour guide told us the story
of the monk who made these
as a reminder to pray…..
As a reminder of intertwined love.

The little twists moved on
to a boiling bath.

And as each plopped into the steamy pot,
I wrapped my arms around myself….
my little prayer wings to keep me safe
while the wheels and gears and chains  and blades
whirled round and round….
ceaseless grinding and pounding and tapping
to make this and this into that.

But I was safe behind the plexiglass
munching on little pretzels.

Diana Newquist Parson

Just A Moment (Pompeii)

“Hand me the needle.”
“Just a moment.”

“How about a kiss?”
“Just a moment”

“Come give Daddy a hug.”
“Just a moment.”

“It’s time to let the dog out.”
“Just a moment.”

“Quick! Take it out of the oven!”
“Just a moment.”

“Look at the sky!”
“Just a moment.”

And in that moment….

She began to hand over the needle
He leaned in for a kiss
Little hands reached for Daddy
The dog went to the gate
The bread burned

And the sky was black with sudden ash
In that moment.
Breathing stopped
In that moment.
Voices failed
In that moment.
Arms were frozen
In that moment.

In that moment, life ceased….

And in another moment, long after,
We discovered their lives again…..
Saw the grimaces,
The final jerking movements,
The writhe of the dog,
The clay baking pan shattered,
The needle….

Such a moment…
when time had a seizure
and stopped.

Diana Newquist Parson

Reluctant Weaver

They hum as they weave….
The old songs of women working….
Four notes…..five notes…
Over and over in a faint chant.

Threads pass between their fingers
Four strands…. Five strands…
Over and over in an unending pattern of time past.

If I dare gaze with longing beyond the mountains,
If I dare sigh,

Then the women stop

Threads drop

Humming ceases.

No word arrows pierce me,
But eye arrows go deep into my soul.

They know….. they know
My dreams
And they know….. they know
That I am here only in my body
They know….they know
That I am not woven into their fabric.

And they know….they know
That I cannot hum the old notes,
And that I sit awkwardly at the end
With different colored threads
Woven outside the lines.

Diana Newquist Parson

Father….. Thank You for poetry, for the poetry of the Bible, for the poetry that comes from the hearts of others, for the poetry that You allow me to write.

To God be the Glory….

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Getting Artsy Again!

Just thinking…..

It’s been a while….. like a LONG while since I have written poetry. But I decided to use this winter as an artsy time, and began to write some poetry. Then I also decided to dabble in watercolor. Well…. It’s been a while on the watercolor gig, too. Not that I ever did much. Watercolor just seemed too difficult to control

My craft room is in the basement. So when I did laundry, I would put a load into the washer, go work on painting or other crafts, and then put the load into the dryer, and then work on the art, and then unload the dryer and take it all upstairs. The plan worked well. But with the poetry….. I just sort of walked around talking to myself, trying out the sound of words….. and got them down on paper. Then I played around with them until I was satisfied…. to a degree.

Anyhoo…….. just to toot my own horn…… I had two poems accepted by The Ekphrastic Review. The poems are responses to pieces of art.

Here’s the first one:

Rows

Rows in my hair…
rows in my clothes…
rows on my cheeks and under my eyes.

And the rows stretch on…..
O Mama….
on to the shadows…
red dirt on my toes as I pick the bolls
in the rows.

Walking those rows
toward sunset,
not looking back….
tossing my basket…
dropping my hoe.

Treading those rows
swirling red dust
“Sweet Mama!
I’m coming!
I’m coming home!”

Pounding those rows
just want to go home
Lord, just want to go home

And the darkness gathers
rows fade and dissolve.
And I’m tired, Mama
Staring at rows.

Just want to go home.
Away from the rows.
Home.
Rows.

—Diana Newquist Parson

And the second one:

He Shattered My Box

My God doesn’t live in a box.
A grave could not hold Him.

My God can spill blood
and still live.

My God can take pain,
and mold it into beauty.

My God can step on water,
tread the snake head,
command the wind.

Even government officials
were astounded.
Religious people
harbored jealousy.

But you and I,
commoners really,
delighted in His coming….
and His overcoming.  

My God  shattered the box
of my past
into dust and tiny shards.

My God knew my name….
and  still invited me to follow.

I don’t fall prostrate
on cold stone to kiss His grave.
He is not there.

My God…

—Diana Newquist Parson

And those water colors?

Here’s one of them…..

Father, You are the ultimate creator. When I think of what You have created: the stars and moon and sun, the earth and all its beauty. I am but a poor imitator of Your art. But I thank You for Your creation.

To God be the Glory….

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Ah Itchez…..

Just Thinking…..

There was a young belle of old Natchez
Who ripped all her garments to patchez
When comment arose
On the state of her clothes
She drawled, When Ah itchez, Ah scratchez. (Ogden Nash)

Maybe it’s the extreme cold. Maybe it’s the dry atmosphere. Maybe…. just maybe….. it’s old skin. Sometimes, it’s hives or an allergic rash. Whatever the reason, I have been itchy. Ah itchez. Ah scratchez.

It tends to be most prevalent in embarrassing situations. A sudden itch in church…. and not able to escape to the bathroom to attend to it. That annoying itch on the edge of my nose…… that sneaky itch by my eyelash….. that certain spot on my scalp…… and all while down for a massage. Or the itch between my toes while at the job interview. It really seems as if the most irritating itches come when I cannot scratch. My mind wriggles in agony as I fight off the urge to scratch. I tell myself that it’s such a little thing…. a thing of no consequence…. a thing I should have power over.

And of course, it’s not true. The more I think about it, the bigger the itch becomes.

I feel rather Prufrockish. Do I dare scratch my nose? Do I dare scratch my toes?

Of course, I could have avoided much of this if I had just used lotion. Many years ago a friend gave me a bottle of calming lotion. Calming lotion? What is this? Do you think I’m not calm? She told me it is for skin that seems to not settle down…. itchy skin. But I get in a hurry and forget to add the lotion. And then I itch.

This whole situation is much like my spiritual situation in many ways. I get upset. Something gets under my skin (see what I did there?)/ So I react: I scratch. While scratching might feel good for the moment, I have to stay aware that it can break my skin, cause some bleeding, or spread the poison that might be causing the itch. Then I really have a mess. And all the while, I could have used calming lotion.

Let’s say Sally makes a remark that makes me smart a little…. itch. I react with a scathing scratching remark. This draws more ire from her, and then I respond in kind. And it could have been prevented if I just had my Godly calming lotion to cover my body. You know…. things like the full armor of God: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, my peace-gospel shoes and shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Lord (Eph. 6: 13-16). That’s some mighty strong calming-lotion-clothing! And it isn’t in patchez……

Father, the itches of life will come. Help me be prepared. Remind me, Lord, of Your calming lotion…. and remind me to put it on. May I be found before You in righteous garments and not in patches. Amen

To God be the Glory,

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Dancing With Kronos

Just thinking….

Grateful today for time.

The time is coming (ahem….) when time will be no more. So I want to make the most of my time right now, this very minute. I may not be the woman of the hour, or the person of the year. But I want to live in the moment, at this very second.

People buy time, kill time, pass time, limit time, waste time, spend time. They are on time, under time, over time, out of time…. but all in a timely fashion. And they take a time out.

For some strange reason, time tends to travel more quickly as I get older. And yet I have some of those stand-still moments that sear my memory. The sci-fi notion of time-warps seems all too real…. at times.…. that deja vu experience. Yet I know that all evidence points to time as being like an arrow, shot straight.

One of my favorite authors, Henry David Thoreau, said, “Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.”

The past is memory; the future is unknown. From time to time, I reflect on this. And sometime, anytime now, I need to have the time of my life. Carpe Diem. I dance with Kronos.

Father, I praise You as author and sustainer of time. My times are in Your hands. I ask that You help me redeem my time, to use it wisely for Your glory.

To God be the Glory,

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Food…. For Thought…..

Just Thinking….

A child peered through the back seat window. Her nose was dripping, and she was wiping it with her sleeve. A baby slept in the arms of the driver. No child seat was in the car. A green tape on the windshield had the number “2: written on it. The driver motioned to the back and said, “Trunk.”

We began to pack food into the trunk.

Two sacks made from old T shirts containing rice, beans and oats. Two boxes of meat. Two tote bags of apples, oranges and grapes. Four dozen eggs. 4 quarts of frozen liquid eggs.

We motioned to the driver and he rolled up the window and drove off. The next car pulled up. The number on the green tape was “1”. We packed in food for one family.

For four hours cars, pickups, and walkers came for food. We served about 1000 families during that time. Screeners visited the cars as they were parked at the convention center, determining how many families were represented in each vehicle and affixing the green tape. Four stations on two lanes processed the food to bumper to bumper vehicles. The food giveaway started at 9:00, but some vehicles had been in line since 6:00.

I was a volunteer and it was my first time to work with Food Bank. I did not know what to expect. It was cold and I was bundled in a long sleeve shirt, a vest, a puffy coat, gloves, a hood, and of course, my mask. Not all the people in the cars had that much clothing. The child who peered through the back seat window was in a T shirt.

Most of the vehicles were in various stages of rust. Many had the headlights and windows duct taped to hold them on. Some cars held just the driver; others were packed. Some surprisingly were late model Caddies, Lincolns and Mercedes, whose drivers were coifed and well dressed. Those vehicles, too, carried people who did not look well off.

I remembered what the organizers told us: That those in poverty may not have vehicles. That friends give them rides. That we might err on determining how many families were represented in each vehicle, but the food will not go to waste.

In some vehicles, it was difficult to find a place to put the food. Sacks of soda and beer cans filled the space. Fast food containers littered the floor. “Junk” was in the way. Some cars looked as if the driver lived in the car.

Many of the people looked beaten down…. prematurely old. The ravage of their years showed in their faces. Eyes with little light looked at us briefly and then turned away. Race and age were not particular; poverty strikes all.

My “judgy” self held a one way conversation inside my head: How can this person afford to smoke….. to have tattoos….. to have jewelry….. and need free food? The smell from some cars and pick ups just about made me vomit. How hard was it to clean out a vehicle?

Then I had a “God moment.” I did not know their stories. I did not know the mistakes they made in high school. I did not know the history of their lay-offs. I did not know how sick they might be. I didn’t know the stress that led to smoking and addictions. I didn’t know if they had backgrounds where they never learned to handle money or manage a home. I didn’t know their handicaps. I didn’t know how difficult it might have been for them to come ask for food. Who was I to judge? It could have been me if things were different.

From that point on, I determined to see the people in each vehicle as precious humans in God’s image. I greeted them with a “Good morning!” I waved as they passed by. Some would not look at us. Some had limited English. Many did not say thank you for whatever reason. But I still passed on a wave and a greeting.

When the event was over, I was exhausted. But it was good. God had shown me much about my fellow humans…… and much about me. And God…. please bless the children and the families.

Father….. forgive my judgmental attitude. Remind me of where I came from. Show my the opportunities to reach out for Your glory.

To God be the glory…..

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Singing in a Dream

Just Thinking…..

My parents were very social. Their farm house was often filled with family….. or friends…… or a church group….. or perhaps even a seed salesman who dropped by at lunch time. We were always encouraged to bring our friends home, and continued to do so even as adults.

There was always an extra plate, and extra food. As my mother used to say, “I made a double batch, just for you.” And it took no time at all to pull up an extra chair.

So it’s not surprising that I had a dream about a party being held in my parents’ home. Somehow….. in that way that dreams do…… the house had been stretched out in all directions to make bigger rooms, and in one of the rooms was a fireplace. People were milling about and eating. I didn’t know most of them. My mother was urging them to have something to eat, something to drink, find a place to sit. She was making introductions, and totally in her hostess zone.

By the fireplace was a man with longer hair (no, not Santa). He had an amazing voice, a strong vibrant baritone that just rolled out of him and filled the room. He threw his head back and was singing a Christmas carol. A woman dressed in a long white flowing dress came close, and she began to sing with him. It was lovely, as they traded the hallelujah melody back and forth, and harmonized in other parts. I could have listened all day.

In another room my father was sitting by a man, and they, too, were singing. This time it was The First Noel. My father was singing the high tenor part, and when he reached those high notes in the harmony, my heart soared. It was rapturously beautiful and took my breath. As with the long haired man and woman in the other room, I just did not want them to stop. But when they did, it seemed as if even the air was quivering!!

It was a dream, remember? But there were two strange oddities about this dream. First, most of the time that I knew my father, he loved to sing, but would waver on the harmony. He had a large voice, and it tended to throw people off who were near. He sang with gusto, and never let the fact that he was off tune stop him. Yet in my dream, my deceased father was singing his heart out perfectly on tune!!

The other odd thing was that I could hear the tremendous music clearly….. crystal clearly…. with no distortions, no tinny sound. I could distinguish each melodic line with sharp clarity. My descent into deafness and the subsequent cochlear implant means that I do not hear music clearly any more. It sounds odd and off. And I, who used to love to sing and harmonize, can no longer do so. Yet, my other worldly dream self could hear and sing along.

Perhaps this dream was a little taste of Heaven. I know that my mother and father are there. I know that I will be there in due time because I have believed that Jesus died for my sins. I know that we will be healed of earthly imperfections. Perhaps the music in Heaven will have that soul soaring sound and perfect harmony. Ah…… To worship face to face with my Savior…… the most perfect music ever!!

Father…… I long for the perfect music of Heaven! But meanwhile, I ask that You fill my heart with the music of the soul. Thank You for dreams that are so pleasant, so relaxing. Amen

To God be the Glory….

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And How Do You Justify This?

Just Thinking……

There are those who say that they are against abortion, but would vote for a candidate that supports abortion rights.

There are those who say they would not personally have an abortion, but want to be sure that others can, if they wish.

There are those who provide abortions, whether doctor, nurse, technicians, office secretary or counselor. All who work with Planned Parenthood fall into this category.

There are those who donate to Planned Parenthood, or to the campaigns of candidates that are pro-choice…… pro abortion.

There are those who teach that abortion is simply another type of birth control, and should be open and available to any female who desires one. It should be guilt free.

There are those who chose abortion for themselves and their unborn children,

How do each of these explain themselves when standing before God at judgment day? How can one justify these actions to the ONE who knows your heart and mind and every thought you have had? The ONE who created you? What does one say? “Well, God, You know….. it’s just a fetus….. just an embryo….. not a human yet……”

Will it be a millstone around the neck for daring to hurt one of these little ones?

Or …… will they become convicted of the sin of abortion, ask forgiveness, seek salvation and turn the other direction?

This is personal to me. Our beloved adopted son was almost an abortion statistic. Let me clarify: I do not hold hate against any of the types of people mentioned above. I have sorrow, sadness, and a desire that not one of them become lost in eternity. I have deep compassion for those who have thought there was no other way except to have an abortion or those who were forced into such an act.

I am simply asking you to think….. to rethink….. your position. I am asking you to give thought to the healing and forgiveness that God can give. I am asking you to see that your approval of pro-choice candidates….. or any other role leading to abortion….. is part of the problem. God…… forgive us all!!!

Father…… help me spread the Good News of Your forgiveness. Help those who blindly approve abortion to have a change of heart. Help those who are considering this drastic step….. help them understand that abortion will not solve the problem. Help all of us to understand Your love and Your willingness to have us come to You. Amen

To God be the Glory…..

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Broken….. And Restored!

Just Thinking…..

BROKEN!!

I didn’t really play much with dolls.  I liked to make outfits for them with handkerchiefs, or bits and pieces of materials from the sewing baskets.    I had a collection of dolls from around the world, but I didn’t play with them either….. nor did I design outfits for them as each had a distinctive costume.   But when I found my doll broken, I was heart sick.  The doll was hard plastic and the parts were jagged and shattered.   My mother cried and apologized for dropping the doll, and I cried and hugged her.   The  broken doll tugged at my heart strings  for a while, and then I went on with life.

BROKEN!!!

I was so excited!   I was going  on a trip and get to ride the train all by myself.  I packed my little suitcase, and carried my coat.   The ticket was not yet bought, but we would get one at the station.  And then……..  the trip was suddenly canceled.  I didn’t want people to see me cry, so I ran to a bush and hid behind it and cried.   My parents comforted me, but my heart was broken.  It was something that I had looked forward to for so long…… and then it was gone.

BROKEN!!!

My dream was to go to college and be a teacher.   The dream came true with scholarships, loans, grants,  and jobs.  I studied  for five years straight, and emerged with my BSE and MA degrees.   But towards the end, things were falling apart.  I remained on the Dean’s list for grades, and I juggled all my jobs and classes, and I had very little social life.   It was getting harder and harder to keep all the pieces of my life in the air without dropping some.   I was beginning to crack and break.

RESTORED!

A highlight of our lives was hosting Japanese teachers in our home, and then going to Japan to live with them.    It was during this time that I became aware of the Japanese philosophy  about beauty.    Beauty was linked to being unique, and we were told that very few children in Japan wear dental braces, as each unique mouth of teeth….. crooked or straight…. made the face one of a kind.

This philosophy of beauty is seen in everyday objects and art.  Indeed the ordinary everyday items ARE art!

Poetically translated to “golden joinery,” Kintsugi, or Kintsukuroi, is the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery. Rather than rejoin ceramic pieces with a camouflaged adhesive, the Kintsugi technique employs a special tree sap lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Once completed, beautiful seams of gold glint in the conspicuous cracks of ceramic wares, giving a one-of-a-kind appearance to each “repaired” piece.

This unique method celebrates each artifact’s unique history by emphasizing its fractures and breaks instead of hiding or disguising them. In fact, Kintsugi often makes the repaired piece even more beautiful than the original, revitalizing it with a new look and giving it a second life.

In addition to serving as an aesthetic principle, Kintsugi has long represented prevalent philosophical ideas. Namely, the practice is related to the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, which calls for seeing beauty in the flawed or imperfect. The repair method was also born from the Japanese feeling of mottainai, which expresses regret when something is wasted, as well as mushin, the acceptance of change.

https://mymodernmet.com/kintsugi-kintsukuroi/

RESTORED!!

My doll was not repaired, but I got over it.  My heart was broken about the canceled trip, but it healed.  My life was falling apart, but I discovered the power of Jesus and gave my life to Him.  He was able to restore me, to put me back together and make me into a unique  person to show His glory.

I was like Kintsugi.…. made into something beautiful  and one of a kind, by the use of something precious.

I was like wabi-sabi,….. flawed and imperfect, yet beautiful in the sight of God.

I was like mottainai….  I had regrets over my life that was wasted before I became a Christian.

I was like mushin….. accepting the change in my heart, and accepting the Lordship of Christ.

The broken pieces were put back together in a more glorious and beautiful way with the blood of Jesus!!!!!   I have a second life!   A born again life!!!   I am restored!!  Repaired!!

Father, the blood of Jesus sacrificed for me is like the precious gold in repairing what is broken.  Thank You for seeing the value in my life and putting my brokenness back together.   Amen.

To God be the Glory,

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An Open Letter to Those I Love

Just Thinking………..

Let’s pretend……. You know all about covid….. what it does…..  Pretend that you have tested positive and become very very ill. Doctors say you will die without some sort of healing medicine, but no such medicine is yet on the market.

Let’s continue to pretend. Pretend that I have found the magic elixir…… it is the perfect healing curing medicine.

But I don’t tell you about it. Why? I’m scared. Scared that you will laugh at me if I tell you about it. Scared that you will want nothing more to do with me. I’m not scared that it WON’T work; I AM scared of what you will think of me. You might think I’m a fanatic….. a loony case.

And so you die. I am there as you pass on, and the look in your eyes as you realize in your last breath that I could have told you about this medicine…… that look will haunt me the rest of my days.

This next part is not pretend. You know about death….. you know that all humans die. You may have a vague notion of heaven and hell, but it’s nothing very specific.  Maybe you don’t believe in God or heaven or hell.    You hope you are right……  You have the feeling that if there is a God, then He won’t let you go to hell. You’re not sure about how to go to heaven, but surely God will work it out for you…… won’t He? Aren’t we all God’s children?

This part is not pretend, either. I KNOW what one must do to go to heaven.  The Bible makes it really clear.  I totally believe that Jesus Christ died as a sin sacrifice for me. I believe that He rose again, that He ascended to heaven, and that He will come again. I believe that because I have confessed my sins to Him, have asked for forgiveness, and believe that He really did sacrifice for me, that I have been forgiven, and that I will be accepted into heaven.

It’s not because I did a certain number of good things, or that my good things outnumbered my bad things..  Jesus did it all. I only believed. I had to understand that no, we are NOT all God’s children….. not until we have entered His family as a believer. I had to understand that I did not deserve heaven, but God gave me mercy and grace.

What if I do not tell you this? I hope you live a long peaceful life….. but what if you don’t? What if you think you have time, and then time is suddenly canceled in an accident, or by a disease? Truly….. it will haunt me that I never told you about heaven.

There are some terrible times coming for our world. We know the world will end, and that every day takes us closer to the end. Already we see signs that have been predicted about the end of time. I believe that all Christians will be taken up to heaven and not have to go through the terrible times that will last for seven years. What if there is no one left to tell you about Jesus?

And so…… this letter to you. I love you. I want the best for you. I don’t want to be afraid to tell you that the cure for sin and a broken life is available.  Ask me about it.  Ask about my story.    Ask about the peace in the future that can be yours.

Father, give us Your boldness to speak Your truth and plans. Amen.

To God be the Glory……

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