Love Not Hate (A Poem by Cathy Gruman)

practice love not hate
before it's too late
but how to love in the midst of this
can only be left to one's own belief.

Without Resolve (A poem by Cathy Gruman)

It took her five years and four months to forget about what they did to her.
They hurt her feelings, her self worth, and she couldn't let it go,
understandably so.
How could they not see their wrong
she tried to tell them, to explain, but it only came back in torrents of pain.
Unaccepted is where she stood.
How was she supposed to forgive when they refused to see
when the cut was so deep
when she needed time to heal
before she could begin to let go?
Aren't there supposed to be equal parts between you and me?
Even if they truly couldn't see
does she still forgive
or wait until the sun rises above the clouds
making clarity shout outloud
for her to see the path bright, shiny and new
leading the way for her to say I forgive you?
When she finally understands?
When the why's and who's and how's
are finally clear in her mind,
making sense
to make it right
to make it right to forgive?

And when he was breathing his final breaths
he turned to this Jesus man he didn't know but heard about
the buzz of the town
and the cries of the people
were all around
all the carnage left behind
of what he did, unspeakable acts.
Those he hurt, the lives he took,
the lives he ruined
they would never get resolve.
But maybe I, he thought
even me, with all the rest
no one else would think it
I'm getting what I deserve now
and I'm almost gone,
but there's still time, maybe.
It's what I've heard anyway.
So he turned and gave it a try,
Would you please, he murmured
forgive me too?
And in an instant
he received
just like that.

Dragonfly (A Poem by Cathy Gruman)

Dragonfly, you zip around like royalty
zooming past me with your easy breezy attitude.
Your engine running with a low humming sound,
not meaning any harm, you're just hanging around.
Flying high, dipping low
your body giving off a glow.
Are you a fairy?
I don't know,
but with your ethereal presence
it could be so.
So tell me dragonfly
who are you, and what are you doing on my shoe?
Where's your sister fairy girl?
You could take her out and give her a whirl,
but you're with me now, this I see
I kinda like it, let's let it be.
Cathy Gruman

A Blessy Mess

I'm a mess and I am blessed.
The clothesline twisted as the wind began to whirl.
The pants, shirts, socks and panties did sommersalts around the line,
while the box of clothespins went skating across the lawn.
I chased after the pins, and the box skidded further along, scratching the ground and making that sound we all hate.
The clothes I hung were my favorite worn jeans, not the skinny sexy type, but old Ralph Lauren faded bootcut, a size too big with partial worn freys on the pant legs.
There hung too, a couple of favorite tee's and two new panties; and I rarely wear matching socks so two blacks not matching were there too.
The church meeting was good in part, but some of it wore on my nerves.
Stop pretending and get on with living.
Say what you mean and stop blinking;
He knows what's inside and is bored with that dummy up thinking
that gets us nowhere but in front of blank stares.
He likes my worn clothes, my twisted up laundry
and the box that won't come back until I'm ready to go get it;
the scattered pins and my worn out jeans.
The weeds in my yard show a lack of regard,
but my panties are new
and that's one over you.

bye bye facebook "friends"

I deleted "friends" from facebook who never write me back. Sometimes old friends are gems where the love is still alive; if I were to write them out of the blue, they would respond immediately with love and endearing words, so still worth the energy of putting myself out there. But, some old friends are dormant relationships better kept as fond memories.

My Hall of Famers (Essay by Cathy Gruman)

There's a great passage in the Bible (Hebrews 11)that lists all of these people who had faith in their particular circumstances. Some versions call it "The Triumph of Faith", some call it "The Hall of Fame". Sometimes the prize doesn't come within those circustances but at a much later time. I'm not a theologian so I won't try to explain it. Besides, if you read it, you'll get out of it what you should. I've noticed that when reading the Bible. After my walk to Starbucks early this foggy morning, I sat at my table to start my day off by meditating and praying, just asking God to help me through the day. Then my thoughts turned to thanking him for everything he has done in my life. Then he brought to mind people who have made a difference in my life from way back when I was growing up. Their words and actions have made such a strong impression that they have helped shape the course of my life as well as get me back on course many times. In some cases the scenarios are symbolic, like Kent Tucker's, who I list below. Their words and actions are constant whispers to me even today as I trudge forward for the prize. The funny thing is, not one of them preached to me. They just loved me in their own way. I'm calling them my "Hall of Famers". There are others not mentioned here, I'm just listing those who I feel compelled to write about this morning. I hope you enjoy - Cate.

My Hall of Famers (Cathy Gruman)

Eva Starky, a lady from my mom's church who always looked out for me.
Bob Biehl, a friend of my dad's, who asked me one day, "What do priorities mean to you?" He also told me to keep writing.
Ray Johnston, who let me tag along with him on many of his errands in Jr. High and High School, and looked out for me like his little sister.
Kent Tucker, a junior high counselor, who picked me up out of the ocean, during a rip tide. When he picked me up, he had a big smile on his face and said, "Are you okay?", then tossed me toward the shore. The water came to his waist, but I seemed to be drowning. This moment reminds me of how God has done that in my life, scoops me up and tosses me to shore, and the waves are never big for Him.
Sally, a junior high counselor, who spent time with me, Carol and Michelle. She was a very shy person, but put herself out there for us.
Steve Schibsted, a friend from high school who always accepted me.
Marilyn Benzel, a friend of my mom and dads, who is a great example of a woman who pursued her goals and finished college in her adult life. She is smart and funny and intelligent. I think of her when I want to quit my dreams.
Cliff Benzel, he opened the door for me for my first job at World Vision International. He's extremely intelligent and laid back; he has been a constant pillar.
Peter and Carol Schreck, a couple who reached out and welcomed me into their lives when they were in California. Smart, fun, insightful and loving.
Desiree, a friend who spent time with me when I was messing up my life and needed someone to talk to.
Jeff and Peg Seyfert, Family friends who have always been there for me. I know I can go there anytime and feel welcome.
Roger Beard, used to be the pastor at Parkcrest Church. About 10 years ago, my second visit to his church I put a note in the offering plate with my phone number, saying I wanted to lead a women's support group. He called me that week and invited me to come in and talk about it. I was amazed at his acceptance of me and his willingness to support me in my idea.
Kaye Beard, I called her out of the blue one day and asked if she would pray with me because I was really hurting and needed help. She said yes, and we met every Thursday for a few months in the women's bathroom lounge at Parkcrest just talking and praying together. We've been great friends ever since.
Jon and Joan Archer, they sort of adopted me as their babysitter during my junior high and high school years. I probably pestered them too much, but they kept loving me.
Connie Luder, an amazing English teacher who didn't let me get away with anything. English was my best subject and one semester I decided to screw around and not do my homework, so she gave me a "D". I was shocked that she would do that. But she said I deserved it, and I better shape up, so I did.
Eileen Filatreau, a wonderful friend of my mom's who spent a lot of time with us kids. We hadn't talked to her for many years, and when my mom died this June, she tracked us kids down to see how we were doing.
Janet Anderson, a daughter of one my mom's friends who used to take us kids to the beach, a lot. She was a cool girl and I remember feeling that we were worth her time.
Bill Guptill, Managing Partner at a CPA firm I used to work at shortly after my divorce many years ago. He helped me write my budget and get me out of debt. He saw something in me and spent probably more time than most bosses would.
Joyce Gruman, fiercely loved me even when we didn't get along.
Ed Gruman, an angel who came into my life during a time I really needed him. During the several years I was struggling with direction in my life, he continued to love and accept me for me. I felt rejected by the church and Christians and he would always say, "God loves you", that's what matters. It doesn't matter what other people think," and he would smile with an amazing confidence. When I would be worried or scared, he would say, "Don't fret." His acceptance helped me to quit feeling ashamed and ask for God's help about 15 years ago, who by the way, scooped me up quickly and gently tossed me back to the shore.
Ronald Harmon, my dad who allowed us to find each other again in our own ways and has been a great support and strength to me these last several years. His wisdom is profound and his love for me carries me along as I trudge forward in this life.

All of these people have been given to me by God and I thank him for them. They were just being themselves, the people God made them to be, in my life, and I thank them for it.

How to Dry a Rose (a Poem by Felicia Mitchell)

I recently visited Asheville, a wonderful little mountain town in North Carolina. There's a cool little bookstore called Malaprops where I bought a chapbook of poems by Felicia Mitchell, called "The Cleft of a Rock". I am so touched by her writing and this poem in particular, so wanted to share. Happy November 1, Cate.

How to Dry a Rose, by Felicia Mitchell
Before the life blooms out of it,
hang it upside down. In a dry place,
away from direct sunlight. But warm
and airy like autumn in Georgia
when the leaves fall red at your feet
like rose petals at a wedding
or God's tears when you die.
Use a clothespin or a wire. Strip
foilage from the flower stem, unless
you desire a leaf or two to remain
hanging on the stem, some dim green
reminder of some month or a grave.
And forget about it. Forget about the rose
among the rafters, among the boxes of books
you will never read again and the trunks
of clothes you will never fit into again
and the cobwebs clotted with ladybugs
and flies. In a month or two, it will surprise
you, this rose, when you are looking for a
suitcase or a file of canceled checks. When
you least suspect it. When the red has faded
to a more acceptable pallor and the leaves
are brittle to the touch. By then, you will
be ready to remember how your friend looked
when she lay in the casket, the rouge on her face
not much palor than the roses at the alter.
The tears in your eyes like falling leaves,
your arms like the branches of a tree in winter.