Living in Chaos: Survival

A light draft is blowing
through the screens on my porch.
My children are smiling,
and laughter is rolling by
on gentle breezes.

The dogs lay quietly under my chair,
and the bunny is hopping by,
whiskers twitching in question
at the scented wind.

Soft country melodies
waft on cushioned notes
and eyelids begin to drift away.
Half eaten luncheon sits
lone and forgotten
on plates drawing buzzing flies.

Birds are twittering in the trees,
clouds are drifting along on the wind,
and God's smiles are landing light at my feet,
delivered on rays from the sun.
My home is redolent
with the silence of peace.

Nothing I do�
Nothing I try�
Nothing I say�
�till the day that I die�

will ever give me the strength and the power
to achieve the level of grace given to me.
What did I ever do to deserve his love,
held out to me for the asking?
How can I partake of this glorious repast?

I am unworthy.
I am unfit.
I am unclean.

I sit here alone, desolated and dry,
despairing and hopeless, unable to cry.
Why is it so hard to ask and receive?
To understand that he is offering, free,
his love and acceptance,
forgiveness and peace,
and all that is asked,
is that I believe.

At times I huddle alone in the dark
and wonder where joy has gone
These times I shiver in the chill,
as my soul is pierced by your gaze

Nighttimes are often most dreary,
when I�ve kissed your stiff cheek in the gloom
These times oft� rise to o�erwhelm me,
as the pain of our day closes in

Yet times remain in my memory
of occasional smiles, unexpected
This time urges me to keep striving
in hopes that you�ll yet find the dawn

Daytimes leave me drained and exhausted
after chasing your contrary soul
At times I watch you and wonder
how you�ll survive when you�re grown

Naptimes are a God-given mercy
allowing me time to regroup
Soft times when you drop your defenses
and I can hold you close as you sleep

Most times I collapse in the dark
when all of you kids are in bed
Prayer time delivers my spirit,
descending on me in my doubts

My eyes burn, dry, salted from years of tears
Desiccated, my heart seems a desert
Parched for love, thirsting for hope,
craving a single drop of rain
to fall on my waterless soul

How long ago did I open
my arms to his hurting spirit?
How many times have I stood
battered under the hail of his pain?
How can I stop and walk away
when he remains within his cage?
How did my plans to rescue him
draw me, instead, into his prison?
How can his small soul
have endured so much pain,
and be so resistant to change?

Every day I dig a little deeper
Every hour I pray a little harder
Every minute I search for a sign
Every moment I hope to see
a drop of moisture, at the bed of his well
a spot of light, breaking through his eyes
an instant of recognition, connection,
a return on my investment�
affection

I will not give up
I cannot give in
He sits alone in dungeons of desolation
just as I found him, not that long ago.
There has to be a pathway,
a stairway, a rope to reach him
I took this task, willingly
I love this child, consciously
I hold his heart in my hands, gratefully
and sometimes, in the black of day,
I feel his hand reach out to mine