Hope

Today the first flowers in my garden bloomed - daffodils. Is there any better embodiment of Hope than the first bloom of spring?

Lately, thoughts of "Hope" have been at the forefront of my mind. As I prepare to head back to my hometown of Slave Lake, Alberta, to recognise the first anniversary of the devastating wildfire of May 15th, 2011, and begin the author readings of the book written for its occasion, "Hope is in Our Hands," I can't help but think back to that evening when 40% of my childhood town burned, when my husband raced north to battle the flames along side his firefighting brothers, when I anxiously awaited news from friends and family fleeing the scenes of Hell, when I fervently prayed, on my knees in my bedroom, that the lives of the people of Slave Lake and Area would be spared, when thousands held their breaths, waiting, praying, hoping.

In the end, one life was lost. That of Pilot Jean-Luc Deba of Montreal, whose helicopter crashed while he aided the emergency workers after the evacuation. It is incredible that no more perished, but to say "only one life" is horrifically insensitive. His was the life of one that was loved and needed; he was the world to many.

Others lost homes, pets, their lives' work. Many lived day-to-day in the last year, simply working to get their basic needs met, to have a daily life considered "normal" in our society.

And after this devastation, this extreme loss and heartbreak, what is left? I can't draw from my own words, so please allow me to quote. What is left, always:

"Faith, Hope, and Love. And the greatest of these, is Love."
1 Corinthians, 13:13

One year stronger, Slave Lake. Although my life is now lived in another part of our beautiful province, I am so proud to call you home.

For You.

I don't write a lot of poetry, but sometimes lines fill up my head that I feel I. MUST. USE. and they won't fit in any essays or stories I'm pondering (and yes, there are always at least three writing projects filling up my head, but, as most writers do, I hate to write - but love to have written). And, since this is the last post of April, and April is Poetry Month, this is fitting. Enjoy.

For You.
For you, I am the moon, calm and beckoning, guiding your steps.
For you, I study the moods, wants, hopes and fears of your spirit.
For you, I utter the forgotten tongues of infancy.
For you, my kisses dispense slumber on your tired eyes, and promise sweet dreams.

For you, I am a memory keeper; a collector of paper scraps, outgrown booties, over-told stories, discarded locks of curls and forgotten playmates.
For you, I celebrate sun, rain, snow, thunder, lightning, and the still of the night.
For you, I laugh, clap, sing and dance with abandon.
For you, my heart rings steady joy.

For you, I let doubts float away on the wind.
For you, I drench the flames of my temper with love.
For you, I have bent, changed, broke, wept, grown and transformed, again and again.
For you, I pray unceasingly.

For you, I wish, I dream, I nurture, I live.
For you, I mother.

Frozen Cheerios April Fools

April Fools! Cailena was NOT impressed, but at least Chloe was like, "Good one Mom!"