There is a season, turn, turn, turn . . .

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Impressions of Fall

Originally posted on Apronhead:
? St. Andrew’s Abbey ? ?

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Fall in Water Color

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Stillborns Cry

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly



I knew you were free,


I still mourned.

I wanted you.

I wanted you to

feel pain—

to laugh and cry,

to be held,

to whine,

to bruise the knee,

bruise the spirit,

be comforted—

to be human.


your humanity lies in ashes,

part of a hundred trees and bushes

that live,

and you don’t.

You are free to be

with God,


I still mourn . . .

At your birth, I cried

when you didn’t.


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My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Pain and Hope

On this day, now 43 years later, I remember . . .


img_7271I woke suddenly in the wee hours, the dark hours. Was it the weird dream I was having? Maybe. But aside from that, I immediately was aware that I had passed the anniversary of my first child’s death and had not remembered.

That was what kept me awake.

I stopped hearing the heartbeat with my stethoscope on Nov. 18, ’74. The doctor confirmed my full-term child was dead on the 18th, and I gave birth to her on the 19th. Every year at this time, whether I say anything or not, the loss rises up. And though time has healed the rawness of the wound, the grief has always been there.

But not this year.

The loss of Noelle colored my whole life. It framed my internal dialogue with God about what is just and right, and what is love in His eternal economy.  I wrote…

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When You Can’t

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

When you can’t cry, or will not because your heart is hard,

I will cry for you—tears to seek the cracks, a way in.

When you can’t listen, I will be your ears

to hear the hope in a flower, a bird, a sunset, a melody.

When you can’t speak, I will whisper words your heart would say

in unguarded moments, if it could crawl from beneath the dead weight.

When you can’t believe—when your faith lisps with fragile emptiness,

I will believe in the darkness for both of us.

When you can’t pray, I will pray.

When you can’t,

when you won’t,

I will

with hope.

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This One Moment

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

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The past clings to me–wraps itself around my ankles;

footfalls of memory drag my faith down.

The future looms big yet empty,

filled with possibility–often empty of direction.

But I have this moment.

I have this moment to seek,

to surrender,

to die to self.

I have this moment to be kind,

to be devout,

to love.

And I will leave the past and the future to God

for I have this one moment

to live.

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Beyond the Curtain

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

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A misty curtain hides what will be, but

my now is part of that then.

Though unseen but for glimpses and hope, I muddle through

on the darker side, the dying side, pushing even closer to light and color that calls.

As if in a sleep, I guard my steps,

moving in

and on; and

there is somehow a knowing that beyond the curtain where true truth lives,

I will finally and fully be awake.

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Nursery Rhymes Re-visited

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

Jack Sprat could eat no fat—80-10-10.
His wife could eat no lean–Paleo.
And so between them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean.

Jack and Jill went down the hill (makes more sense)
To fetch a pail of water.
Jill fell down and broke her crown,
And Jack came tumbling after (gender equality).

Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock (duh),
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all (Call Child Services!).

The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.
Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain
And the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again (the American economy for the middle class).

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words . . . hurt more.

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