What limits?

Can you give me a one-by-three, red?
How about the hinge piece, in grey?
I need an angle, in blue, but three wide.
Right angles, stacking on top, below.

Some special, some classic.
Given enough pieces and enough time
would a six year old build the universe?

Some from new sets, others so old.
Given enough pieces and enough time
would Daddy build a masterpiece?

Some limits are by scale and size.
Who has room for the whole ship
on the kitchen floor, where we walk?

Some limits are by imagination and age.
Who can imagine what they cannot
picture in their minds fertile and bold?

Movies made in stop action, car chase
sound effects for a space movie
cause that's all you know how to make,

If we are limited by only our heart
and by our imagination then why
are we not changing the world yet?

What if the limits that hold us back
are nothing stronger than the fears
that kept someone back before?

If a mustard seed sized faith does
mountains move, then what does
a faith the size of a one by one stud do?

Love, life and Lego...inspired by my son, playing on the floor, having a Castle, Ninja, Star Wars and Indiana Jones imagination extravaganza with an audience of dogs while the winter sun casts shadows on a drifted yard.  

Love in Farm Country

Love in farm country isn't all theatre, wine and roses.
Sometimes it is doing the chores first so she can sleep.
Sometimes it is getting a bit of extra lumber for him.

Love in farm country isn't all dressed up and going out.
Sometimes it is warming up a truck on a cold day.
Sometimes it is making sure the fire is going strong.

Love in farm country isn't often easy, not always fun.
Sometimes is breaks your heart in a flood, fire or storm.
Sometimes it jerks you up short in a field fight for two.

Love in farm country isn't often dancing and high heels.
Sometimes it is making the first move on a tough job.
Sometimes it is leaning on a fence, just being together.

Love in farm country isn't easy on girls faces or men's hands.
Sometimes it gives us burns, cuts and wrinkles too early.
Sometimes it gives away so much more than it brings home.

Love in farm country isn't how we make a living, not here.
Love in farm country is how we make a life, right here.
Love in farm country is more, and less, simple and complex.

For my Husband Earl, I love you!


Copyright 2012 Shanyn Silinski

Does his own stunts

Today I'm linking up with the M.O.B. Society "Let's Hear it For the Boys". Please stop by and see the other blogs linking up there!

 Mama! I got up here myself! I'm a real stuntman!

We know real stuntmen and he is fearless like them.  

Not too fearless though, cause Mama's heart needs him safe still!

 Mama, I love you!

I love you too pal! You are my joy. 

 Sleeping like a cat in the sun...good job buddy!

Thumbs up Mama! This is so much fun!

I'm a Mama to a boy. A farm boy, a stuntman in training, a special boy who loves to learn and play. A boy who can ask about good and evil and Star Wars all day long!  He loves Jesus and God's creation.  

I'm proud of his giving heart, his loving spirit. He is a true witness to grace.

He makes me so proud doing his school work, practicing jui jitsui and looking out for littler guys.  He is teaching his puppy to be a jui jitsui dog because she was abandoned as a baby, tied up in the bush, and is very afraid of so many things.  He wonders about saving hearts and having them grow large in love, and how God works in the world.  He loves reading the Bible with me.

I don't brag about him much, but I'm really proud to be raising this child, this special miracle from God, and praying and guiding him into being a big guy.  His Daddy and I love him, and honour him.

Merry Christmas!

Wishing you all the brightest blessings of the season for your family and friends.

(Click on the image if you wish to see the card larger!)

Five Minute Friday: Loss

Crowd pressed around, smells of the city.

Dirty, gritty, gas and oil.

Concrete and asphalt.

Sweat and perfume.

People press and I push it down.

Then a scent ribbons past me.

My head turns, nose up wolfish.

I know that scent, that memory.

Turning, I scan the crowd.

Searching for the impossible.

You are gone, long since gone.

Your voice faded away,

your face soft and distant.

That scent brings it all back!

That smell of you!

Scents, I wish I could see how

They carry memories so light.

Twisting ribbons of scent

tangling my heart, twisting my mind.

Just one instant and it all comes back.

Losing you, missing you, holding you.

Our last words an argument.

Our last night talking in a pick up truck.

Me fighting, you quitting.

Strangled with a second of scent,

that noose of a memory.

Then, in tears, I realize it is gone.

I seek with my nose, my heart, my eyes.

That crowd, improbable and dense.

Finding you there, a delicate thread

of memory strung along to my heart

all the way by the scent of your memory.

Losing Kelly was the hardest grief, it was and still is the loss of a friendship and a love that never truly got a chance to fully bloom.  


Shared on Gooseberry Garden: http://gooseberrygoespoetic.blogspot.com/2011/10/poetry-picnic-week-7-love-and-loss.html