Sometimes I Do Not Even Pray In Words

Sometimes I do not even pray in words,
I take my heart in my two hands
And hold it up before the Lord,
I'm so glad He understands.

Sometimes I do not even pray in words,
My spirit bows before His feet,
And with His hand upon my head
We just hold communion, silent, sweet.

Sometimes I do not pray in words,
For I am tired and long for rest,
And my heart finds all it needs
Just resting on the Savior's gentle breast.
By Martha Snell-Nicholson

A Good Age

This is one of my favorite pix. That sweet child is our now 21 year old son playing an arcade game. At least he thought he was playing an arcade game. He was too young to know that you had to put money in, to get them to play. He just watched the little preview of the game and twisted the knobs thinking he was making it work! Such innocence. Such joy. It didn't matter to him that the game really wasn't playing. I love the fact that this pix captured him standing on his tippy-toes to see the screen.

We were on a weekend vacation at a motel and had just gotten out of the pool. He was still wet and wearing his daddy's T-shirt. He had had the beach towel around him, but as you can see that was quickly thrown on the floor. The arcade games had to be played each time we passed by them.

This jogged my memory of a time that we went to Florida on vacation. On that trip he noticed every billboard and restaurant sign and was quick to point out any McDonald's that we happened to miss. He also noticed all the billboards with Bob Vila on them, only he called him Bob Beela. So most of the way down the interstate we heard, "Look! There's Bob Beela!" Yes, we were remodeling way back then.

The Pleasures of Ordinary Life

I've had my share of necessary losses,
Of dreams I know no longer can come true.
I'm done now with the whys and the becauses.
It's time to make things good, not just make do.
It's time to stop complaining and pursue
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

I used to rail against my compromises.
I yearned for the wild music, the swift race.
But happiness arrived in new disguises:
Sun lighting a child's hair. A friend's embrace.
Slow dancing in a safe and quiet place.
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

I'll have no trumpets, triumphs, trails of glory.
It seems the woman I've turned out to be
Is not the heroine of some grand story.
But I have learned to find the poetry
In what my hands can touch, my eyes can see.
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

Young fantasies of magic and of mystery
Are over. But they really can't compete
With all we've built together: A long history.
Connections that help render us complete.
Ties that hold and heal us. And the sweet,
Sweet pleasures of an ordinary life.

Judith Viorst

This way! No! This way!