Joy

Found in simple spaces
when lights have dimmed to ease
weariness of day from shoulders prone.

In the morning beams
where radiance sings
reserving stage for feathered accompaniment notes.

Shimmers in the shadows
like the fuzziness of heat,
but greats in bells that chime with chirping mirth.

Often hid amid
wide open space
blending with a magic you can not trace.

Given to the few
who look beyond circumstance
to find the lines God painted beneath.

Even when awash,
paying untold cost,
finding treasure hid and hold relief.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Six Word Stories (19)

Why is spring so fraught with rain?

Why does it pour and spatter and spit?

Dissolving snow and rinsing grime from my window pane, it’s like He knows the earth needs a good morning shower.

Or is it grief, a liquid love?

Does He weep for those who have fallen asleep in the cold shadow of winter’s rest?

Does He weep to awaken those who sleep in Gethsemane?

“Will you pray for me?”

The heavier the pour, the more of His tears I can hold to my heart.

I know He already prays for me.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo’s sourced from unsplash.com

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Love Is

Something felt and
something done.
An action filled emotion.
Understood
by not a one.

Something that was broken.
Something
to fill its cracks.
Something that’s so human
yet everybody lacks.

Something that is given,
flowing free
from Calvary.
Something overlooked
by lost humanity.

Hell is something’s absence,
a solitude of soul.
Hell on earth
refuses
to give something control.

Something
beyond our passions.
It pushes past our fear.
Something so elusive,
yet need is crystal clear.

Something that lingers,
still present
on our world.
Something that is woven,
into every atom curled.

Something is a someone.
He set the world
to spin.
Yet He made my soul,
To him, I am akin.

Someone who is calling,
wooing
humankind.
Back into arms
that are with something lined.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Spring Sunday

The passing winter mourned,
as busyness begins.
Remember friend,
dispute the sun
over rushing never wins.

Still, need for peace.
Yet thirst for rest.
Take the day God gifted you.
He knows what man needs best.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

I find myself pressing in to the simple things of life. Constantly reminded that my spirit has been calling for quiet for years, and now that I have it, it shouldn’t be abandoned. I never imagined God would use a pandemic to gift me rest. Despite the pain of isolation, he has helped me flourish in the last twelve months. I write this as my reminder to not forget.

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Tresses

Tips bright with borrowed light.
Soaked every strand,
took command.

Roots show through in ashen huge
whisper of years demands,
open hands.

Wisps array
as standing troops,
gently falling into loops.

Crowning character.
Grounding finger,
through tresses linger.

Catching thoughts
in webs
of morning knots.

Pulled and furled,
twist or braid,
spreading gray is unafraid.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Inhale Prayer

Fragile breath
a prayer tonight.

Shallow fighting for life.

Colorless gas,
absent of mass.

Until compressed inside vessels of glass.

Fragile vessels that never last.

Breathing in prayer.
Forcing out air.

Living worship,
existing praise,
humbled awe in gasps are raised.

All fragile breath,
never owned.

Revitalizing flesh and bone.
A gift,
on loan.

Incense sweet before the Throne.
Breaths are prayers,
all on their own.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Look Beyond

Look into the eyes of difference and see beauty.

Look into the face of change to see hope.

Look beyond normal and find promise.

Face the eyes of beyond and find a new bond.

A bond, unafraid to go beyond.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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The Day I Prayed to Die

The day I prayed to die,
I didn’t need any more why’s.
Wasn’t looking for reply’s,
there were no tears left to cry.

The day I prayed to die.

I wasn’t seeking heaven’s gate,
didn’t know if hell would be my fate.
Just knew I couldn’t longer wait,
to reach the end of livings state.

The day I prayed to die.

Question it a selfish prayer?
Of others, I was keenly aware.
But my pain just didn’t care,
it had become too much to bare.

The day I prayed to die.

No longer worth the constant strain,
exhaustion was my daily chain.
I knew I could no longer feign,
on others, I was now a drain.

The day I prayed to die.

Better just to cease to be,
everyone would then be free.
Grieve then moved away from me,
was my unstable inner plea.

The day I prayed to die.

I got no answer on that day.
Silent heaven wouldn’t life betray.
A barred path to its doorway.
Hell also couldn’t let me pay.

The day I prayed to die.

That day passed into the next,
continuation left me vexed.
I was blinded and perplexed.
“God, please, no more checks.”

Again, I prayed to die.

With no end and no relief,
exhaustion now pared with grief.
Greif was growing disbelief,
my prayer demanded a debrief.

Yes, I prayed to die.

Anger at the silent space,
God’s hand, I couldn’t trace.
Left me reeling, self disgrace,
numb to mercy’s embrace.

Still, I prayed to die.

Yet, God’s grace held true.
By degrees, it ever grew.
Working on my tainted view.
Willing to pull me through.

Even though I prayed to die.

See, my God will have his way.
His hand carry’s every day.
Promises will ever stay,
when his child walks astray,

or even prays to die.

Slowly life changing me,
life I wished I could flee.
Locked to earth by God’s decree.
Not my life, but his, you see.

He wouldn’t let me die.

Here I am, still in the mix.
God knows, I’m no easy fix.
Though I’m still one, he picks,
whatever life inflicts.

Steady prayers still fly,
though none ask to die.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Hosanna Joy

Her lips were purple,
her face a powder white.
I knew my baby sister wasn’t right.

“She’s now in heaven,”
said a mother torn in grief.
“For the first time she knows relief.”

An unfinished pine box,
made by my father’s hands.
Everyone in a daze of funeral plans.

“Goodbye baby sister,
there are few as strong as you.
We won’t forget battles you fought through.”

Holding tight the ribbon,
my balloon dark maroon.
Let it go. Watch the crowd disperse too soon.

Just a memory
in a five year olds mind.
Deepened with my seasons and outlined.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo of Hosanna Joy and Mary Grace.

Empty Footsteps

A trail of empty footsteps
all around is whiteness new
in those empty footsteps
are all my thoughts of you

In the softest flakes
that drift on breath to earth
I hear lilting whispers
reminding me of worth

Worth that can’t be measured
worth that won’t decrease
worth that’s my inheritance
it offers up release

As the empty footsteps
fill with weeping snow
again I am reminded
it’s you who truly know

Every longing fault
every triumph found
all mishandled
moments that abound

Before my earthly birth
before the turning age
you knew my entirety
including my backstage

No longer empty footsteps
we both are now abrim
tears of quiet gratitude
as I rims of puddles skim

© 2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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