2010 has contained a lot of pain for me. Physical in nature, for the most part. I'm not sad to see it go. But every new year, I wonder, what have I done? And I think, what will I do now? Why does this night seem different? Why do I feel some need to "start over?" Me and the rest of the world....
Each morning should be like tomorrow morning. Each new sunrise should make me think about my resourcefulness and usefulness - what did I do with the passing day that was worthwhile? It should make me realize that I have one more opportunity. To be kind, to love, to make a difference in someone's life. To make a difference in my own life.
So, apart from learning to write a new year when I date things, perhaps tomorrow should hold no other charm for me, but a new sunrise, more breath, more heartbeats (however fast and wonky they may be). And I should just start from there.
Happy New Year.
Happy New Day.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
In Pursuit of Palpitations
I have become too aware of my heart
Beating, Pumping
I seem to notice everything now
I wait for it to make itself known again
and realize that for so long, I barely knew it existed.
Sometimes I am surprised by my own heart
as if it lays in wait to jump out and scare me,
to take my breath away.
As I wait, I wonder
What of my other heart?
Am I aware of how it is growing or dying?
Growing by loving others
Dying by hurting them
Have I been attentive enough
to its continual need of change?
I have allowed physicians to meddle
with my heart of flesh.
Have I allowed The Great Physician
to cure the heart of my soul?
December 10, 2010
Naomi G. Martinez-Goldstick
Beating, Pumping
I seem to notice everything now
I wait for it to make itself known again
and realize that for so long, I barely knew it existed.
Sometimes I am surprised by my own heart
as if it lays in wait to jump out and scare me,
to take my breath away.
As I wait, I wonder
What of my other heart?
Am I aware of how it is growing or dying?
Growing by loving others
Dying by hurting them
Have I been attentive enough
to its continual need of change?
I have allowed physicians to meddle
with my heart of flesh.
Have I allowed The Great Physician
to cure the heart of my soul?
December 10, 2010
Naomi G. Martinez-Goldstick
Friday, October 8, 2010
The View From a Bed
I was recently put to bed
By my misbehaving heart
And doctors, nurses rushed about me
Asked me questions
Questions
Questions
And on they went
Parading by my bed
Stopping for a moment
To poke
Prod
Listen
Stopping to administer
Record
Feed and water
And moving on again
But there were some
A very few
Who stopped to talk
And laugh, even just a little
Who reminded me
That I am a person
As real as they are
And I could see them
In my mind’s eye
At home, in their car,
In love, afraid,
Weary, brave, and laughing
Just like me.
My frustrations
Melt away as I see the hands
Of another human
Not a doctor,
Not a nurse,
A human being, much braver than I
Here with me
And my misbehaving heart.
Naomi G. Martinez-Goldstick
Dedicated to
Melissa and Brent (CRMC)
Josh and Dr. Tendler (SWEP Clinic)
October 8, 2010
By my misbehaving heart
And doctors, nurses rushed about me
Asked me questions
Questions
Questions
And on they went
Parading by my bed
Stopping for a moment
To poke
Prod
Listen
Stopping to administer
Record
Feed and water
And moving on again
But there were some
A very few
Who stopped to talk
And laugh, even just a little
Who reminded me
That I am a person
As real as they are
And I could see them
In my mind’s eye
At home, in their car,
In love, afraid,
Weary, brave, and laughing
Just like me.
My frustrations
Melt away as I see the hands
Of another human
Not a doctor,
Not a nurse,
A human being, much braver than I
Here with me
And my misbehaving heart.
Naomi G. Martinez-Goldstick
Dedicated to
Melissa and Brent (CRMC)
Josh and Dr. Tendler (SWEP Clinic)
October 8, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
What Beauty Runs Before Me
I get to see beauty, to touch it, to hear it. Every day. Her laughter rings through the air, mixing and turning with the sounds of a bow across strings. Her moral fiber and unquestionable faith weave a miraculous tapestry highlighted with wit, charm, and humor. The depths of her empathic love crash like waves over all she touches.
How is it she has only lived nine years? As I reach out to stroke her hair, as if to try and catch her, I marvel at her. Me? I'm the one chosen to be her mother? It seems I have always known her, and yet, I am voracious for knowledge of who she will be.
She runs and the wind sweeps her hair and her giggles trail behind her like bubbles. How can I hold her? How can I keep her? How can I let her go?
Please, please, Lord. Please help me to at least remember every brush stroke, every note, every word written. Help me to keep each laugh, bottle each hug. Help me to understand, to love the way she does, unwaveringly and without reserve.
What beauty runs before me, what treasure reveals itself day by day.
How is it she has only lived nine years? As I reach out to stroke her hair, as if to try and catch her, I marvel at her. Me? I'm the one chosen to be her mother? It seems I have always known her, and yet, I am voracious for knowledge of who she will be.
She runs and the wind sweeps her hair and her giggles trail behind her like bubbles. How can I hold her? How can I keep her? How can I let her go?
Please, please, Lord. Please help me to at least remember every brush stroke, every note, every word written. Help me to keep each laugh, bottle each hug. Help me to understand, to love the way she does, unwaveringly and without reserve.
What beauty runs before me, what treasure reveals itself day by day.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Change
Our little family is facing a big change.
We are about to buy a house. A real house, with a driveway, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a fireplace, a garage, a walk-in closet. It is everything we have needed for so long. And much of what we wanted. God has blessed us and my husband has worked so hard to put us in a good financial position so that this is possible. I am thankful to both.
My kids finally get their own rooms! So long overdue. They have big plans - and even a few fears. Mom gets to finally find out who the real slob is! haha. Yikes. Perhaps it is both of them!
My husband gets to have his dream of a yard to putter in, grass to cut, bushes to trim. My children will know the joys of having a garden. I still remember the radishes, cucumbers, and carrots I grew as a child. Our lives will spill out into a yard that is more than a covered concrete porch. I get to gaze out at our lush green back yard from my dining room bay window. I get to watch the hummingbirds come and greet me.
I relish the thought of being able to sit and study my Bible at my bedroom window with a view of that beautiful back yard, listening to the birds singing up a storm in the bushes. I long to spread out in that big master suite and not worry about space (at least for a while...).
I can't wait to inhabit the kitchen and decorate the great room, to have a party and throw open the french doors to the back yard, to sit on the porch in the rain and enjoy the peace and quiet.
I nearly cried last night when I realized that next Christmas I will have a fireplace from which to hang our stockings. That's just priceless to me.
We found the house after weeks of online searching and one day of visiting (our decision made easy by school district boundaries and our desire to keep our commutes in the same range) and we fell in love when we walked in. We offered, we inspected, and now we wait and pack.
But as I pack up this old tiny townhouse, I find myself fearing the change. This is where my baby girl took her first steps. The small common grass area right beside our house will always be "my own backyard" which is what my 4-year-old son exclaimed when we came to see this house back in 2001. It was never really his, but we've kicked many a ball out there and even had Hannah's 2-year birthday party there.
I will miss this kitchen, small as it is. Completely torn out a few years ago due to mold and then rebuilt again. We built each cabinet with our own hands (and the help of the cute little Ikea man on the instructions), We replaced the sink and dishwasher with the help of a dear friend. So many memories.
This fridge, the backdrop of ever-evolving artistic abilities.
This living room, where my daughter first drew a bow across a violin.
We have built and rebuilt our lives here. The first place we called our own. It will be hard to leave.
We will still own it, so it's not like it is lost forever. We are renting it to a relative, so we can come "visit" our memories. But it won't be the same.
Is it possible to be homesick for a place you haven't left yet?
Still, in my mind's eye, I find myself already looking out windows that I don't yet own. I see myself sitting in front of a fire not yet lit. I see my prized R.C. Gorman print hanging over the mantle. I see our cats excitedly watching the birds from the dining room window. I see our children sleeping in their own space. I hear music echoing off the vaulted ceiling. I see my car in a garage (a garage!!!) And I know this is the right thing.
Change is exicting and hard and good and bad and painful and fun. It is all those things. And I am ready for it.
Oh, and to those ladies out there - packing up your bathroom is a good time to use that peel-off-mask you thought you lost and found again. And your kids will get a kick out of mom's "plastic face". :-)
We are about to buy a house. A real house, with a driveway, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a fireplace, a garage, a walk-in closet. It is everything we have needed for so long. And much of what we wanted. God has blessed us and my husband has worked so hard to put us in a good financial position so that this is possible. I am thankful to both.
My kids finally get their own rooms! So long overdue. They have big plans - and even a few fears. Mom gets to finally find out who the real slob is! haha. Yikes. Perhaps it is both of them!
My husband gets to have his dream of a yard to putter in, grass to cut, bushes to trim. My children will know the joys of having a garden. I still remember the radishes, cucumbers, and carrots I grew as a child. Our lives will spill out into a yard that is more than a covered concrete porch. I get to gaze out at our lush green back yard from my dining room bay window. I get to watch the hummingbirds come and greet me.
I relish the thought of being able to sit and study my Bible at my bedroom window with a view of that beautiful back yard, listening to the birds singing up a storm in the bushes. I long to spread out in that big master suite and not worry about space (at least for a while...).
I can't wait to inhabit the kitchen and decorate the great room, to have a party and throw open the french doors to the back yard, to sit on the porch in the rain and enjoy the peace and quiet.
I nearly cried last night when I realized that next Christmas I will have a fireplace from which to hang our stockings. That's just priceless to me.
We found the house after weeks of online searching and one day of visiting (our decision made easy by school district boundaries and our desire to keep our commutes in the same range) and we fell in love when we walked in. We offered, we inspected, and now we wait and pack.
But as I pack up this old tiny townhouse, I find myself fearing the change. This is where my baby girl took her first steps. The small common grass area right beside our house will always be "my own backyard" which is what my 4-year-old son exclaimed when we came to see this house back in 2001. It was never really his, but we've kicked many a ball out there and even had Hannah's 2-year birthday party there.
I will miss this kitchen, small as it is. Completely torn out a few years ago due to mold and then rebuilt again. We built each cabinet with our own hands (and the help of the cute little Ikea man on the instructions), We replaced the sink and dishwasher with the help of a dear friend. So many memories.
This fridge, the backdrop of ever-evolving artistic abilities.
This living room, where my daughter first drew a bow across a violin.
We have built and rebuilt our lives here. The first place we called our own. It will be hard to leave.
We will still own it, so it's not like it is lost forever. We are renting it to a relative, so we can come "visit" our memories. But it won't be the same.
Is it possible to be homesick for a place you haven't left yet?
Still, in my mind's eye, I find myself already looking out windows that I don't yet own. I see myself sitting in front of a fire not yet lit. I see my prized R.C. Gorman print hanging over the mantle. I see our cats excitedly watching the birds from the dining room window. I see our children sleeping in their own space. I hear music echoing off the vaulted ceiling. I see my car in a garage (a garage!!!) And I know this is the right thing.
Change is exicting and hard and good and bad and painful and fun. It is all those things. And I am ready for it.
Oh, and to those ladies out there - packing up your bathroom is a good time to use that peel-off-mask you thought you lost and found again. And your kids will get a kick out of mom's "plastic face". :-)
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