Slow Dance

S L O W D A N C E (David L. Weatherford)

Have you ever watched kids
on a merry-go-round?

Or listened to the rain
slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down
Don’t dance so fast

Time is short
The music won’t last

Do you run through each day
On the fly

When you ask “How are you?”
Do you hear the reply?

When the day is done,
do you lie in your bed

With the next hundred chores
running through your head?

You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast

Time is short
The music won’t last

Ever told your child,
We’ll do it tomorrow?

And in your haste,
not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die

‘Cause you never had time
To call and say “Hi”?

You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast

Time is short
The music won’t last

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift….Thrown away…

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower

Hear the music
Before the song is over.

The Lanyard: A Poem

The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Children Learn What They Live

Children Learn What They Live

If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.
If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive.
If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves.
If children live with ridicule, they learn to feel shy.
If children live with jealousy, they learn to feel envy.
If children live with shame, they learn to feel guilty.
If children live with encouragement, they learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance, they learn patience.
If children live with praise, they learn appreciation.
If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.
If children live with approval, they learn to like themselves.
If children live with recognition, they learn it is good to have a goal.
If children live with sharing, they learn generosity.
If children live with honesty, they learn truthfulness.
If children live with fairness, they learn justice.
If children live with kindness and consideration, they learn respect.
If children live with security, they learn to have faith in themselves and in those about them.
If children live with friendliness, they learn the world is a nice place in which to live.

Excerpted from the book CHILDREN LEARN WHAT THEY LIVE by Dorothy Law Nolte (1924 - 2005)

I have always found this poem moving, convicting, and inspiring. I want to to be a better Dad. Some times I just need the reminder . . .

If

I was blog surfing last night and found this inspiring poem at Lena's blog (Lena, by the way, is the talented designer who made up the custom header for this site):


IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

-Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

Poem: “The Road Less Taken”

One of my favorite poems is Robert Frost’s “The Road Less Taken.” May it inspire you today.

The Road Less Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

The Stuff of Dreams

In my two years of school I have heard several different points of view about dreams. One of my profs believes that dreams are a path to the unconscious, that they reflect our deepest fears and desires, that they are symbolic to the issues we are dealing in with life, etc. He uses dream interpretation as part of his counseling and believes that almost all dreams are significant in some way.

I have another professor who thinks that dreams are the minds way of recycling ideas and events of the recent past, that they occasionally reflect our fears/desires but for the most part aren't significant to our waking lives. Unless they were brought up in session, he would never inquire about them. And if they were shared he would be very hesistant to assign/interpret any meaning to them.

I probably lean more to the recycling bin idea and would like to let things stay there. Unfortunately, I suspect I have had dreams that were either spiritually or mentally reflective of something . . . important. Sharing one's dreams can be tricky. I find that sharing a dream can be a very personal thing, especially if the dream is about something we don't usually like to share; ourselves attacking/killing someone, doing something sexually (that we feel is inappropriate), being afraid of something, choosing to do something that we usually wouldn't, etc. As a Christian it can feel problematic to be sinning in our dreams! I told the first professor about a recurring dream I had in high school where I was always running away from this wolf. He of course was very interested! Finally one night, the dream changed and I never had it again. I wrote a poem about how the dreams finally ended and shared it with him (forgive the high school morbidness, overdramatic prose, lack of proper rhyme, etc.):

Lobo

Treading lightly through the bramble,
As twilight quickly fled
The greyish trees cast their shadows,
And my spirit filled with dread
Homeward bound at a nervous pace,
Cursing the ill lit path
When the sound of terror incarnate,
Touched a twig and made it crack.

The moon was hidden in the Heavens,
As my vision swept the heights
Terror filled my searching eyes,
When they found him in the night
Two orbs of hellish blood red fire,
Marked his spot upon the way
Then his monstrous features came to me,
Great flanks and cloak of grey.

The demon spawn was known to me,
My deepest fear come true
He haunts my troubled slumber,
And stalks the dreamworld hue
Chasing me through my visions,
In his cruel unwavering gait
Countless nights awaking me,
With his laugh of blackish hate.

Throwing my burden to the ground,
My dagger is unsheathed
Tossing black mane he slowly sneered,
And bared his brutish teeth
Unholy white they seemed to shine,
As he let his spittle spill
Then with a jump of perfect poise,
He leapt in for the kill.

He knocked me down, raking my side,
With his white, angry claws
Madness gripped my frightened soul,
As his mouth began to gnaw
One limb raised to guard my throat,
The other gripped my dart
And then with a scream of bloody murder,
I stuck him through the heart.

With wounded speed the beast rolled away,
And watched as his life force bled
Then suddenly his frame went still,
And I knew that he was dead
Without glance back I staggered home,
Then dressed my wounds with time
No longer nights of fitless sleep,
Dreamless slumber would now be mine.

(c) Mark Westman, 1993

In the end it was facing and killing the wolf (instead of always running and waking up in a cold sweat) that I felt stopped the recurring dreams. Was it somehow tied to something that had happened in my real life? I'm not sure. Was I afraid of something? Was it a spiritual attack? Was my mind recalling something I'd read or seen on TV? I don't know. All I know is that I'm sure my prof was much more concerned about me then he used to be . . .

May Light increase!