Good fortune is a giddy maid,
Fickle and restless as a fawn;
She smooths your hair; and then the jade
Kisses you quickly, and is gone.
But Madam Sorrow scorns all this;
She shows no eagerness for flitting,
But with a long and fervent kiss
Sits by your bed — and brings her knitting.
Oh, the comfort — the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
Having neither to weigh thoughts,
Nor measure words — but pouring them
All right out — just as they are —
Chaff and grain together —
Certain that a faithful hand will
Take and sift them —
Keep what is worth keeping —
And with the breath of kindness
Blow the rest away.
Title:Writing Home (Hearth Stone Books, Royal Oak, Michigan, 2005) Author:Cindy La Ferle‘s essays and columns have appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, Reader’s Digest, Country Gardens, Mary Engelbreit’s Home Companion, Writer’s Digest, The Oakland Press, The Royal Oak Daily Tribune and many other publications. She lives with her family in Royal Oak, Michigan.
What a wonderful collection of essays! Cindy La Ferle is a great observer of human nature, and she is a brilliant writer with a calm and assuring voice. Many of her essays brought me to tears, especially the ones she wrote about her son. My children are in between the stages of childhood and teenage-hood. I look into their faces that keep changing yet staying true to who they are — and I try to savor every moment with them. Her words remind me that this motherhood ride is an exciting one with the milestones speeding by in the blink of an eye.
“The sacred is in the ordinary. It is found in one’s daily life — in friends, family, and neighbors; in one’s own backyard.” Thanks, Cindy, for reminding me.
I was 19 when he died … 28 years ago today. I’ve known my father-in-law for 22 years now … longer than I knew my own father. Well, that’s not quite right. I still know my dad. But I only had him here in person for 19 years. Ah, well. This is what happens with the passage of time. I’m older now than my father was when he died. It makes me think of the lyrics to a James Taylor song.
As much as I teased my dad about his choice of music, I’d like to think that he’d like to listen to James Taylor with me. And maybe he’d tell me that the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.
Time goes by. Dad gets farther away. But maybe I understand him just a little bit more with every passing day.