A New Adventure

My wife and I decided to start a blog.

My wife, with brown eyes and brown skin
And laughter like mountains.

I would know her laugh
In a room of a thousand women.
The way she throws her head back,
Slaps her knee
And cries her mirth.

Sometimes she laughs so hard
I am afraid she's going to
Cough her heart up onto the floor.

I mean, but not in a dead way though.

We are both identically biracial.

Dads black as roots in earth.
Moms white as Christmas.

When you are mixed race
You learn at some point

That it's a thing.

And then the world begins
It's pulling you in half

Like a wishbone
To see which side
Gets the bigger chunk.

But I digress.

We are in our forties.

We have lots and lots of kids.
Miles of kids.

OK, four of them.

Isaiah (21), Eliya (9),
Jadon (7), and Amara (5).

My wife and I decided
To write a blog.
We thought we might

Have something to say.

Something to offer

In the midst of all

This brokenness

Around us

And within us.

Something.

Underneath the messiness of life,
The crying and noise,
The constant demands,

The interrupted moments.
Fraternal bickering
Over whose imaginary what Has a bigger laser.

Underneath the times
When we are so wrung out
We can barely move our limbs
As we fall, limp into bed.

Underneath it all,
There is a very big love
In this house.

A very big love. A God-forged love.
We love hard.
We say it often.
We hug like we mean it.

Tickle just for

The scream of it.

We fight and forgive.

My wife and I 

Are ordinary people.

Sometimes dancing happy.

Sometimes dancing mad,

Real mad.  Stomping toes.

But still dancing

You know?

Fifteen years dancing.

Tested. Proven.

Long story.

My wife and I 

Decided to write a blog.

We love to create.

The art of creation

Is also part of the fabric

Of our family,

Parents and kids.

Stories and poems.

Dandelion wreaths

Crocheted doll's hats

Colored pencil monsters

With green teeth.

We create.

And in creation,

Do we not, in some small way,

Taste God's pleasure?

The Creator

Created us

To be creative.

And here is our

Clumsy offering.

Like a child's gleeful hand

Offering a page full of

Rainbow chicken scratch

To her smiling father 

Who refuses to throw it away,

Like, ever. Stores it in his

Precious stack,

Not because of its skill,

Or its elegance,

But because he loves

Immeasurably

The tiny little hand

And heart

Of his beautiful,

Clumsy, imperfect,

Hard-headed, 

Wonderful little child.

We decided to write a blog.

Take a risk.

Welcome to

Our dripping

Canvas.