31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Be Thou My Vision}

October 30, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 30.

The last Sunday of October…how are we here already?

Today’s poem is also a hymn which has been one of my prayers for 2016. Back in January, I felt led to the word Vision, and right after I wrote that down, I heard this old hymn. It has been exactly the Vision I needed this year.

I decided to work on memorizing the hymn with the kids–which looked like me and my daughter singing it often while the boys endured with lots of, “We have to listen to this? Again?” 🙂 I’m hopeful these words will stick to them regardless and one day, it will be the prayer of their hearts too.

Be Thou My Vision

Author Unknown

Be Thou my vision, oh Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best thought by day or by night
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my wisdom and Thou my true word
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord
Thou my great Father and I Thy true son
Thou in me dwelling and I with Thee one.

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise
Thou mine inheritance, now and always
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart
High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art.

Be Thou my vision, oh Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best thought by day or by night
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

High King of Heaven, my victory won
May I reach Heaven’s joys, oh bright Heaven’s sun
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, oh Ruler of all
Still be my vision, oh Ruler of all.

///////////

Writing Prompt:

If you chose a word for this year, use it as your writing prompt. If you didn’t choose a word this year, borrow mine {Vision}.

Click here to read the rest of my 31 Days of Poetry posts.

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {The Door}

October 29, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 29.

Today’s poem contains a great weekend reminder. “Go and open the door,” Holub says.

There might be somewhere to wander, something to grow, or something new waiting for you out there. You might find a new perspective, a new friend, or something altogether ordinary. You might also find nothing, but still–go. Open the door.

The Door

by Miroslav Holub

Go and open the door.

Maybe a dog’s rummaging,

maybe you’ll see a face,

or an eye,

or the picture

of a picture.

Go and open the door.

If there’s a fog

it will clear.

Go and open the door.

Even if there’s only

the darkness ticking,

even if there’s only

the hollow wind,

even if

nothing

is there,

go and open the door.

At least

there’ll be

a draught.

///////////

I heard a preacher tell a story about the sheepfold and the entry gate.

There was one entrance into the fold, and there wasn’t typically a gate or door at the entrance. So the shepherd would lay there in the doorway to protect the sheep at night from intruders like wolves or from storms or maybe even night wandering…sheepwalking? {Don’t quote me on that last part.}

The shepherd became the door of the fold. By laying down there at the entryway. For his sheep.

Jesus does this also, for you and me.

So Jesus again said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep.

All who came before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them.

I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture.

John 10:7-9, ESV

He provides for our needs. He protects us from the evil one. Yes, trials and suffering come whether we are His sheep who listen to His voice, or not. But the enemy will not overcome us or snatch us away from Him.

As the Door, He’s not about trying to keep out the Black Sheep. He’s about sacrifice, about laying Himself down for us.

As the Door, He’s not about sheltering or withholding life. He opens the door, and we’re free to go out and then come back home.

May we always find ourselves at home in Christ.

But when we stray,

May we quickly find our way to the Door,

The Open Door who welcomes wanderers home.

Writing Prompt:

Write about some change in your life which came about because you opened a door.

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Block City}

October 28, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 28.

Today is a day I love. My second baby’s birthday. He’s 12 now, so I’m not really supposed to refer to him as my baby anymore. But he totally is. I love him to pieces, and this poem brings a picture to my mind from when he was tiny. Enjoy!

Block City

by Robert Louis Stevenson

What are you able to build with your blocks?

Castles and palaces, temples and docks.

Rain may keep raining, and others go roam,

But I can be happy and building at home.

Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea,

There I’ll establish a city for me:

A kirk and a mill and a palace beside,

And a harbor as well where my vessels may ride.

Great is the palace with pillar and wall,

And steps coming down in an orderly way

To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay.

This one is sailing and that one is moored:

Hark to the song of the sailors on board!

And see on the steps of my palace, the kings

Coming and going with presents and things!

///////////

I remember his block cities.

I remember his thick mop of white hair and the tooth hanging by a thread because of that collision with brother. I remember when they spent half their days wrestling in the middle of the family room.

I remember that he kept quiet those early days, when big brother had so much to say.

But then we dropped his brother off at preschool and I opened the gift of time with just him–my little second-born–the summer before little sister arrived. Just him and me and 2 puppy dogs at home, for a few hours a couple days a week.

He never stopped talking to them, or to me, and I couldn’t stop laughing at the surprise. My silent son transformed into a chatterbox, like it was there all the time.

A little outdoorsman, he roamed our fenced backyard, collecting rocks and sticks and acorns. In constant conversation with Bailey and Bear, he climbed up and down the backyard hill, which was just the right size for tiny boys to conquer.

I remember the days when it rained, and he stood just a couple feet high on our soft blue living room sofa. He built towers out of chunky Mega Blocks, taller than his head. He’d build it up to watch it fall. Each crash sent the puppies running away fast, and little man doubled over laughing so loud. And then he did it again, and again.

I have no idea why they kept returning to his side. Maybe to them, it looked like adventure. Or maybe just like me, they longed to be close to him.

I remember him building airports and castles and pirate ships from those blocks. He laid out whole cities with coordinated colors for each building. Then he vroomed his little Mega car up to one called Dad’s Office.

He was always saying, See what I made, Mom? And I saw.

Some days I hated that huge bag of Mega Blocks our babysitter brought as a gift. The boys never went pro at cleanup, so there were always pieces hiding out in corners, and I was still so tightly wound.

We’ve come a long way in a decade.

I’m so grateful for the days of block cities. And for days like today, when it’s right to remember how far we’ve all come.

Writing Prompt:

Write about something you can be happy doing at home.

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Ode}

October 27, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 27.

You may not know today’s poem, but there are some lines here you’ve definitely heard. This one’s another of my favorites, but then again, these are all my favorites. 🙂 Enjoy!

Ode

by Arthur O’Shaughnessy

We are the music-makers,

And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

And sitting by desolate streams;

World-losers and world-forsakers,

On whom the pale moon gleams:

Yet we are the movers and shakers

Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties,

We build up the world’s cities,

And out of a fabulous story

We fashion an empire’s glory:

One man with a dream, at pleasure,

Shall go forth and conquer a crown;

And three with a new song’s measure

Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying

In the buried past of the earth,

Built Ninevah with our sighing,

And Babel itself with our mirth;

And o’erthrew them with prophesying

To the old of the new world’s worth;

For each age is a dream that is dying,

Or one that is coming to birth.

///////////

Arthur O’Shaughnessy died at 37.

After losing two infants and his wife, the English poet died of a chill. He left these beautiful words behind, along with an entire collection.

Through the years, other artists have quoted him often. Even Willy Wonka said, “We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

Haven’t we all grown up using the phrase, movers and shakers?

This poem reminds me that we have so much power to shake up the world with our words and our music and our art.

We can move people to action, with our own ability to dream and create. Every period of human history has been changed by human contribution.

But artists, writers, painters, and poets all understand it can be a lonely occupation, especially if you push against the status quo.

In O’Shaughnessy’s day, artists lived extremely difficult lives. They were “World-losers and world-forsakers.” Can this be said of us today? It’s precisely what draws me to poets of old. They had a vision, and they put words to it. They lived in a world of imagination.

They imagined something better for the world, and this they shared.

They built up “the world’s cities, And out of a fabulous story” They “fashion[ed] and empire’s glory.”

In order to achieve something great with their art–to be both movers and shakers–they had to first be world-losers and world-forsakers.

But sometimes building the world’s cities takes a different direction. In the end of these 3 stanzas, the poet speaks of Babel and Ninevah. These two biblical cities shared this in common–deep-seated pride and defiance of God.

Babel: “Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves…” (Genesis 11:4)

Ninevah: “Whatever they plot against the Lord He will bring to an end.” (Nahum 1:9)

We can say for certain that generations will come and go. People will still make music, dream dreams, and share recycled visions.

In every age, there will be movers and shakers.

But I wonder, of what kind?

Who will go where God tells her to go and say what He tells her to say?

Who will move away from towers and stages and enterprises and reign in human pride?

Who will rally a city to make a name for God rather than a name for ourselves?

After all, we are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.

Writing Prompt:

Write about a dream that is coming to birth.

31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts {Scars}

October 26, 2016 By: Angela Parlin

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 26.

Scars

by William Stafford

They tell how it was, and how time

came along, and how it happened

again and again. They tell

the slant life takes when it turns

and slashes your face as a friend.

Any wound is real. In church

a woman lets the sun find

her cheek, and we see the lesson:

there are years in that book;

there are sorrows

a choir can’t reach when they sing.

Rows of children lift their faces of promise,

places where the scars will be.

///////////

The first time I held a baby of my own, I thought about scars.

First, I fell in love, and I cried, and asked for juice, and stared into his gorgeous little eyes. My husband called his hands bear paws, and I watched him hover over that little boy like a Papa Bear.

But then they came to prick his chubby little feet, and my baby wailed in anger and I cried in fear. And when everyone left the room, I wrote him a letter from my hospital bed.

I’m so afraid the world will hurt you.

I’m not sure that’s what most new Mamas are thinking, but I’ve never been the norm.

I know where it came from. When I carried him inside of me, he was safe and warm, and nobody could hurt him, or so I believed. But everything changes on the other side.

That, and I remember what it is to grow up in this world. I wonder if it’s even harder nearly 3 decades later.

I endured my own slashing, grew my own scars, and the wounds are real. For most of us, the sorrows accumulate as do the years.

There are some things no song can ever resolve, and some pains are inconsolable. Everybody has their own scars.

As a Mom, I worked hard to become like a human shield. I’d go great lengths to protect my little people. But the limits of my humanity were quickly evident.

Their lives have been my greatest teachers. From the beginning, they’ve taught me to trust the God of the Universe with all that’s most precious. I’m a slow learner, but I press on.

I never found a way to keep them from scars.

Writing Prompt:

Write about a slant your life once took, when it turned.

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Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 30.

Be Thou My Vision

Writing Prompt:

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Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 29.

The Door

Go and open the door.

If there’s a fog

it will clear.

I heard a preacher tell a story about the sheepfold and the entry gate.

As the Door, He’s not about sheltering or withholding life. He opens the door, and we’re free to go out and then come back home.

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 28.

Block City

But I can be happy and building at home.

I remember his block cities.

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 27.

Ode

And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Yet we are the movers and shakers

For each age is a dream that is dying,

Or one that is coming to birth.

Arthur O’Shaughnessy died at 37.

This poem reminds me that we have so much power to shake up the world with our words and our music and our art.

They imagined something better for the world, and this they shared.

In every age, there will be movers and shakers.

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry & Writing Prompts–Day 26.

Scars

there are years in that book;

places where the scars will be.

The first time I held a baby of my own, I thought about scars.

I never found a way to keep them from scars.

Writing Prompt:

Share this:

Like this:

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