Showing posts with label Relationship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Relationship. Show all posts

Friday, May 9, 2025

Yesterday Was a Long Time Ago


I said please don’t ever buy me flowers

I don’t care about that

They’re expensive and all that

And I meant it

Truly.


I would much rather have a sweet note

Or a steamy poem

Like you always used to write.

Or a stroll down the path,

Hand in hand

With that hand that could make me swoon

With just a tickle of a finger in my palm


These weren’t like the tired old oh brother

of a bunch of red roses.

Obligatory hot house tokens

of supposed true love.

(Or at least the typical lusty hope 

That something might come of this

With flowers involved.)


But the thing is

Now the notes don’t come anymore

And the fingers rarely fumble for mine

Along secret paths.

So some flowers every once in a while

Might still make me believe that you

Well, you know,

Things I used to

Believe

When no flowers were needed

And the hand could make me swoon


Sometimes I’d like to find him

And tell him about you.


And hope that one of you writes me a poem

Or picks me some daisies

Or at least buys me a hothouse waste of money

So I could believe again

And snuggle in

To the fragrance of 

Extravagant waste

For extravagant love


© 2025 Laurie Sitterding

*This poem was selected for publication on Poets Online. 

https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_floriography.html


Saturday, August 31, 2024

The Gift of Such a One

Today two of my favorite people on the planet married each other. 

For both, this is their second marriage. The second time they've promised to love, and cherish, and have, and hold... forsaking all others—promising all of it "for as long as they both shall live." 

We promise to do this thing "until death parts us." And the first time—you know, when you're 20-something and don't know much at all about marriage, or love, or the world... or anything, really—you speak those words like they mean "for a really long time," or maybe even "forever"... but in this far-off, distant, never-really-gonna-get-there way that makes sense, when you know everything—and nothing—all at once. 20-something.

This time around, they know—and I mean know—what they're promising. At 50-something, they've lived it. For one, the holding of the hands through decades of cancer's ravaging scourge, the hands cupping the face until the bitter end of the journey... gazing into wild eyes lost in the pain of this unnatural departure. For the other, the devastation of the broken vow, the fracturing of what was believed to be secure, unbreakable. "I would like to end it," and holding tight through the tempest of all that ensues. The devastated mother and son trying to find footing in the world gone mad, with the departure of dad.

I have prayed with, and for, both of these precious ones—each one walking the path of pain and loss and hope and trust, each one seeking the will of the One who holds them fast "while sea billows roll." So to see them find one another... and to find love again, in one another... has been one of the deepest joys of this season of my earthly life. Thank you, Lord, for redemption and joy and gladness, in the midst of all the pain and sorrow and grief that accompanies us on this journey called life.

I process things in poetry—always have. The urge is always strong to take to stanza and verse when I want to communicate something deep, and tricky, and a little bit elusive. This is the poem I wrote when they asked me to speak at their reception, sharing a little of what it has meant to walk through this with each of them, over years. As the one who has known each of them longer than anyone else—most in attendance had only known one or the other, but not both, for any length of time—I got to speak. This poem was part of my offering.*


The Gift of Such a One


“You find your Cheris and Kathys and Christines," 

I had told my girls.

“They don’t come around very often. 

So you find ‘em and hold on tight!”


Something happens 

when you’re friends with someone 

from your youth 

And you grow up together

Over years 

And seasons

And seasons  

And years


When you’re in it for the long haul.


Maybe. 

Hopefully.


But you never really know for sure

Now do you?


Because sometimes you’re great

But sometimes you’re awful

And there’s no hiding it 

from the forever friend 


Gracious 

And kind

And generous.

But sometimes rude

And selfish

And mean.


Arrogant

And proud

And so very self-absorbed 


One can never really know 

if the friendship

Is gonna hold.

Is gonna make it.

Is gonna take it.


Is gonna survive the different stages

And seasons.

And all the stuff

That dreams are made of


And fears


And hopes


When you walk through life.

Through pain and sickness and grief and loss. 


There is only one that will never leave you nor forsake you

Never walk away

Never choose to go


But sometimes in the midst of all the betrayal

And all the loss

And all the fear

And all the pain


He gives the gift of one

who reaches out

And takes your hands.

“Ssshh. There, there.

Let’s walk together.”


And he wraps his fingers carefully in yours

Fixing his eyes firmly on what may come


Thank you for the gift of such a one

Who whispers, “I’m not going anywhere”

And somehow makes me believe it


And for a blessed handful few others 


Thank you for bringing them to me

And then, to each other


© 2024 Laurie Sitterding

*Wedding photo credits: Danielle Haudricourt

Sunday, September 8, 2019

Indignation at the Inevitable

The inherent frustration
In the changing
Of the meaning
Of a word
Over time
Has me irritated
Flustered
A little bit pissed, even

When did voluptuous
Betray me
And cease to mean sensuous?
Prone to sensual enjoyment?
Yes!
Relating to
Or characterized by
Sensual pleasure?
You betcha!
Full of delight
Or pleasure 
To the senses?
Yes sir, indeed!

Why did big tits get to highjack
My perfectly good word
And render it backward?
Awkward?
Off?

They’ve tried to hijack everything
The bodacious imposters
And they’ve almost succeeded

One too many men spoke of the voluptuous woman
And one too many a person 
Who didn’t know that big ol’ word
Assumed it referred to those big ol ‘things—
The charlatans

And assumption
Became connotation
Became presumption
Became fact

So I can’t be voluptuous anymore
Just like you can’t be gay
Or lusty

Perfectly good words
Gone askance
And askew
On the way to their new home

No matter!

I’ll be voluptuous
And you be lusty
And we’ll roll around in our holy lust
Till the world tilts a little

And the angels will sing

© 2019 Laurie Sitterding
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My entry for the September 2019 prompt—"Lust"—at Poets Online
"Our September prompt is lust, in one or more of its forms. Consider all levels, from intense sexual desire to a strong longing, or even the obsolete meanings of pleasure, delight, wish, or craving. Surprise us."

Sunday, August 12, 2018

Words of Expectant Hope

Almost 25 years ago, a couple knocked on our door—and the doors of our hearts—with a box of warm Kristy Kreme doughnuts and an announcement that we were going to be fast friends. Three days ago, I held this dear friend’s hand for the last time. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.

Our friendship over the years was complicated and complex... deep, and fierce, and fragile at times. We were like family. We loved, and served, and forgave each other, through much of life’s struggle and fear and joy and pain. At times, we hurt each other deeply. There was judgment, and misunderstanding, and betrayal, and anger. But there was also faithfulness, and commitment, and a steadfast clinging to the pursuit of unity in Christ. We grew up together. We matured together. We knew each other through every iteration of pride and judgment and arrogance, and yet we somehow made a way to find the best in each other and presume a heart of good will from each other. We served one another, at times selflessly and without thanks, and in the end we found that none was needed... not really.

Since that day many years ago when my friend shared with us that she may have found a lump in her breast, I have prayed for her body, and her family, and her spirit. When she needed to turn the chairs inward and fight this battle without me for a time, I prayed. And trusted. And served. And waited. Restoration and reconciliation—though incomplete this side of heaven—are beautiful to behold, and even more beautiful to live.

This valiant warrior was never more lovely to me than the day I took the clippers to her beautiful raven hair, watching it fall to the ground in waves, like my tears. She is the bravest woman I have ever known, battling this scourge that sought to defeat her body for so many long, painful, wearying years.

I have been preparing my heart for some time that she might be called to leave us some day way too early, even as I desperately hoped that our faithful God—whom I knew could—would choose to heal her. She knew it, too, and hoped it to the bitter end, even as she gave us all the strength to trust along with her that He does all things well.
Even on the day that He called her home to be with Him—her body struggling to breathe and her mind no longer able to grasp our presence with her—she called upon the name of her faithful God to help her. I want faith like that, like my dear friend Darla’s... faith that is so deeply woven into my very being that it clings to my soul and spirit, even as conscious thought and communication have failed... and that erupts from my lips in words of dependence and expectant hope and trust, when all other words have been said. "Help me. God, help me."

My dear friend, I am so grateful that I got to spend those several hours with you just before He called you home. It was a blessing—to me—to speak to you, even though I wasn't necessarily sure that you could hear me or know what I was saying. I do believe our human spirits perceive, in some sort of awareness and communion and fellowship... and that our heavenly spirits know and understand things that our conscious minds can no longer grasp. I'm so glad I got to tell you one last time what a good wife you were, what a good mom. To hold your hand and touch your arm and stroke your beautiful hair. To thank you for your faithful friendship. To assure you that we would take care of Ken and the kids. To tell you that it was safe for you to go. That you had fought such a brave, good fight... that you were almost home. To quote to you the 23rd Psalm... which would have seemed trite had the words not felt so perfectly right and true. Those are the words He gave me, so those are the words I gave you. The Lord is my Shepherd. Green pastures. Still waters. The valley of the shadow of death. I will not fear. Thou art with me. Guides my path. A table before me. Goodness and lovingkindness. I will dwell in the house of the Lord. Forever and ever.

It was a privilege and an honor to share those sacred moments alone with you, and then to witness your sweet Kathryn and your precious Ken as they reached out to hold your hand or touch your arm in your restlessness—"I'm here, my sweetheart. What do you need, my love? I'm right here"—and to see you settle down, comforted and quieted.

"This is part of the deal," Ken had told me. "This is what we sign up for, on our wedding day. 'Till death do us part.' It's hidden there, in plain sight, right in our wedding vows." I witnessed the most sacred of things in that room that day... the palpable love of a man for his wife—flawed and human, yes, but sacred and powerful and astonishing... wild, and fierce, and rearing its head to be sure it was known and perceived until the very last breath.

Well done, good and faithful one. So very well done!

I am so glad that you are now in heaven, dear Darla, where there is no pain or sorrow or cancer. I wish I could have loved you better. I wasn't ready to be finished learning to love you well. I miss you. The world is less beautiful without you in it. Your beautiful voice is missing as I worship. But I know that you are now “absent from the body and at home with the Lord,” and I can only imagine the glories in which you now live. And from which you now sing.

I look forward to our reunion in heaven, where there are no tears or pain or ability to misunderstand or hurt one another ever again. So go ride your horse in the horse corner of heaven, my sweet friend. I'll see you soon...

Thursday, June 4, 2015

On a Bicycle Built for Two



These two sweet cousins get together once a year, during our annual beach week family reunion getaway on the NC shore. They've been almost inseparable for the entire week, every summer that I can remember--and this year they even got to go biking on the same bike! Such fun!!


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*Entry 6a, June - The 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge 
The title is from the classic children's song "Daisy, Daisy" (aka "A Bicycle Built for Two").