A Wedding Poem

A little over two years ago, I wrote a poem for a certain sweet sister who was preparing to be a bride. She and her husband just celebrated their second anniversary on Monday. Congrats, Krista & Zach!

 

In two days, another lovely sister is getting married. They have an incredible love story.
And a funny proposal story. I hope you get to hear it someday!

Will and Kate, as your prepare for a lifetime together, this same poem is my prayer for you, too.

A Wedding Prayer
by Kari Ruport

May your days be sweet with honest words;
May each night be tinged with gold.
Your joys be many and heaven sent;
Your victories gladly told.

May patience reside on your tongue
And forgiveness in your eyes.
May your ears hear unspoken words
And your compassion daily rise.

May you discover more each passing hour,
May surprises never cease.
May your journey together through this life
Bring joy that will ever increase.

May your love grow deeper day by day,
May your lives be full of bliss.
May a chance to say "I love you, dear"
Be an opportunity you never miss.

May laugher echo through the years,
Resounding in memory's well -
That you may draw it and deeply drink
Whenever emotions rebel.

May your hopes and dreams find swiftest wings
To carry them through the gate -
Beyond what if's and possibly's,
To the land of Worth the Wait.

May Christ forever be your guide.
His faithfulness is true.
Your marriage will flourish, flower, and thrive
When you honor Him in all you do.



 

An October Walk

I wish I could bottle this October day. The air is crisp without being cold. The leaves are strewn across the path like some extravagant bridal aisle. 

Everything is awake - preparing to sleep. Squirrels and chipmunks race to find the best provisions. Two squirrels stop in their scurry up the trees. They are just beyond the edge of my path. They look directly at me and chatter. Scold. They anticipate my interference. They don't understand that I wish only to observe. To be a part of the wood, making and leaving no impression, except on my own heart. 

Countless times I've walked past a narrow tree that forms a large arch. No leaves grace it's naked body, but I don't think it is quite dead. The roots hold firm within the packed earth. The tip is also firmly held to the ground, forming a perfect arch. I've wondered often, on my solitary rambles, if someday I will find the tip released and the tree returned to its original vertical calling. I've never been able to tell how it stays in this position. Today, I investigate. 

I search, but I find nothing. No string tying it down. No boulder pinning it to the bracken. Nothing that looks like it could keep it in this unusual position. And yet, it is unmovable. I gently pull at it, but it stays as firmly connected to the ground as if I was pulling on the rooted end. I am curious, but decide to leave the mystery unsolved. Sometimes beauty can be destroyed by the demand to understand it. 

I walk with deliberate steps out of the wood. Out of the realm of mercurial creatures and vibrant colors. It was a lovely visit.

Summer is nice and all, but it doesn't move me to poetry - or even prose - like autumn and winter do. 

Puzzle pieces

Have you ever experienced a piece of creativity that was shaped by another, and find that your soul absolutely resonates with it? I love that discovery. I am on a lifelong quest to find more.

If you piece them all together, I think you might see a complete puzzle of my very self. Perhaps it would be the same for you.

Many of my individual pieces are books. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is one. I usually read or listen to it at least once a year. I last read it in October. When I finished, I realized that I wasn’t ready to be done. So I started it all over again. :) Austen’s prose is just about the most beautiful thing I can imagine.

The Anne of Green Gables Series by LM Montgomery is another. Anne is real to me - as real as any of my childhood friends. Maybe more so, since I can spend time with her whenever I want. I feel like I am visiting my childhood when I visit Avonlea.

The Bible is full of puzzle pieces. Psalm 139. The story of Esther. Elijah. Hosea. Jesus on the cross. Jesus resurrected.

I think songs offer some of the easiest opportunities for finding puzzle pieces. Songs are everywhere. The surround us in our cars, at the grocery store, in a coffee shop. Always at our fingertips. They are often used as a muse to inspire creativity, which shows how deeply music can impact us.

“Atlas” by Coldplay is my current favorite: “carry your world, I’ll carry your world.” Yep, that’s a piece. “Sing Loud” by Alpha Rev makes me want to join them - I want to “sing loud from the roof tops” and “dance on the river’s edge.” I imagine myself in those very scenes every time I hear it. Here’s a throwback: “Hallelujah” by the Newsboys. I instinctively want to stretch my hands to the sky and spin in circles when I sing along.

Art, I’m sure, is included for many. There actually aren't many art pieces that stick out in my mind. I know I have resonated with paintings, photographs, and sculptures in the past, but not like I have in these other areas. I think I need to expand this. There are two pieces that I know are definitely present: Veiled Lady by Raffaelo Monti and The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse. (Notice anything about last piece that might partially explain why I love it?)

And then, of course, there is poetry. I wonder what the percentage is of those would include poems in their little box of puzzle pieces. My box contains a fair share. :)

At first, I struggled with the question of just which puzzle piece of poetry I should share today. There are so, so, so many that have become a part of myself.

But then I thought of “A Psalm of Life” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and I knew that I had found the one that will give the most complete picture.

Not all of my puzzle pieces are the same size. I think this might be one of the largest.

A Psalm of Life

Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act, - act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.


What are some of your puzzle pieces? I would love to hear!

Maybe they will become some of my own...

I love poetry.

I love the rhythm.

The different rhyming techniques.

The ability to use the sounds of words, beyond just the meaning of those words, to develop an idea.

I especially love poetry that tells a story.

"The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

"Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti.

"The Highwayman " by Alfred Noyes.

"Windy Nights" by Robert Louis Stevenson.

If you are familiar with these poems, you might recognize another characteristic that they share. They are not "happily ever after" poems. They each have a hint of something dark or treacherous.

I love that.

If you know me, this might surprise you. :)

Of these, I've known "Windy Nights" the longest. I'm not sure how old I was when my Mom first read to me from Robert Louis Stevenson's book A Child's Garden of Verses. (By the way, thanks Mom!) I had to be very young, because I can't remember NOT knowing his poetry. I think I had "The Swing" memorized before I knew what it meant to memorize.

I still adore each poem in this gift of a book. The one that has stayed with me the longest, though - the one that utterly haunts me, in the best way possible - is on the last page.

I want to share it with you. My recommendation is to read it out loud. The consonance adds so much to the poem, and it needs to be read aloud for the full effect.

"Windy Nights"

Robert Louis Stevenson

 

Whenever the moon and stars are set,

Whenever the wind is high,

All night long in the dark and wet,

A man goes riding by.

Late in the night when the fires are out,

Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud,

And ships are tossed at sea,

By, on the highway, low and loud,

By at the gallop goes he.

By at the gallop he goes, and then

By he comes back at the gallop again.

Does this poem strike chills into your very heart? It might not.

But I hope it does.