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  • Painting (a reminiscence from 2004)

    A small green paintbrush captured me today
    Brushed me across a canvas rough
    but welcoming
    Moved like music over the whiteness and left it with a
    face
    Not quite smiling, but far from sad
    The lines blurred slightly, but
    it was me
    Colors thrown across the surface
    With purposeful abandon
    Eyes
    staring back like midnight orbs
    Hauntingly mine

    An artistan’s easel
    held me today
    Cradled me like a delicate child
    Rocked me with a subtlety
    only an artist could know
    Strong legs held me fast
    Completely balanced but
    not so firm
    As to rob me of the edge
    The knowing that at any moment I
    could fall or fly
    Or fade

    A master created me today
    Or maybe just
    allowed me to see what was already there
    Held up the magic mirror where only
    fools look in
    And I looked, fool that I am, and smiled
    Seeing for the
    first time my truth
    Reading the page with perfect understanding
    Knowing I
    would never be the same
    Nor would I want to be
    Anyone but me



    ©2004 Lisa Luke Easterling

  • R U Protected?

    I had to laugh at myself looking back at that last entry, considering the topic, and seeing it marked [Protected Post].

    Good thing I’m easily amused.

    I get to see my BOYS tonight! Yeah, I’m pretty excited about that. I got to see Steve unexpectedly last weekend but haven’t seen the boys in three weeks. Didn’t even get to hear their low-down on CIY, which we always talk for hours about right afterward. Gotta remedy that. I’ve really missed those guys.

  • The Bride and Groom Blessing

    I was wandering around Revelife earlier and came across a blog written by a newlywed who was being made fun of for kissing her new husband when they were only going to separate rooms for a class. Predictably their mocking and teasing was followed by “sage” advice about how they were so obviously newlyweds, and to just wait a couple of years, etc. After I left my comment there, I thought it might make a good entry for my own blog so here it is.

    At every wedding my husband and I attend, at some point during the
    event (usually during the reception when there’s a moment where the
    bride and groom are alone at their table), we give them what we call
    the Steve and Lisa Bride and Groom Blessing. It goes something like
    this:

    “People are going to come to you and tell you that the love you feel
    today won’t stay this intense, this passionate, this amazing. They will
    tell you that there will be days when you wake up and wonder why you
    married him/her. They will tell you that over time, the fiery flames of
    passion will ebb to a calm glow of embers. When they tell you these
    things, don’t listen.”

    My husband and I will celebrate our 28th wedding anniversary next
    Sunday. I can say with complete honesty that the passion in our
    relationship today dwarfs what we felt as two “children” at the altar
    (actually I *was* technically a child at 16 LOL).

    Over the years people kept saying, “You HAVE to have a weekly date
    night. You have to get away from those kids for a while! You have to
    attend marriage seminars and retreats. You have to…” and we rarely
    did the things people said we had to do. We would just smile and hold
    hands (and usually pinch each other’s butts as soon as the well-meaning
    advisor’s back was turned).

    How have we done it (besides not listening to all the advice people are so eager to give)? Here’s our method. You ready?
    1. Keep God in the center.
    2. Think of the other above yourself.
    3. Dump the 50/50 marriage deal BEFORE the wedding, and commit to
    100/100 effort from both sides (which covers the days when one is a 10).
    4. Don’t make issues of things.

    Simple. Effective. Proven.

    And for us, it’s been (and still is) a wild and wonderful ride.

  • My Daughter

    My daughter has been diagnosed with Writing Fever. Symptoms can be observed here.

    Prayers appreciated that the fever continues for many years to come.

  • Protected

    I will be doing some Protected blogging.

    Some things can’t be publicly shared.

    And some things can’t be worded at all.

  • What’s In a Matt


    I was musing with a friend this morning about names and personalities, which ended up with me describing our son Matt’s personality. I wasn’t prepared for the description to leave me in tears. But they were grateful ones.

    mattieboy As a child he has always been on the quiet side, extremely comical but more laid
    back and dry about it. He’s bright and artistic and good at math. He sketches
    amazingly and writes better poetry than he wants anyone to know. He feels deeply
    and has a hard time with talking when he is emotional (hence a lot of the
    quiet). He is very talented but downplays his gifts. He is unassuming and
    easy-going and rolls with the punches like few I’ve ever known. He
    is comprehensively other-oriented, always thinking of others before himself and
    looking for an opportunity to help someone out. He sees himself as a hero, but
    his humility keeps him silent about it–he just wants to be one, to save people
    and make their lives easier.

    He is a mama’s boy and proud of it. Some of our best talks have happened while I rubbed his back and he had time to ponder and put his thoughts together without pressure. One of my biggest challenges and deepest rewards as a mother has been creatively finding the most beneficial ways of handling his personality traits and tendencies, being considerate of his strengths and weaknesses and preferences and loving him through difficult times.

    His dream is to be a U.S. Marine. DSC_1240e2ambrdr-40 He wants to save
    lives and improve quality of living for others, to stand tall and silent in
    uniform and feel a pride deep in his heart that won’t show on his face. And
    he’ll smile as long as there isn’t a camera pointed in his direction. He wants
    to serve God and finish high school and serve his country and fall in love and
    get married and be a daddy. There is no doubt in my mind he will be the best at all of it.

    I can’t find words to say how much I love him. He told me when he was a little boy that when he
    grows up he wants to be a superhero. The way I see it, he already is one.

  • They Like Jesus, but Not the Church

    I get these little ads from Amazon.com (guess they hound me because I’ve frequently bought books through them) and although I usually delete them without even reading, today a title caught my eye and stopped me in my tracks.

    They Like Jesus, but Not the Church

    What followed is a blog entry that turned into my next Heartbeat the Magazine Keeping It Real column, so you’ll have to check out the August issue to read the rest. 

    [This didn't start out being a teaser. I just got almost finished with it and realized it would be great for the column and didn't want to pre-publish it here. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Besides, you might go over to HBTM and discover a treasure trove of articles you'll wonder how you ever lived without.]

  • All by myself…

    But I don’t mind. I actually love solitude, although admittedly it would be more fun if I didn’t miss my family so much.

    It’s raining again, which is another thing I don’t mind. I love the rain, just not the lightning part. Rainy days are some of my favorite days. I love listening to the drip-drops outside the window. It soothes like nothing else can.

    I’m sitting here wondering what my sweetheart is doing right now. Is he at Bible study, or at our friend’s hockey game? Wherever he is, I hope he knows how much I miss him.

    Despite all the time on my hands, I’ve kept pretty busy. I chuckle at the thought of people imagining me sitting here like the scene in “The Holiday” where Amanda is bored out of her mind, talking to herself and playing with her bangs. No boredom here. I’ve cleaned out the garage, the coat/under-stair/Harry Potter closet, the kitchen, the living room, music room, and dining room. I’ve straightened Matt’s room (which wasn’t too messy anyway), the kids’ bathroom, the laundry room, and the master BR closet. Next up this evening I will be tidying the loft and Trevor’s room (which doesn’t need that much attention), and the guest bathroom, and cleaning the master bathroom, the photography room, and the guest room. Rosie will take care of her room when she gets home later.

    Now that I’ve spent more time typing this entry than it will probably take me to finish the cleaning, I’ll close this and get to work.

  • Dear Miss Blue, I love you.

    Over the past few days I’ve gotten several emails and online messages from students, some from the youth group my husband and I helped to build, and some from my creative writing classes. The emails and comments are varied in wording, but the central message is that they love me. It humbles me and brings tears of gratitude to my eyes that these kids think of me this way.

    On Sunday as I sat in the back row at church struggling with the anguish of being away from my husband and sons, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see one of our youth group members kneeling beside my chair. Jeremy is a rough-and-tumble young man who always seems to be in one form of bone-threatening accident situation or another.

    “You okay?” he asked. I blinked back tears and nodded. “Sucks, doesn’t it?” he whispered. I nodded again, not trusting myself to be able to actually speak should I open my mouth. He blushed a little and smiled. “I’m praying for you, okay?” I reached out and hugged him and whispered how much I appreciate him reaching out and caring. I’ve grown to love that boy over the past few months, and it isn’t hard to see why. Once during a set design get-together I told him he was one of the reasons I was glad God brought us to PC. The look on his face was priceless. It was as though the concept of someone thanking God for putting him in her life was something he’d never really considered. It’s true, though. I do.

    Out of the probably more than a hundred people there that day, Jeremy was one of two who took the time to talk to me and genuinely ask how we are doing (although possibly more would have if we’d stayed longer afterward but I needed to get Rosie over to a friend’s house, plus the emotion was pretty hard to contain and I thought it best to head out pretty quickly). Matthew, whom I’ve taken on as my little brother from Heaven, told me he loves me and is praying for me and gave me one of his precious hugs that can chase away the worst clouds and bring the sunshine peeking through. I love and appreciate him with all my heart.

    I just received another email from an 11-year-old writing student. It just says, “I love you.”

    And that really is all I need to know.

  • Xanga? Momaroo? Revelife? Hey…I gots a bwuuuze…

    I think this was how Wack-a-Mole was invented. What a ride, trying to figure out all this “You are signed in as ___@Xanga, or Revelife, or…” Yeesh! Make up my mind! Just about the time I get used to the whole Xanga thing (five years, I oughtta know at least a little bit about it, I reckon), they go and add all this other stuff that is connected, sort of, but not exactly. Ack!

    It’s all good, though. It’s a good concept once you get over the shock of signing into one and suddenly finding yourself in another “world” and your home quick-link is taking you to the wrong home page. Deep breath. Just sign out and back in…it’s okay.

    Speaking of new and interesting discoveries, I just spied a very nasty purple bruise on my left forearm. After a brief pondering as to what could’ve caused it, I remember hitting it with the corner of a heavy box I was rearranging in the garage yesterday. It hurt quite a bit or else I wouldn’t even remember how I got it. I do that a lot. I didn’t find the bead case I was looking for (my motivation for cleaning the garage and coat closet, if I needed one other than that they seriously needed cleaning) but the good news is I found it an hour later while cleaning the guest room (got a lot accomplished yesterday in my I’m-gonna-find-that-stupid-case-if-it-kills-me cleaning frenzy). The funny thing (and the thing that reminds me that God has a wacked sense of humor) is that it was sitting on the floor right at the outside corner of the bed where I (and other family members) had looked 4 or more times. Mmkay.