Poetry

For Young Mothers

people say so many things. . .
like you’re in a game you cannot win,
like your life has all but ended.
but maybe motherhood is a mosaic,
a hard wrought, stained glass window
where tears and laughter collide,
where wounds reopen in the working
and glisten if light filters through.

I am cut, reshaped, pieced back. . .
and I feel like I could shatter.

photo credit: Hannah A.R. Stories

“so what if you do?”
whispers the mother
beside me and beyond me.
“light will always poke itself through.”

her gentle words feel as balm
against the skin of my heart.
she holds an armful of sun,
scars from stained glass on her hands,
laughline wrinkles where
the window should hang,

but she wasn’t a game
or a life left for dead.

she was a stained glass story,
with no window to show for it.
and she held all the good things
all the people never say.
she broke and breathed,
stood long, and loved. . .
letting every inch of light
be every part of her.
she was a woman,
not a perfect stained glass
window.

and so I broke.
then shattered.
and breathed.

-S.V.F.

Poetry

I’ll Remember You For. . .

it was beautiful,
but unexpected.
and I’ll remember you for–

how the garden bent and broke,
then bloomed,
and how our small blue house
grew right where wildflowers
once were.

how life folded into gold
with wrinkles and stains,
with perfection and messes,
with our summer son turning one,
and our upcoming spring tapping
her baby feet on screen.

and how I crumpled up scared
running headlong into happiness,
but God! and His presence said,
You’re just as safe now
as you were back then.
Run! Run! Run!

so, I do.

and don’t they say,
“history repeats itself”?
and if all my life is always with God
I should know just my looking back
that I can run full speed ahead.

Happy New Year.
and by that I mean
I trust you, God.
Oh God, help me.
Yes, I will run!

-S.V.F.

photo credit: Hannah A. R. Stories

Garden Lullaby

It Wasn’t All Flowers

it wasn’t all flowers,
but also it was.

snapdragons, geraniums,
zinnias and roses.
wild things on my table,
and on the windowsill.

and it was me,
like a seed,
cracked open and broken,
under darkness with water
cold over by bones
and it was light
I could not see,
all the warmth
I could not feel.
if not a mother, no idea
who I could be.

rain fell with promise.
storms raged in anguish.
there was noise, but it
was silence for me.
I grew, then died,
grew again, then bloomed
and it wasn’t
just one thing
I became.

the garden outgrew my soul,
and I towered with life
like a lighthouse at ocean
nothing around but hope.

and I was life in a hundred ways. . .
out at sea, in the garden, underground,
in the questions, holding flowers,
pouring sorrow, always seen
always loved by my God.

it was armfuls of spring
repeatedly in winter.
so it wasn’t all flowers,
but it was.-S.V.F. #sierravfpoetry

-S.V.F.

Garden Lullaby series launches tomorrow! Looking forward to sharing how God used the garden to help me heal through infertility. Done in “real time” as I’m sharing past personal reflections!

infertility · Poetry

Lest I Forget

lest I forget
it was sorrow,
but closeness with you.
it was grief,
but joy in your Presence.
it was heartache,
but bound-up wounds.
it was silence,
but not from You.

lest I forget
I was cradled
right from the grave
to the garden
under the darkness,
but the canopy of stars
is what I remember
the most.

breathing in broken air,
but just breathing
was the miracle there.
and it was flowers
and Novembers,
and pink skies,
summer nights
where Your blessing
took over my life
and I was crying
and laughing
and breathing
and longing
and it was beautiful
lest I forget!

-S.V.F.

(photo taken in 2019 months before getting pregnant with our firstborn, on the brighter side of healing. Thank you, God❤)