Three strands twist until
they twine about each other
shortening their length by half
and multplying their strength in
triplicate. But even unbreakable
unity has tangled knot capabilities.
Pulling rope strands apart is difficult
for they have permanently indented
each other. A ring finger minus its ring
doesn't lie. It waits for oneness to return
A welcome weight.
This is a tribute to Loverby. Seeing a woman through all the hormonal stages of her life must be a challenge for a man. After menopause, what will I have for an excuse? His patience and kindness towards me when I'm most difficult ~ sometimes fails in a weak moment ~ but he decides to agape me again the next moment. This grace never fails to keep me completely devoted.
Love never fails. It is the true......a cord of three strands is not easily broken.
Craig's dad let me have an old rope maker we found in the barn last summer. Craig helped me try to make rope tonight. The rope turned into poetry. Poema means workmanship. The in-progress-whenever-it-is-now-kind. Continually. Ongoing. The Ropemaker's. His.
10 comments:
You are so blessed and such a blessing.
And... I never even knew there was such a thing as a 'rope maker'! How cool is that? :)
Thank You Love for becoming entwined with Me!
I Thank the Lord daily for this fine Lady!
I witness that, how the length shortens (more than I expect) as the whole thing strenghthens, whenever I make a hemp necklace or anklet.
And this reminds me, I still haven't read that book a friend recommended, "What Your Doctor Never Told You About Pre-Menopause." :)
Love this, dear, as I have always loved the verse that threads through the thought you presented so clearly and poetically. Truly I say unto you ... I now want a rope maker, but I am more grateful that you have one and used it as I most likely would not have done. Thank you for sharing!
Don't you just love old tools!
Many years ago my parents purchased an antique rope bed, surprisingly comfortable until the ropes started to loosen. We could have used a tool like yours to make the right kind of rope for the bed. And it would have been fun. Like hand-cranking the ice cream machine. . . but producing more lasting results. (P.S. One of my sisters has the bed now.)
This is so cool, Kathleen! I love those old toys too.
I am still imagining you surrounded by the butterflies. How amazing that must have been. You do nourish me, friend. Sometimes I feel I am just emerging...changing from chrysalis to wings. Words like yours help me take flight.
Three strands indeed. A man. A woman. Their God.
I miss her so much
All of it lovely... even if in the making of the three-cord strand there is twisting and discomfort.
And David, I don't know your story, but I do know our shared God and I will mention you to him.
Blessings.
I love those lines about the ring finger and the welcome weight. Beautiful, aching image...
Kathleen, you are so good at this. I mean, the blogging, poema, twisting your life into words and pictures that create beauty for others to share in.
I am laughing at your menopausal comment, as a husband of a wife who just hosted 25 other pre-and post-menopausal women from church on Sunday night for a new monthly women's group of that certain demographic. You should have heard the names they came up with for what to call themselves. "Greying goddesses", "Women of Wisdom," "Bitching Babes"... What was clear was how much they needed each other for support and sharing their struggles. (beleive me, there are struggles. I heard about it afterwards).
So, carry on, my dear. You are full of wisdom and beauty, more than ever before, as your husband well knows.
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