The Measure of Greatness

What is the measure of greatness?
What is the measure of success?
Is it fame and recognition?
Is it fine and expensive dress?
No. It is having a place to call home
At the end of a long day,
Where family come to visit,
And children love to play.
It is cultivating a garden
That blooms by love alone,
Surrounding the humble place
Simply known as “Home.”

What is the measure of greatness?
It is not wealth of jewels and gold.
It is having people to love you
Even as you grow old.
It’s every flower you’ve ever planted
And watered with tender care.
It’s the times you’ve held a child’s hand,
Or patted a child’s hair.

Greatness is measured by kindness,
By deeds small and great,
Quiet services rendered
For someone else’s sake.
It’s taking children on walks
To get the mail at the General Store,
And sending love in letters
With poems, doodles, and more.

Greatness is measured by goodness
And quiet actions of faith.
It’s attending church on the Sabbath
And never ceasing to pray.
Greatness is not of the world.
Greatness is not fame.
It is being a mother and grandmother,
The most beautiful of names.
-Shawnee

(In loving memory of Grandma Carol Helm)

A Light on a Hill

The world leads through deception to ways
Dark and hopeless, promising false fame and height
And many are deceived and lose sight
Of that which they've learned since their youth of Grace
And hope, of repentance, of everyday's
Choices that can allow one to cast as candle-light
On a hill an example leading to a path of right,
Of honesty, love, kindness; not self praise
Seeking for gain by finding others to use,
But by living each day through humble faith.
In this world I will not lose
My way or hope. With each breath
I will carefully choose
To live my life so I may not fear death.
-Shawnee

Dirty Dishes

Dirty Dishes--Shawnee
Warm water running over
The red chapped knuckles on the back of my hand.
Squeezing frothy bubbles from the porous blue sponge,
I smell artificial green apples.

Where to start?
Glaring weakness, shortcomings, failings,
Bared for all to see
Spotlighted by the natural light in my window;
My imperfections displayed to all--
My perceived failings as a mother and wife,
My sink full of dirty dishes.

Each meal it seems more hopeless,
A mountain that increases until
I can't face it anymore.
I hide.
I serve bananas for breakfast,
A picnic on the grass for lunch--
Paper plates, chips, peanut butter sandwiches, and apple slices.
I can't quite face my nemesis, not yet...

When the smell of rotting food and sour milk
Finds me even in my most deliberate avoidance,
I must face it.

I start with a cup, a spoon,
I think about each of my children,
The cross words I've snapped at them,
The time I've spent criticizing instead of complimenting.
I delve a bit deeper, each dish a bit dirtier.
I think of complaining to my husband
For working late or being grumpy,
Using a sharp tongue instead of kindness.

I scour at the caked on bits of burnt eggs,
I run steaming water over grease,
I rinse, feel for missed bits of rough old food,
I scour and rinse again.

Layer after layer I tackle
Until, FINALLY, even the sludge
At the very bottom is scooped out,
Ground in the disposal, or rinsed away.
I inhale deeply, I feel so free,
I can finally breath again.
I no longer have to hide...
I can do better,
I will do better,
I'll try to do better.
Yet I know
The next meal
Will begin a new battle.

Toilet Paper

Toilet Paper-Shawnee

Two ply essential commodity
Quilted with designs I never see
Always too soon running empty.

I wipe noses red and snotty
Trying to keep my fingers on high ground
Bunching paper around the gooey

I wipe off spit up that I've found
Chunky white puddle on my floor
And throw away the mushy mound

I always keep towers of rolls in store
To never be caught high and not dry
Each shopping trip I buy more

Upon my throne the double ply
Is gold draped on silver rod
I grasp, pull, and watch it roll by.

The Worth of a Life

Worthless or More?-Shawnee
A man lost in a haze of addiction and depression
Found himself alone one night
Freezing from loneliness and despair.
Feeling the strangling grip of hopelessness
The man ended his life.
What was the value of that life?
The landlord made plans to have the room cleaned and rented;
He was out three months of back rent,
But he wouldn't lose any more.
The peddler who sold drugs to the man
Was out a customer,
But that was the nature of the business,
There would always be others.
The burger joint would have to find
Another night-time manager;
But that was only mildly inconvenient.
His few friends, more appropriately deemed associates than companions,
Spoke of sadness but shed no tears.
Not many others even noticed the passing of the man.
The world, it seemed, placed very little value
On the life of the man now gone.
At the funeral, where only those who really cared came,
The loss of the man was mourned
No less than the loss of a prince.
The heart-broken mother and father,
Who blamed themselves,
The siblings who regretted things they had and hadn't said,
All mourning for the loss of a life
That had as much value and potential
As any other life that ever was,
Now gone without ever realizing that potential.
A life disregarded by the world
A life treasured by a family
Gone without hope of a brighter earthly tomorrow.
What was the value of that life?
To the world it was nothing,
To the parents it was everything.
What is the value of a life?
It depends on who you ask.