ONE WAY

One Way

Quilted snow and leaves; woven together lay
those before me chose a path and pioneered a way
this trail before me stretches wide
it yawns past sleeping trees
with ruddy bedposts short and tall
and white birches with skinned knees
The way to go is plain to see; so the pathway tells
as the maple stretch their gnarly limbs in protective swells
but something within me clearly knows,
this path is not what I see
and to follow where others have gone,
could be the death of me
Have I not faith to set my foot, on untouched earthen sod?
must I always follow, only where others have trod?
in angst I stop and wonder 'which way then should I go?'
'to my left or to my right, through trees and untouched snow?'
I wring my hands with worry, my brow; in anguish twisted
I cry out to God upon my knees
and beat the ground tight-fisted
“Oh God” I pray “I wish you'd show me...
PLEASE tell me which way to go?!"
“I want to do YOUR will... if only you'd let me know?”
suddenly I know, the direction my journey is to take
the answer was within me, where HIS truth is surely staked
there was no big arrow in the sky... giving me a sign
HIS truth abides within me, as part of HIS perfect design
I know the gate is narrow, through which few will surely fit
I know what I'm to do...so I get up and get to~IT
into the wilderness I travel, to gather up the lost
to let them know that Jesus heals
and He's already paid their cost
I know there are dark valleys,
through this journey I might find
but knowing what I know, I can't leave others behind
Jesus is the only way that we are heaven bound
and I know I can't get lost because I'm truly found


© Copyright 2011 Christine Maxwell

A Lifetime

Next month, Feb 19th will mark a year that my water broke. This anniversary of sorts, has provoked me to remember, against my will or desire to do so, in such grievous detail, how I lost control of absolutely everything. My view to the world from room 876 there at Brigham and Women's Hospital was of the streets of Boston below. The red smear of brake lights and blinkers...signaling who was turning left or right...people in control of where they were going...I remember envying their freedom and control. I watched as a yellow school bus drove up the hill and made a right turn, keeping my eye trained on it as it disappeared around the corner and behind the row of short and tall buildings that spit out smoke from their chimneys and breathed steam from their snow topped roofs.



I remember staring out the window massaging my rounded belly as my sweet Isaiah rolled and flipped within my womb. We were talking and living and loving... him and I.... as much as we could before we would no longer be able to. Before he would be ripped from my body against all my efforts to keep him safe inside. I remember all the doctors and staff hording around me talking and trying to intrude into my thoughts and my silent conversations with my Isaiah.

“Go away leave me alone!” I just wanted to shout at them and make them leave. They thought I was despondent...and naïve. I remember thinking..'Let them. Let them think what they want! They think they are all so smart. They think they know my child and they think they know me but they know nothing about us!' We were connected in a way that no one could ever know! They were the naïve ones... to think that I would ever kill my Isaiah to save myself!



“It's not a matter of 'IF' but of 'WHEN' you will get sick. Do you understand you will become sick enough that you will most likely die...if you don't 'deliver' ” They'd repeat their choruses of death and murder to me and to Kevin every day several times a day. Their egos were bruised and confused that we didn't collapse into a pool of salty tears and just give them free license to do whatever they 'thought' best. We fought them every step of the way. Exposing their method of 'delivery' for what it truly was, ABORTION! Every minute of every day we fought to keep our Isaiah alive and safe within. As every day they fought to wear us down... to just relent and abort our beautiful, sweet Isaiah, whose heart beat strong and whose movements within signaled a strong and healthy baby! For 18 days and nights they pushed and pressured and tried to scare us into doing what they wanted. For 18 days we stayed strong in our resolve to let our Creator our God be the author of life and death for Isaiah and for me!



In the end I don't know why. I don't know why everything happened the way it did. I don't know why my water broke and why Isaiah continued to live within my womb. I don't know why he was born so early against all my best efforts. I don't know why he beat all odds for 10 days when he wasn't supposed to live even an hour outside of my womb. I don't know why he beat all odds; with no bleeds on his brain and why the hole in his heart closed up as it should have and why his kidneys and liver functioned so well and why he beat every odd....I don't know why his staph infection, on such paper thin skin, healed and why he responded so well to treatments day in and day out for those 10 days. I don't know why his lungs just couldn't push out the co2 by the 9th day. I don't know why he lived and I don't know why he died? I don't know why he lived such a short lifetime but I do know it was a lifetime nonetheless! Try as I might to want to think of it all as a bad dream.... he did live and even though 10 days was his lifetime.... what a lifetime it was! He made a difference and his lifetime changed me for the rest of mine and no one and nothing (including time) can take that away!



I love you Isaiah and I miss you every single day!

Winter Flames

Winter Flames

Down to the frozen pond
they all begin to gather

blades slung over shoulders

all smiles and busy chatter

tucking long coats and dresses
as they sit to lace and tie

surveying for a moment

before they begin to fly

upon liquid layers of frozen glass
with snow encrusted trim

sparkling diamond hems

over frozen bubbles spin

steel blades etch and carve
cryptic stories in the ice

swirling arches of crystal writing

created by each slice

while on the bank a fire crackles
atop the snow and leaves

thawing frosty fingers

as more wood upon is heaved

orange sparks float up
and dance wildly upon the cold

while in the distance sweetheart skaters

are warmed by the hand they hold

© Copyright 2011 Christine Maxwell

The Soundtrack to My Life

I apologize in advance for all grammatical errors! I dread grammar but love writing!

The Soundtrack to My Life
The furnace rumbles its steady melodic exhalation, as it breathes its fire. The sleepy, old pipes shudder and bang... as if startled awake by the water rolling through them and after a time the radiators begin to join in the rhythmic percussion; clunking in rebellion to the hot water being forced to invade them, they hiss and spit... a signal that warmth is on it's way. The thin, tired walls wrap their arms of protection around all contained within, releasing their heavy, melancholic sighs, as they withstand the harsh breath of winter beating hard against them. The scratching of small rodent creatures... living within the ceilings and walls... can be detected, as they scurry through the maze of the structure's frame, in a frenzy, to protect and lord over their horded bounties. The fine white powder outside dances upon winter's icy breath and...like gypsies...they travel upon the wind, settling wherever they land...creating their temporary colonies of snowdrifts... leaving destruction and mess behind them for someone else to repair and clean once they're gone.

I sit here listening to the music of this old house as a New England January blizzard whips around outside my window and I remember back to when the boys were little and to when there was a far different soundtrack to snow days like these. There was no time for contemplation or listening to the hidden percussions of an old house back then. Nope. I was typically awakened by the melodic screeching and howling of 4 boys fighting over the bumpy spoon and the prize in the cereal box and “who was looking at who while they chewed their food.” The percussion was of; stomping feet (in protest) and chair legs scraping along the floor (as the younger boys pulled them out, to climb atop them, in order to survey the table from a better vantage point, in an attempt to even their odds, as best they could, against their two older brothers) and the clanging of spoons against cereal bowls, followed by the slapping of their bare feet hitting the floor, as they would run to my bedside to see if I was awake yet, so they could get dressed to go play in the snow.

The rhythm of zippers and swooshing of snow pants would begin the climb of the crescendoing peak; with excited banter about “who would get which sled” and “who was daring enough to go over the snow jump,” it would continue to rise; with the crunching of the snow beneath the 4 sets of boots, and the tempo would quicken with; the children-ladened sleds whipping down from the top of Summer St, and finally the song, would reach its peak with; the cracking, swooshing thuds, as the boy-filled sleds would hit the jump, take air and land with a smashing and rude combination of energy.... consisting of mass, momentum and gravity. Then there would be the silence in the soundtrack... the “in-between songs silence” ...for a few seconds I would wait in paralyzed panic that someone had gotten hurt... that is until.... they would begin rolling around to steady themselves onto their feet again... laughing and shouting and ordering each other to carry the sleds back up the hill, often times with Christopher sitting at the bottom of the hill screaming about some injustice of the treacherous trip and refusing to walk back up. The soundtrack would move on and continue to play the next song.

But now with my emptying nest I only hear the howling wind outside and the creaking of a tired house. The tea kettle whistles and screeches and sputters and spits as I remove it from the burner and Haley, our 16 year old Golden retriever, lifts her white-faced head and with her filmy, cataract eyes makes a feigned attempt at scanning the room... perhaps she thought she heard something? But I know this isn't so, a stroke a few months back has stolen her hearing. She used to love the snow. She'd spend hours jumping up and with pleasure and delight she'd catch as many snowballs in her mouth as the boys could throw. She'd romp around and burrow deep into the snow to find the snowballs she didn't catch. She never did retrieve a one of those lost snowballs but she sure did have fun trying. I don't know if dogs can smile but I swear she had a smile from ear to ear. Rosie, a new addition to our family, is a one year old aussie/border collie mix, she spins excitedly in front of the door chasing her tail ~stopping~ she perks her ears with excitement and cocks her head to the side, as she watches me pull my boots on... she begins frantically running back and forth from the window to the door, impatiently waiting to get out into the white ocean of snow that is piling up. I leash her up, pull on my coat and gently rouse Haley to let her know it is time to make a trek out in the cold to go to the bathroom. Haley is happy to sense my presence and attention toward her but groans and sighs as she slowly raises herself up off her cushiony, warm dog bed... limping and staggering a bit as she rises. She steadies herself and then tiresomely wags her tail a few times to let me know she is ready to make the exhausting voyage. A rush of cold air and snow assault us as we step out onto the porch. Rosie is pulling on the leash and wants to unabashedly just jump into the unshoveled snow that lies in wait, but I pull back gently on Rosie's leash as I wait for poor Haley, who is deaf and can barely see. She raises her head in a paused moment... she sniffs at the air for a bit and then raises her nose even higher. In approval she breathes in deeply the cold air as the snow tickles her lashes and nose. I think I can see the trace of a tired smile on her face and her tail begins to wag with as much energy as she can muster. She begins to jaunt towards the steps to the yard but the slippery porch and her bad hip remind her to walk more cautiously. She slows to what is a fast walk for her. I hold Rosie back in order to let Rosie know that Haley is the Alpha dog and so that Haley will be the first to descend the steps into the freshly fallen snow... because she has earned that right as the boys' dog... their best friend... their nanny... their playmate through the years; enduring costumes and being the big “dragon villain” played out in their action figure dramas, licking their bare skin to cool them when they were sick with fevers... Sometimes I think Haley misses the boys' being little as much I do. I think this as she rises for the 4th time today, wanting to go outside to play in the snow but as soon as she gets out there she is only able to muster enough energy to stand there and enjoy the smell of cold and the tickling snow upon her face. She momentarily forgets what she is doing and proceeds to lie down on the porch. I have to encourage her to get up and come in inside after a bit. She looks around confused as she gets up and stands there. I usher her inside to the warmth. She lays on her bed and goes back to sleep.

Yep my life and my sound track are distinctly different than they were even a few years ago. I have a feeling I will become “one of those people” ...you know the ones...the people who talk about their pets as they would talk about their children... well at least until I have grandchildren that is.


© Copyright 2011 Christine Maxwell

Life's Song

Life's Song

Sometimes there is a melody I hear

sometimes it comes in whispers

and sometimes~ loud and clear

the deep vibrations of the acoustic strings

reverbrating their rhythm to my heart;

sometimes compel me to dance and sing,

and sometimes...to just fall apart

striking a chord of emotions that serenade me to a past

leaving me to hope and pray that surely the song will last

and not leave me there, held hostage by a tune,

helpless to surrender into a rhythmic swoon

and sure enough the piece plays out,

past the crescendoing peak

and I am lilted softly back to the present

to dry the tear upon my cheek

“play it again?” I can hear my own voice beg

my son looks at me and smiles

and strums the guitar resting on his leg


© Copyright 2011 Christine Maxwell

The Godhead

One God distinctly three
the Father, Son and Holy Ghost
the blessed Trinity

Triune God a puzzle to our mind
our Creator, Savior, and Indweller
in whose strength I find


© Copyright 2011 Christine Maxwell