Never Even Smile at a Crocodile

Ron took this picture when we were in Costa Rica last September while on the Tarcoles River. It was on the last day of our trip and I was tired and didn't really want to see croc's on this tour, but Ron said the river and surrounding jungle was gorgeous with lots of beautiful tropical birds. I'm sorry I missed the birds! It's kind of like this life. It's full of dangerous crocodiles, but also full of beauty and good things! We just need to choose the good! My lesson on Sunday was about Joseph, our progenitor who was a man so filled with honor that he could not disappoint or dishonor even his earthly master, but especially not his Father in Heaven! He had the good sense to run from Potiphar’s crocodile of a wife!

We've read that every year in Costa Rica someone is killed by a crocodile because they think they can outsmart or ignore all the warning signs posted everywhere. We all need to remember to turn off the TV, leave the movie, close the book---to run from evil when it blindsides us. But, we also need to heed all the warning signs along the way. We need to shun even the very appearance of evil, and not tempt the crocodiles so much as dabbling our little toe in the water!

Voices From Empty Houses

I wrote this poem twenty years ago and I felt like sharing it this morning, with all the young, lonely, stay at home Moms out there! And, you might say with a little touch of nostalgia for a coming day. Can you have nostalgia for a future event?

Voices From Empty Houses

I somehow feel like a stranger here.

A visitor from another planet—

Or a time traveler . . .

I remember mother's soft cotton house dresses

And sturdy loafers with bobby socks.

The "Leave It To Beaver" days . . .

Of housewives sharing coffee

And the streets filled with childsong!

Now a lonely dog barks in echo,

As a stiff breeze clangs the chain,

Of an empty playground swing.

Distant traffic the only reminder

That people rushing away from the suburbs

will return,

To pick up empty garbage cans,

And unlock silent doors.

As I walk . . .

Flags, raised like sentinels on mailboxes demand,

"Who goes there?"

And voices from the empty houses,

Wearing linen suits with tinkling heels asking,

"And, what do you do?"

Incongruous isn't it?

A housewife in jeans,

And tennis shoes . . .

The voices

From the empty houses proclaiming—

Times have changed.

Echoing other voices from empty houses

Like Bolsheviks and Marxists,

Who changed times, for a season.

I see the faces of little girls in day care centers,

Behind their Berlin Walls—

Crooning to their dolls . . .

Of soft cotton dresses,

And sturdy loafers with bobby socks.

Housewives sharing coffee,

And streets filled with childsong!

© Bonnie Holt (1990)