Mary van Balen

Lord, it is night. The night is for stillness. Let us be still in the presence of God. It is night after a long day. What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done; let it be...

from the New Zealand Prayer Book




After dinner, Dad and I took a walk around the grounds of the nursing facility where he lives, Dad in his wheel chair, me pushing him along. We stopped to wave to a friend who called down to us from her balcony. Dad, always the gentleman, tipped his hat and waved back. Then we were off to the pond. He spotted a couple of geese as we approached and pointed out the "red faces," muscovy ducks that were settled along the walk that circles the water. Excited by our arrival, the large ducks heaved themselves up with tails wobbling and crowded around us. When they discovered we had come empty handed, they settled back into the grass like lawn ornaments.  Read More 

The sun beat down on artists, poets, and gallery visitors gathered for the opening of the "Language of Art" exhibit that featured twenty-five selected pieces of art and poems written in response to them. One by one, poets took center stage and read their works. I sat in a plastic lawn chair and watched, noting the variety of forms poets take: young and old, men and women. Some women readers wore pumps and dresses, others jeans and t-shirts. One walked up and halfway through her poem her hands began to shake. She put one behind her back while the other shook the paper.

"Such a small group," I thought, "and she is so nervous. She must not be accustomed to reading her work before an audience." I admired her commitment to her art. One man wore a sports jacket. Others were more casual. Each was given rapt attention and applause when they had finished. All of us sat, listened, and sweated together until the last line was read, when we moved back into the gallery to cool off and study again the art and poems displayed beside them. Read More