The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow . . .

So the other night I believe I was throwing a bit of a temper tantrum. Pondering some recent trials in our family, and those suffered by close friends, I took my frustrations out in poetical form. Typical for me. When I'm upset, I find that writing is a wonderful release. After I purged my anger, I felt a tiny bit ashamed. So I wrote another poem earlier this morning. I thought perhaps I would post both of them today---a vivid contrast. (Incidentally, I promise to post something funny soon) In the meantime, you're stuck with this. And the picture doesn't really fit anything---it's just one of my current favorites. This is the scenic view out my kitchen window. (Jealous?) [Well, maybe not about the snow we're still enduring, but I digress.] =)

Sorrow Overload

When there are no more tears
What then must fall
When there is not enough comfort
To cover it all

When it’s all been too much
Till you sit in a daze
Emotionally drained
In a mind-numbing maze

Where there are no more answers
Only questions that rise
From the desert within
To the heavenly skies

And the last drop of hope
Is wrung from your heart
Only a glimmer remains
Of faith torn apart.

Cheri J. Crane
March 25, 2008

Rebuttal

When heartache looms in mountainous form
And the sting of life sinks deep,
When the road ahead seems much too bleak
And causes you to weep.

When clouds block out the fading light
Thunder echoing refrains,
Fearing doubt and lingering sorrow
Trigger faithless rains.

Where is the hope, the promised joy
The comfort always to be ours?
Must growth result from endless pain
And infinite darkened showers?

Softly the answers come at last
When doubting fear subsides,
Calming peace settles deep within
While seeking warming tides.

Placing blame, much undeserved
Upon heaven’s golden throne,
Leaves us floundering in pools of pain
Bereft, we are alone.

Angry pride and foolish qualm
Block all that we desire,
Until we bend our will to His
And seek what can inspire.

Cheri J. Crane
March 27, 2008

When Trials Descend

It is said that into each life some rain must fall; this past week, our family has been hit with the equivalent of a tropical deluge. Ever present in our aching hearts and overwhelmed minds resounds the question of "Why?" Why this? Why was this allowed to happen? What possible good can come from trials of this nature? And so on . . .

I remember thinking something similar years ago while in college. At the time I was developing Type 1 diabetes, a life-altering condition. My father's health was also failing, and we nearly lost him that summer when his liver shut down.

I wrote a poem then that pretty well sums up what I'm feeling now. There is also a set of lyrics I wrote a couple of years ago that would also fit in here. May both inspire a sense of calming peace.

When Things Are Looking Darkest

When things are looking darkest
And there’s no light shining in
Don’t hang your head in sorrow
Don’t think that you can’t win
Hold on with true conviction
Don’t let your spirit die
Keep on reaching forward
Don’t be afraid to try
For soon the storm will lift
And the clouds will fade away
And the pain that you now feel
Will not forever stay
It too will disappear to be replaced with faith anew
And you will find the strength you need
Residing within you.

Cheri Jackson (This was written before I became a Crane)
1980


Gilead’s Balm

1st: Today I said a heart-felt prayer
And found the Lord was truly there
To offer peace, sweet Gilead’s balm
Loving comfort, peaceful calm

Chorus: Though raging storms persist within
The needed healing will begin
Cling to hope when clouds descend
Calming peace without an end

2nd:Hope is real, and faith is sure
When tender hearts are tried and pure
The Refiner’s Fire burns, ‘tis true
Leaving diamonds among its residue

3rd: This day will pass, the night will cease
Grieving hearts will fill with peace
A new dawn breaks with beauty rare
Dispersing of our every care.

Cheri J. Crane—February 26, 2006

The Wearin' o' the Green & Orange & Blue

This past week marked a fun celebration for my family. We celebrated St. Patrick's Day. I'm sure this holiday means different things to everyone. In our family, it has become a traditional celebration of our Irish heritage. We gather together to enjoy the yearly parade that takes place in Salt Lake City each year. Then we feast on the traditional corned beef and cabbage.

In 1800, my 5th great grandfather, Samuel Sibbett Sr., emigrated to America from his beloved Ireland. Grandpa Samuel was a bit of a rebel. He fought bravely against the English rule, becoming a leader during the Robert Emmet Rebellion. Samuel's political activities made him an enemy to the King of England, and his arrest was ordered. To avoid prison, Samuel sailed to America, where he established himself in a Scots-Irish community in Pennsylvannia.

We honor his memory, and others like him by commemorating St. Patrick's Day. We wear the traditional green color, which represents Gaelic tradition, and independence. It is also associated with the large population of Catholics who reside in Ireland.

We wear orange in honor of the Protestants. This color is symbolic of William of Orange who defeated the Irish Catholics during the 1600's during the Battle of the Boyne.

This year I learned that blue is yet another hue of Ireland---it is the traditional color depicting Irish pride. We saw all three colors during this year's parade. In place of poetry, essay, or novel snippets, I pasted in a few pictures that show some of the highlights. Erin go Braugh! (Ireland Forever!)

Cry Uncle

In a departure from what I normally post, I decided to list the excuses for why I haven't been adding new stuff here lately:

1) I've been busy

2) I don't seem to have a life anymore

3) See item # 1 =)

Is it me, or has life picked up speed? It seems like at the end of each day I'm exhausted, and I'm at a loss to explain why. =) I'm sure many of you can relate. Among other adventures, I have been working on a new novel. It's nearly ready to send off to the publishing world.

I decided today, to post an excerpt from this new creation, just for kicks and giggles.

I'm entitling this manuscript, "Cry Uncle" I wouldn't even hazard a guess as to what it will be entitled by the end of the editing process---if it survives said process. Be kind---this is my first attempt at writing a mystery. And now without further ado . . . (drum roll please) here it is a little snatch that will hopefully strike a chord out there in blogdom:

A squad car sped down Bench Road to Highland High School, its lights flashing, the siren heralding tragedy. Before it came to a complete stop, a woman opened the door on her side and raced toward the sprawling brick building.

“Judge Unger?”

Karen slowed to a walk, sick at heart as she gazed at the man who had called her name. Mike Barnes was one of the best detectives on the force. His appearance was a source of comfort and dismay. If he was already involved, her daughter was in serious trouble. “Did you find her? Did you find Jaycee?”

Mike’s shoulders sagged. “Not yet. We found something we think belongs to her.”

Fighting nausea, Karen followed the detective inside the school. He led her to the office where the principal, his secretary, and one of Jaycee’s teachers, wore expressions matching her own.

“Mrs. . . . uh . . . Judge . . .”

“Karen,” she supplied, cutting through the formalities.

“Karen,” the principal began again, running a nervous hand over his balding

head. The large man looked like he could cry. “We are so sorry.”

“She was in my class,” the biology teacher volunteered. “The office called—”

“That man said he was her uncle,” the secretary said in her defense. The older woman clenched her hands tightly together, indicating the remorse she felt. “He waited for her outside of the office. I saw them talking . . . Jaycee left with him. I thought she knew him.”

“He lied,” Karen exclaimed. “I don’t have a brother, and neither did my husband—Jake was an only child. My only sister is divorced—there are no uncles!”

No one dared to respond after after that announcement.

“Why did Jaycee go with him?” Karen demanded.

Six pairs of eyes remained focused on the floor.


(Insert scary music and a little bit of: Dun, dun dun!)

Bye now. =) Bawahahahaha!


Okay, fine . . . I'll share a tiny bit more:


Regaining the ability to focus, she saw that she was lying on the carpeted floor of an unfurnished room. It was new carpet, a forest green color. Heavy curtains covered the windows, making it difficult to judge the time of day. She tried to move and discovered that her hands were tied behind her with rough rope. When she wiggled around, she saw that her ankles were wrapped with duct tape. She assumed that was what had been used to seal her mouth. A growing sense of terror gripped her. Closing her eyes, she prayed, begging for help, for someone to find her. Tears rolled down her face as she struggled against the tape, but it held fast. Help me, she silently begged. Please, Father, help me.

The End

Kidding. =) There are actually about 235 pages that go along with what I've shared above. And I'll share one other item---this particular book tackles the danger of posting personal information on Internet social networks. It is my hope that this book will appeal to parents and their offspring---that it might do a tiny bit of good out there, as well as entertain.


And now, back to the revising\polishing aspect of the writing world. (Did I mention: Bawahahahaha?!)