Haiku! Bless You! I Didn’t Sneeze.

I have always secretly loved a good Haiku. You know…5-7-5? I’m not so much in love with reading Haikus as I am with writing Haikus. I come up with these little suckers in my mind if I’m bored or if I see something funny or if I’m especially impressed with something or if I’m especially annoyed with something. I do this pretty much all the time. I have never once written one down nor have I ever shared this with anyone. Some things are better left unsaid. (Ha!) But seriously, the more I write, the more I realize I am definitely a literary geek…and I’m okay with that…so I decided to get a few of these on paper. Hope you enjoy!


To write a Haiku.

Lines 1-2-3, 5-7-5.

Syllable counts, rock!




Oh cockroach, oh roach.

I ate you when I was three.

Your legs were crunchy.




Waves, larger than life.

Your sound clears all of my thoughts.

Breeze, therapeutic.




Thank God for your help.

But I hate your smelliness.

These cats gotta go.




You let me space out.

Love will always win on here.

No stress for my brain.




So sweet in my mouth.

I love colors of rainbow.

Happy when with you.




We smell super sweet.

“The taste of cherry chapstick”

Katy Perry likes.




Warm deliciousness.

Trickling into my throat.

Keeping me happy.




You make me so sick.

I wish you would go to hell.

You make me so sick.




You can close your eyes.

Passion and fiery desire.

Never kiss too fast.




Lights that sparkle bright.

Children’s smiles are everywhere.

Family gathers.




It never stayed clean.

Minimalist lifestyle now.

Keep the clutter gone.




They love to burrow.

Quirky personalities.

Annoying but great!




I can’t live without.

It speaks deeply to my soul.

I get that from Mom.




I speak my own mind.

Can I use cuss words sometimes?

I get that from Dad.




Bake, bake, bake bacon.

Omelettes and yumminess.

Shrinking fat rolls now.




Can be wonderful.

Can be very annoying.

Make me a sammich.




Rain cleanses my thoughts.

I am a pluviophile.

Rain showers are nice.



Sipping coffee and assuming this attempt to entertain myself has you guys pretty bored right about now. (Ha!) But writing Haikus is totally mind clearing. I encourage you to try. ~paula

We Can’t Continue the Madness.

I began writing this particular entry some time in April of this year but shelved it for a while. I pulled it back up tonight to review what I had written. How strange that I chose today to pull this particular rough draft up and read it when I had just had similar thoughts while driving around today. Fate? Possibly.

Incase you didn’t know, I’m an absolute SUCKER for a good romance novel. Once upon a time, in a land far far away, a younger version of myself would have only been caught reading trashy romances capable of sizzling your panties right off. Well, being the classy, reputable, upstanding, good Christian lady that I am, (stop laughing, all you folks that know I can still drop a cuss word faster than my, once Naval, husband) fast forward to present day, when I read only Christian romance…or at bare minimum, romance without as much juice. Did I mention I am an absolute SUCKER for a good romance?

Moving right along; I remember a particularly well written book by Francine Rivers, “And the Shofar Blew”. The fictional story of the struggles of Paul Hudson, a young pastor who had just taken on a new church and his wife Eunice, who tried to find common ground as her husband poured heart and soul into building God’s Kingdom…but oftentimes at the expense of marriage and family. One Sunday as my own pastor shared from the pulpit of removing some of the excess from our chaotic lives, I immediately thought of this book. As I sat and compared his sermon that day to what I remembered from the fictional Hudson’s, it seemed that you could be too busy, even doing what naturally seemed to be God’s business, to truly be working toward God’s business. Let that sink in. You could be too busy doing what naturally appeared to be God’s business to truly be working on God’s business.

Picture this…a young mom missing her baby girl’s t-ball games for the singles prayer group every Tuesday night and women’s ministry every Thursday night…a pastor constantly working late in his office on the next sermon while missing dinners with his wife who eats alone most nights…a deacon who constantly visits church members in the hospital but doesn’t have enough time to take his wife to her doctor appointments…a dad who teaches Sunday school, facilitates a small group and works on the ground crew but is unable to locate the time for family devotion and prayer with his wife and kids. Man, all sound like wonderful tasks that are very commendable, but when there is an expense to family or our own well-being, does it continue to be God-breathed? I’m leaning toward a negative.

Why do we keep up the church charade? Why do we feel like it’s better to keep up appearances than to truly live the Love of God, show the Love of God, share the Love of God or give the Love of God? If we are not showing this love to our family including church family and other humans in our paths, are our priorities correctly aligned? Again, I’m leaning toward a negative.

How do we get ourselves so loaded with so many things to do that we lose our focus on the why; our relationship with a God who loved us so deeply and without restraint that He sent His only Son to die for us, and to share the love of Christ with others so they can have that same relationship. I think we have such good intentions when we start our walk. Somehow we get overloaded and all of this service turns into struggle.

How can we keep from being overloaded with “service” in the church? It mostly happens so gradually we don’t see it coming, until one day we wake up and realize we don’t even have time to sit with God’s Word and just listen for that still, small voice. The voice we should long to hear.

Please don’t misconstrue what I’m sharing tonight. You can’t stop working in the church. Often a small handful are stuck doing many jobs because of the inactivity of others. If we all shared equally, things could be so much better. We can’t stop working, but we can make certain we have time for what are the only important things; time spent in God’s Word, time spent in prayer and time spent sharing our faith with others. I’m pretty certain time spent in prayer while actually listening to God’s voice and direction would provide the wisdom to know what services are for you and which are not.

I think my desire for less chaos has forced me to evaluate all areas of my life. My cluttered home, that I’m proud to say is slowly becoming less cluttered (still looks like hell because it often gets worse before it gets better, but I see improvements weekly, guest bedroom is next); my cluttered schedule, that still needs a good spring cleaning but has clearly shown mild improvement lately; and, my cluttered mind that often has too much to think about, but even that is regularly getting spruced up now thanks to Coffee with Paula.

What areas do you need to clear out, de-clutter? We can not continue the madness of busy, hectic, chaotic lifestyles and be about God’s business. We can not continue the madness of busy, hectic, chaotic lifestyles and raise healthy, well-adjusted children. We can not continue the madness of busy, hectic, chaotic lifestyles and maintain our own physical or mental well-being. We can not continue the madness of busy, hectic, chaotic lifestyles and maintain healthy relationships with children, family, spouses or friends.

Sipping coffee and wondering how I managed to combine panty sizzling romance novels, a minimalist lifestyle and our relationship with God all into one entry in this little spot I call my happy place…and hoping it encouraged some thoughts tonight. ~paula

Rainy Days…

Rainy days are made for writing and lounging on the couch with some coffee, a blanket and Barney, the family wiener dog. (He’s not supposed to be on the couch…but sometimes things happen, right?) The baby boy had just headed back to Florida, the baby girl was napping, hubby was outside in his man cave. Me, alone in the quiet, sipping coffee and thinking. What to do? Blog, of course.

As always before writing, I sat there and let my mind clear. I asked myself what was heavy on my mind today. Missing mom? Half an empty nest? Social Work dilemmas? Those topics didn’t seem to inspire any deep thoughts worth capturing. Food? Travel? Parenting? Still nothing. Marriage? Certainly not. (Some things are best left alone on certain days. Ha!!!)

When nothing sparked an interest, what was a writer to do? How could I call myself a writer if I had nothing to write about? Am I a writer only when ideas flow freely or am I always a writer just with the occasional mental block? Yes. I decided that I am always a writer…just with the occasional mental block.

Think Paula, think. What should today’s topic be? It was the perfect weather for writing…the perfect set up for writing. Just absolutely nothing on the brain worth typing.

Lost in my reverie, I glanced up at the front door as a fairly large, disheveled man jerked back and quickly fled down the front steps. My heart thudded in my chest as I quickly chided myself for not locking the front door but my mind also flooded with thought for the approximate nanosecond long debate, fight or flight? Dad didn’t raise a pansy so fight it was.

Thoughts continued to flood my mind as I jumped up and raced for the door. Had he been watching me? How long had he been watching me? Certainly he had been there for at least a second or two. Muttering numerous cuss words under my breath because of the frustrating scramble between keeping coffee cup upright, the blanket from wrapping around my ankles and Barney from hitting the floor, I finally made it to the door and grabbed the pistol.

My mind raced with fear as I knew my husband was in the man cave. I dashed for the cell phone to give heads up of the man in the yard. No answer of course. I knew what must be done.

I locked down the house, woke the baby girl, provided brief instructions to not open her door until I told her it was okay, set the house alarm and headed quietly out the back door, pistol in hand, ready for whatever was necessary.

Rolling my feet in stealth mode for the descent down the back steps, my eyes scanned for any movement, finger on the trigger, ready. If I hadn’t been so aloof and on edge, I would’ve probably been thinking “Dad would certainly be proud of the awesome skills he had taught me through the years of how to be a bad ass, not to take any shit and to protect you and yours at all cost”.

My back to the house, now on the ground at the bottom of the steps, I squatted down to scan the area, making myself as small as possible to watch the man cave for movement. Keeping my eyes open in constant surveillance, I grabbed my cell phone, flipped it to silent and thought to myself “you should’ve done that before you went outside, goofball”. (Dad would probably deduct some cool points because of that but at least I did it.) I also debated as to whether to send a quick text to the hubby to give heads up…I didn’t want to let Mr. Stranger Danger know someone was out in the man cave from hubby’s ringtone if he didn’t already know. My heart could have almost passed for a double bass pedal as I quickly decided…no text to hubby. Too risky.

Where had Mr. Stranger Danger gone? Did he leave the yard? I never heard a vehicle crank but I hadn’t heard one arrive either. Had he walked up? Had he broken down? If he had no ill intentions, why would he run when I saw him at the door? Still no movement from the man cave. I was frozen in fear. What to do next? Call out to Dan? Just walk over? There was no cover between the house and the man cave. Dad would not be proud if I had been that stealthy and bad ass up to that point, then got abducted, robbed or shot from being stupid right at the last minute. Think Paula, think. Why did I have to keep saying that to myself today?!

As I squatted at the foot of the steps in deep thought, still aloof, scanning the area and making decisions, I heard laughter erupt. Was it coming from the man cave? It seemed to be. If that was someone the hubby had been expecting and they were out there laughing about him freaking me out, I would give them both a piece of my mind…a tongue lashing like none before.

More laughter. I stood up with knees who were angry and frustrated with the length of squat time. Laughter increased in the distance. Putting the safety back on, I bound over to that man cave door and peered in as I heard “mom, wake up, you’re snoring”. The baby girl and hubby stood by the couch in laughter. Nice.

Apparently, I was thinking so hard about what to blog, I dozed off for a nap. Maybe rainy days are also for napping? But as you sip your coffee, just know that I heart writing fiction…and that Dad would most certainly have never condoned me walking out of that house…til the next pot is ready. ~paula

Hot Pants

Stuffing groceries into an already stuffed backseat in the pouring rain is not exactly how I anticipated my afternoon to flow.

The expected afternoon went more like…get groceries, go home, put them up, sip a cup of freshly brewed coffee while curled up on the couch to brainstorm new blog ideas, AT WHICH TIME the rain begins to softly patter onto the year old emerald green metal roof, as relaxation commences.

But, my reality was that the more the rain pounded, the more pissed I got and the harder I slung groceries. Eggs and bread? Who knows where they were; probably under the milk. Did I give one fat rip at that point? Nope. All I cared about was getting home, drying off and trying to recreate a better version of the afternoon. We’ve eaten sandwiches shaped more like kites than squares before and lived through it…we can do it again.

Finally the last bag was tossed into the pile and the car door was slammed tightly shut. The buggy was quickly shoved into its proper place to endure the pelting rain drops until its life is saved by a poor teenager paid to come out into the monsoon.

Turning to head toward the car for a quick escape from the pelting rain, I hear a female voice yell “STOP”, paired with the deafening sound of a car horn blasting. Before I could fully turn to see what transpired, the female voice swiftly moved into my personal space as arms engulfed my being and slammed me to the ground. Her weight and heaving breath sounds surrounded me. Trying to compose myself while lying on the asphalt with sheets of rain and puddles all around, was near impossible. Incredulous, I demand, “What the specific hell do you think you’re doing?!”

As water dripped from her face to mine, incredulous tones met incredulous tones as she spat out, “Saving YOUR ass from getting hit by a Ford that swerved to miss a kid that got loose from his mama. Any chance you could locate a THANKS in that pretty head of yours?!”

As to why we continued that thirty second tyrade still lying crushed together on that drenched asphalt, I’ll never know, and the thought came and went as quickly as the distant lightning bolts; but I wiggled free from underneath her weight and stood up, as did she. Holding onto the side of the car, I steadied myself from the weight of the rain soaked clothes that now clung from head to toe.

Guilt washed over me as nerves settled and thoughts cleared. This tatted, jean clad woman had sprung into action to save my life and I lashed out when only appreciation should have been uttered. I looked down at the ground as the drops slowed to a sprinkle. I could feel her piercing gaze heat my face, as indignant fisted hands were forced into her hips, waiting. Slowly forcing myself to face her again, I gazed up into beautiful browns that had a hint of kindness, but a piercing quality of stern resolve that an apology AND a thank you would be received before she was willing to walk away…I provided both.

My right hand, along with a name was offered with the expectation of the same in return; and that became the second unmet expectation of the day. Deafening silence was all that remained as her eyes scanned my face, a face that was most likely branded with mascara in grotesque smudges. But unwilling to allow the awkward, yet jolting silence to continue, I smiled an uncomfortable smile and whispered “thank you again”. She nodded, turned and walked toward her motorcycle.

Paralyzed in the exact spot she left me, I watched her quickly towel dry her hair, slip on a dry doo rag that she dug haphazardly out of the saddle bag, towel dry the black leather seat, strap her helmet securely under her chin, swing her leg over, right her motorcycle, heel the kickstand into place, and maneuver the machine into position to crank and take off. She gave one last look in my direction that startled my paralyzed stare. And as fast as the encounter had been set into motion, her engine roared and she sped off.

Realizing that my drenched shirt and pants were steaming hot and scalding, I notice the weirdness; rain should be cold. My thoughts become a little more clear, less hazy and as I blink drowsy eyes, I see no parking lot. Only my living room that still needs new paint and new curtains, a television that is still spinning the old familiar hallmark tale of unrequited love that is miraculously turned around approximately two hours later and, of course, a million pieces of dog bedding still remaining on the floor that the miniature dachshund decided he no longer needed while we were out. I must’ve dozed off to sleep as I sipped coffee with you today…the coffee that I now wear on my shirt and in my lap. Headed to change clothes and definitely pour another cup. ~paula