Author Archives

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Heart Prayer

I see the precipice

Show me the meadow

I am buffeted by the stormy gale

Keep me in the shadow of your wings

I feel the scorching heat of the furnace

Wrap me in the warmth of your love

I am filled with foreboding

Envelop me with your peace

Fears of this world press in

Hold me close

Thorns of doubt prick my heart

May your shed blood cover me

I look but there is no one to comfort

Take these heavy laden cares

All around me seems death and destruction

Lift up my head to the resurrection and the life

Expand my inner vision

Show me your glory and dominion

Stretching from the east to west

To the depths below and the heavens above

Nothing hidden in all creation

Your life gives me life

Your breath gives me breath

 

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What will, the new year bring?

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“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language And next year’s words await another voice.”   T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

“What has been will be again, what has been will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 1:9

Can pondering become decision?

Can words become action?

Can speech become doing?

Can pontificating become revolution?

What will it take to give flesh to these incessant musings?

Will it be the new year?

Will it? Will it? Will it?

Do I…will it?

To have a “new”, “another” voice

Or merely thoughts

Wrapped with good intent

Leading only to…where?

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The smell of summer

The smell of freshly laid asphalt on a hot day triggers memories of childhood summers.

We lived in a quintessential 1960’s suburban bedroom community in a small town.  Families with young children settled there.  “The schools are better”, I imagine the reasoning.

For me, a grade-schooler, it meant a dozen kids my age to play with.

“Come on, let’s have a parade!’

At the suggestion, the gaggle of kids, previously lazing on the grass of our front yard, disperses in milli-seconds to their respective domiciles to collect costumes, decor and accoutrements.

As if by magic, within minutes, all are reconvened on our driveway, with bikes and trikes decorated and persons in full parade regalia.  Cindy and Judy have their batons and are sporting matching band outfits. They are the rich girls, who, besides baton lessons, also take roller-skating lessons at the local rink, showing off in their sequined dresses during Saturday morning skate sessions.

There was enmity between those two sisters and my sister and me.

One day Beth and I came home crying.  “What happened?” My mom asks us, rocking a babe on each hip.  “Cindy and Judy beat us up! We slobber, through our tears.  “You girls march right down there, and don’t come back until they know not to do it again!”

There were no more fights after that.

Batons twirling, kazoos humming, bicycle and tricycle bells ringing, we make our way down the street, in perfect parade formation.

Slowly, moms, and tots too young to join us, trickle out front doors, clapping and cheering.

Grins get bigger, batons twirl higher, bells ring louder.

We end up in the garage of the last kid’s house on the block.

Two small dogs are stuck together, rear-end to rear-end.  “What’s wrong with those dogs?”  We are genuinely concerned.  “I think we should get some hot water to pour between them–they’re frozen together!”  Susie, whose house it is, goes running inside.  We hear her yelling in alarm, “Mom! Mom!”  A few seconds later, Susie and her mom emerge.  “Kids, leave the dogs alone–they’re fine.  Anyone want some lemonade?”  We are easily distracted and enticed.  It is a special and rare occasion to be invited “inside”. (All that cleaning and mopping after all–spoiled by the trampling dirty footprints of the neighbor kids!)

Suzie’s mom pours us lemonade in Dixie cups.  When we return to the garage a few minutes later, the dogs are panting, but no longer conjoined.  We pat their heads and hug their necks, truly relieved.

“Let’s go down to the creek!”  someone suggests, and with that we go dashing out to head to the woods that line our neighborhood.

Racing down the street, my foot steps into a soft and squishy patch of warm, black tar, releasing its distinctive scent.

Summer days.

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Matthew 27

crucifixion-of-jesus-christ

“It is finished”

Earth-heaving

Air-sucking

Sky-filling

Noon blackness

Horror-eyed, paralyzed-watching

Soldiers, thieves, gawkers, mother, holy men

Trembling pillars

Lurching temple worship-bows

Silence-sword curtain-thrusts

God-Stranger

Now

Abba, Father

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Sacrifice

oh Father

now it is accomplished

Our plan

from before time

to overthrow The Liar

Our Beloved

caught in his snare

Through my body

bequeathed to You–to die

your wrath

I satisfy

This is my entry to the Trifecta Writing Challenge @   http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com.  Week #114 , using the #3a/b definition of satisfy:  “to make happy(please) and to gratify to the full(appease).” The rules are that there can only be 33 words, and the exact challenge word must be used.

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Resurrection

this human condition

it dogs all of us

try as we may

we cannot break free of it

we are doomed

so doomed

fourscore and some years

what is that?

all is meaningless, so meaningless

we are but

a vapor

here today

gone tomorrow

and yet

there persists

this idea

of something

not limited

by all our mistakes and failures

something so perfect

so amazing

where did it come from?

how can it be?

do you see the world

as it is

and yet

refuse to give in

to despair?

there must be

a reason

you hope

redemption?

deliverance?

do you feel the echo of beauty lost?

He felt it too

the yearning

the pain

the chasm

of sin

the reason He came

We did not recognize Him

Love like that

So foreign

Light like that

laying bare

the wretchedness

of our souls

but we cannot deny

the blind see

the lame walk

the winds are calmed

the dead are raised

and the ancient echos arise

reborn in Him

the ache

the longing

unite our souls to Him

and He hangs on a tree and cries

Father, forgive them–for they know not what they do!!!!

Ah, what love is this?

WHAT LOVE IS THIS??????????

Would you give the life

of your one and only son

for those that despise you?

the Father did

the One Who Knew No Sin

gave up his life

took upon Himself

the brokenness of a

guilt and shame-filled futile desperate hopeless rebellious weak sick wicked evil lost to the uttermost

humanity

so we could be

BEAUTY

and the Father heard

and the Father accepted

that bloodied tortured pierced and sin-laden

offering

and

yes YES YES!

this Jesus

is

ALIVE!!!!!!!

fear not

only

believe

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Why I write/Poem in the making

Made in the image of our Creator, we are compelled to create–or die.  We hear the whispers of beauty–something yet to be done. It beckons like a distant church bell ringing, singing to our hearts to break free of all the shackles that bind us and discover what we are and what we were created to be. Answering that call, we embark on a journey, never the same again.  A path littered with glimpses of paradise–an imperishable kingdom which will one day be revealed in all His glory. When I write, I capture moments of transcendence, of touching Eden.  Even when I am expressing hell, I feel connected to the way I was originally created to be.

It was

Grade school exercises

Haiku/limericks/cinquain

Dear diary/journaling

Becoming

A Lover of words/God’s Word

Learning

The power of words/Create life/eat them/sweet as honey

Or death-knelling/one word/careful!

It became

Processing problems, pen in hand

Conundrums/Mysteries/Unforeseen anguish and grief

Tears by the ladleful mixing with ink

Always

Insatiable curiosity/Why? How?

Student of human nature/”If it were’t true, I’d never have believed it!”

Marveling

In my Creator/Made in His image

He says: You are my Poem

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Lost Innocence

There are those things they tell you

That attach themselves to the hooks

Embedded in your poor little head

They rush in, uninvited

Rude claim-stakers

Lodging themselves

Sharp and jagged

The things that had to be told

Because you cannot survive

Believing

In pure goodness

You didn’t really, anyway, did you?

So very quickly they take up

The spaciousness

Of that carefree place

Crowding her out

Until you realize

You are a banished trespasser