I knew the haircut hadn’t turned out well
When I put on a hat to hide it
And my sons stated that I looked
Like Stanley Yelnats.
No offense to Shia LaBeouf,
But I’m 35 and female and would prefer
Not to resemble him.
At all.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Invite
I met the incoming student in spring,
His first time at a church service.
I talked him through what to expect,
Loving the chance to be hospitable.
Now the school year has begun, and
The wonder of Facebook offered
An opportunity to reach out.
But that is awkward, really. I hardly know him!
Finally bold, I sent a message and
Six minutes later got a cheery reply, accepting
My invitation to a party and the offer of a carpool
With some other almost strangers.
I have been a newcomer, trying to find my tribe.
Why would I ever think that erring
On the side of welcome would be
Unwelcome?
His first time at a church service.
I talked him through what to expect,
Loving the chance to be hospitable.
Now the school year has begun, and
The wonder of Facebook offered
An opportunity to reach out.
But that is awkward, really. I hardly know him!
Finally bold, I sent a message and
Six minutes later got a cheery reply, accepting
My invitation to a party and the offer of a carpool
With some other almost strangers.
I have been a newcomer, trying to find my tribe.
Why would I ever think that erring
On the side of welcome would be
Unwelcome?
Friend from Afar
When I heard your voice again,
My gladness burst forth and my voice could hardly contain,
And when we hung up, I could hardly keep from crying
To know that I could have had days
To talk and visit, but instead
Mere hours to share the God-musings
And general happenings of years.
May God stretch the time, as only he can.
We’ll jump right into it, as heart friends do.
How much I have missed you.
How much I look forward to the morrow.
My gladness burst forth and my voice could hardly contain,
And when we hung up, I could hardly keep from crying
To know that I could have had days
To talk and visit, but instead
Mere hours to share the God-musings
And general happenings of years.
May God stretch the time, as only he can.
We’ll jump right into it, as heart friends do.
How much I have missed you.
How much I look forward to the morrow.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Haircut
As much as I always long for long hair,
Phil prefers short. He likes to see my face.
So I get it cut short, and maybe he likes it,
And maybe he doesn’t,
But I know that it will eventually grow
Until I can pull it back in a ponytail or
Hold it in place with a pen, which is fine
Until I realize I never wake up feeling cute
And should probably get it cut again.
Phil prefers short. He likes to see my face.
So I get it cut short, and maybe he likes it,
And maybe he doesn’t,
But I know that it will eventually grow
Until I can pull it back in a ponytail or
Hold it in place with a pen, which is fine
Until I realize I never wake up feeling cute
And should probably get it cut again.
Perfect Not Perfect
I.
In prayer for a friend,
The pain proved too insurmountable.
I think it will not always,
But for now there was a pause.
But this is not her story.
This is mine.
I did not feel regret or concern.
It is not my responsibility.
Such an obvious statement,
And yet … I want to be perfect.
To feel peace that I am not …
That is a part of my story yet unlived.
II.
In prayer for me,
I thought about third grade Amy,
Sobbing because the star for my construction paper
Christmas tree would not have five even points.
Maybe it had six, or maybe the five were uneven.
I don’t remember. But it would not come right.
But I remember the shame of crying in class
And children whispering about it.
I remember Mrs. Grosser’s gentleness as she said,
“Oh, honey. It’s okay. Go wash your face.”
And I went and washed and my face felt better,
But the tree was ruined, and the day was ruined,
And I cannot be perfect and have never been perfect,
But I wanted to be and I wasn’t.
Looking back, I want to tell that child:
Be gentle with yourself, sweet girl.
And I pictured Jesus, as he blessed the children,
Picking up little Amy, and holding me gently on his lap,
And I was just with him. And he held me,
In all my imperfection,
And loved me.
In prayer for a friend,
The pain proved too insurmountable.
I think it will not always,
But for now there was a pause.
But this is not her story.
This is mine.
I did not feel regret or concern.
It is not my responsibility.
Such an obvious statement,
And yet … I want to be perfect.
To feel peace that I am not …
That is a part of my story yet unlived.
II.
In prayer for me,
I thought about third grade Amy,
Sobbing because the star for my construction paper
Christmas tree would not have five even points.
Maybe it had six, or maybe the five were uneven.
I don’t remember. But it would not come right.
But I remember the shame of crying in class
And children whispering about it.
I remember Mrs. Grosser’s gentleness as she said,
“Oh, honey. It’s okay. Go wash your face.”
And I went and washed and my face felt better,
But the tree was ruined, and the day was ruined,
And I cannot be perfect and have never been perfect,
But I wanted to be and I wasn’t.
Looking back, I want to tell that child:
Be gentle with yourself, sweet girl.
And I pictured Jesus, as he blessed the children,
Picking up little Amy, and holding me gently on his lap,
And I was just with him. And he held me,
In all my imperfection,
And loved me.
Friday, August 29, 2014
This Didn't Happen (To Me)
I reached Chipotle at 7:02
And though the doors opened,
And a girl remained behind the counter,
The manager came out and refused to serve me.
“You’re too late. It’s after closing.”
Why was this Chipotle closing hours early?
But more than that, I was simply overwhelmed with
Hunger, so that I wondered if I might faint,
Or if hypoglycemic tears would soften this
Stone-faced tormentor, who refused to release
The mounds of food waiting
For burrito bowls.
This was but a nap time nightmare for me.
In reality, for some, food is never released.
And though the doors opened,
And a girl remained behind the counter,
The manager came out and refused to serve me.
“You’re too late. It’s after closing.”
Why was this Chipotle closing hours early?
But more than that, I was simply overwhelmed with
Hunger, so that I wondered if I might faint,
Or if hypoglycemic tears would soften this
Stone-faced tormentor, who refused to release
The mounds of food waiting
For burrito bowls.
This was but a nap time nightmare for me.
In reality, for some, food is never released.
Apple Harvest
With no-bake cookies as a ready dip,
A son and I headed out to pick apples.
One apple was far higher than I could reach.
I moved on.
My son declared triumphantly,
“I got it!”
Impressed, I asked how.
“Oh, I broke the branch!”
He replied happily.
Then, as if that thought had just now
Finally reached his brain,
He repeated, more slowly,
“I broke the branch. Hmm.
Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.”
I have heard that teenagers
Lose all common sense.
I have no teenagers yet.
I might be in trouble.
A son and I headed out to pick apples.
One apple was far higher than I could reach.
I moved on.
My son declared triumphantly,
“I got it!”
Impressed, I asked how.
“Oh, I broke the branch!”
He replied happily.
Then, as if that thought had just now
Finally reached his brain,
He repeated, more slowly,
“I broke the branch. Hmm.
Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.”
I have heard that teenagers
Lose all common sense.
I have no teenagers yet.
I might be in trouble.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Getting to Know Someone
One of earth’s pleasures is
The flush of new knowing.
The initial delight of a new person,
A new mind to probe and enjoy,
A new relationship
With no mistakes yet.
That usually wears off quickly.
This world cannot keep new.
The flush of new knowing.
The initial delight of a new person,
A new mind to probe and enjoy,
A new relationship
With no mistakes yet.
That usually wears off quickly.
This world cannot keep new.
My Worst Dream
On family vacation, the ferry
Leaves for Mackinac Island.
In a moment of inattention,
My young child falls overboard
And drowns.
That momentary slip in attention
Has a permanent, horrible consequence.
I watched a demonstration of prayer today.
A child had almost died in a household accident.
A week later, the mother was praying through the pain.
As I watched that mother, I wept.
Because who of us can adequately care
For our children?
For her, she saw that Jesus did the care and carrying.
I need to see that, too.
Leaves for Mackinac Island.
In a moment of inattention,
My young child falls overboard
And drowns.
That momentary slip in attention
Has a permanent, horrible consequence.
I watched a demonstration of prayer today.
A child had almost died in a household accident.
A week later, the mother was praying through the pain.
As I watched that mother, I wept.
Because who of us can adequately care
For our children?
For her, she saw that Jesus did the care and carrying.
I need to see that, too.
Dead Like a Dog
Phil’s dog Chloe died at home.
She was old and had had a year of gradual decline.
She did not seem to be in pain.
Rather than the stress of a car ride,
A tearful time in an office,
And a sterile injection,
We opted for a home death,
On the floor of our house trailer,
Resting with us until the end.
It took three days. Three days with
No desire for food or water,
Simply breathing in and out,
Gradually more slowly.
When she actually died,
Her bowels released a final time.
That final loss of control,
Coupled with cessation of breath,
Hit me hard.
Some weeks later, Holy Week arrived again.
I had, of course, seen paintings of
The Crucifixion. In my head, I knew that Jesus died.
But I had thought of his death more like
A temporary suspension,
As if he were just holding his breath.
The idea of our Lord losing control of his bowels
In the final moment? The idea that the God of Creation
Would be so vulnerable, so human? So …
Dead?
That hit me hard.
She was old and had had a year of gradual decline.
She did not seem to be in pain.
Rather than the stress of a car ride,
A tearful time in an office,
And a sterile injection,
We opted for a home death,
On the floor of our house trailer,
Resting with us until the end.
It took three days. Three days with
No desire for food or water,
Simply breathing in and out,
Gradually more slowly.
When she actually died,
Her bowels released a final time.
That final loss of control,
Coupled with cessation of breath,
Hit me hard.
Some weeks later, Holy Week arrived again.
I had, of course, seen paintings of
The Crucifixion. In my head, I knew that Jesus died.
But I had thought of his death more like
A temporary suspension,
As if he were just holding his breath.
The idea of our Lord losing control of his bowels
In the final moment? The idea that the God of Creation
Would be so vulnerable, so human? So …
Dead?
That hit me hard.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Anger Covers
A man said that anger
Often covers the more vulnerable emotions.
That when you take away anger,
What is left is softer, and also
Needs to be dealt with.
Dare I say that that made me mad?
Often covers the more vulnerable emotions.
That when you take away anger,
What is left is softer, and also
Needs to be dealt with.
Dare I say that that made me mad?
Baby Kisses
A few days back, Caleb started
To make little kissing noises,
Sometimes with his tongue,
Sometimes with his lips.
I kiss his cheeks then,
And we laugh.
He stops eating sometimes.
I glance down, interrupted
In my writing or reading,
And he makes a kissing noise
With happy, sparkling eyes.
I kiss his cheeks then,
And we laugh.
To make little kissing noises,
Sometimes with his tongue,
Sometimes with his lips.
I kiss his cheeks then,
And we laugh.
He stops eating sometimes.
I glance down, interrupted
In my writing or reading,
And he makes a kissing noise
With happy, sparkling eyes.
I kiss his cheeks then,
And we laugh.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Deliver Us
Who gave himself for our sins, that he might deliver us from this present evil world
I know that “deliver us”
Can simply mean “rescue,”
But I rather like the picture
Of Jesus straining to push us
Out of the present evil world,
Like a baby delivered from
A constrained, dark place
Into a world of light and space.
Betelgeuse
When the baby woke me at 5,
I noticed Orion’s belt out my window
In the dark sky of the new moon.
And when the baby continued to fuss,
I carried him out, into the cool night air,
And we looked up at the faint Milky Way,
And especially at Orion, the hunter,
With a right shoulder made of the
Tenth brightest of all stars,
Magnificent Betelgeuse,
Whose name, “Beetle Juice,” sounds little
Like the “Bay Tell Goose”
I wanted to say as a girl.
It fascinates me that a “brighter” star does not
Necessarily mean bigger, but simply that
The pinprick of light emanating is more
Eye catching, more piercing.
It fascinates me that, of all the thousands of things
To see in the night sky through the year, there are only
Twenty-one stars of the brightest magnitudes.
Twenty-one.
Once you know Orion’s belt,
It’s easy enough to find his right shoulder,
And greet Betelgeuse, number ten.
Then only twenty more friends to know by name,
Like Sirius, Arcturus, and Alpha Centauri,
Whose names are a poem themselves.
I noticed Orion’s belt out my window
In the dark sky of the new moon.
And when the baby continued to fuss,
I carried him out, into the cool night air,
And we looked up at the faint Milky Way,
And especially at Orion, the hunter,
With a right shoulder made of the
Tenth brightest of all stars,
Magnificent Betelgeuse,
Whose name, “Beetle Juice,” sounds little
Like the “Bay Tell Goose”
I wanted to say as a girl.
It fascinates me that a “brighter” star does not
Necessarily mean bigger, but simply that
The pinprick of light emanating is more
Eye catching, more piercing.
It fascinates me that, of all the thousands of things
To see in the night sky through the year, there are only
Twenty-one stars of the brightest magnitudes.
Twenty-one.
Once you know Orion’s belt,
It’s easy enough to find his right shoulder,
And greet Betelgeuse, number ten.
Then only twenty more friends to know by name,
Like Sirius, Arcturus, and Alpha Centauri,
Whose names are a poem themselves.
Quantity Over Quality
A creative class had an experiment.
Half would be graded on quantity:
All that mattered was the number
Produced. Half would be graded on
Quality: how perfect a single poem.
The quality people did little,
Having spent their time theoretically,
Questioning what is perfection.
But the quantity people sat and wrote,
And produced, in the end, stellar stuff.
Happily for me, I naturally settled on
Quantity. And I can hope that
Quality might follow.
Half would be graded on quantity:
All that mattered was the number
Produced. Half would be graded on
Quality: how perfect a single poem.
The quality people did little,
Having spent their time theoretically,
Questioning what is perfection.
But the quantity people sat and wrote,
And produced, in the end, stellar stuff.
Happily for me, I naturally settled on
Quantity. And I can hope that
Quality might follow.
Widow at Zarephath
The jar of flour was not spent, neither did the jug of oil become empty, according to the word of the LORD that he spoke by Elijah.
When the heavens were shut
Three and a half years,
Elijah went to a widow and asked for bread.
She had enough flour and oil for a final meal
Before she and her son lay down to die.
Now the story turns strange.
Elijah told her to prepare a little cake for him
First. Then to prepare for herself.
This has always seemed an obvious choice.
I know about fantasy porridge pots that keep boiling;
I know that Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishes;
I know the manna from heaven.
And since I can read the whole story in less than a minute,
I have found it easy to pass over the widow’s decision.
But think.
She was of Sidon, not part of the tribes of Israel.
She was a widow, the lone provider for her son.
Here comes a stranger, who tells her
To serve him first, and then go and make her own food.
I wonder at his audacity.
And it unsettles me. Shouldn’t he let her eat first?
I wonder at what point the barrel of flour and cruse of oil
Replenished. I wish immediately, but it seems that
Sometimes faith must go to the limit, waiting
Until the cake was cooked, or even served, before refilling.
I don’t much like this story.
And yet.
Notice God’s hand on it all.
God told Elijah to go to that specific widow.
God had already told that widow to sustain Elijah.
And though she says, “thy God,” and not
“My God,” she obeys both God and that man.
And, for her faith, received food, and a resurrected son.
And Jesus, much later, chastises the people of Capernaum,
Who did not believe him, and, indeed, tried to kill him,
When he reminded them of this widow’s faith
And faithfulness.
Which makes me wonder if, despite all of God’s direction,
Her obedience was impressive and memorable.
As, I suppose, it always is.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Kayak
At a small lake with friends,
Isaiah asked to try out a kayak.
He came back with an ear-to-ear grin,
Having loved being on the water
Without being in the water.
It made sense that he tried it.
He’s always been the most fearless.
And Jadon, too, made sense that he’d try it.
More cautious, but older,
He went and came back.
But the real surprise was Abraham,
Known for his terror of water,
His general caution.
He put on his life vest and headed out
And stayed out for a long time,
And came back, thrilled and ready for a
Repeat. Maybe tomorrow,
Or at least once a month.
Isaiah asked to try out a kayak.
He came back with an ear-to-ear grin,
Having loved being on the water
Without being in the water.
It made sense that he tried it.
He’s always been the most fearless.
And Jadon, too, made sense that he’d try it.
More cautious, but older,
He went and came back.
But the real surprise was Abraham,
Known for his terror of water,
His general caution.
He put on his life vest and headed out
And stayed out for a long time,
And came back, thrilled and ready for a
Repeat. Maybe tomorrow,
Or at least once a month.
A Gift
After church, my friend gave me a gift.
Wrapped in burlap, with a red-patterned ribbon,
I found inside a bath scrub,
Made of coconut oil, lime, and sugar,
An edible, pampering treat a beautiful glass jar.
I have a bathtub, and I am learning to like
Pampering. This is all good.
And on the other side of a loving heart-shaped note,
I found a sticker with a Danish proverb:
“The road to a friend’s house is never long.”
We live almost an hour away.
The road is, literally, long.
But we have friends who love us so much,
They call that road not long, and visit
Anyway.
Wrapped in burlap, with a red-patterned ribbon,
I found inside a bath scrub,
Made of coconut oil, lime, and sugar,
An edible, pampering treat a beautiful glass jar.
I have a bathtub, and I am learning to like
Pampering. This is all good.
And on the other side of a loving heart-shaped note,
I found a sticker with a Danish proverb:
“The road to a friend’s house is never long.”
We live almost an hour away.
The road is, literally, long.
But we have friends who love us so much,
They call that road not long, and visit
Anyway.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
A Better Way
For the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did; by the which we draw nigh unto God.
My friend wanted God.
Her church gave her rules.
The rules brought failure.
Failure bred despair.
The rules did what they were supposed to do.
The law is holy, yes, but we needed redemption from its curse.
So says Paul.
There is one better way.
For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus
Hath made me free from the law of sin and death.
Walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit.
So says Paul. So say I.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
The Loaves
We talked about our favorite Jesus story.
Abraham liked the loaves and fishes,
Multiplying for the five thousand.
We tried to picture how the loaf broke
And the halves passed and the halves broke
And what was passed was still somehow undiminished.
I've lived this. Eight years of childhood spent
On support, I asked my Mom once how they survived.
“The money came in, and the money went out.
And on paper the expenses were always more
Than the income, and yet
There was always enough.”
We've all lived this. Love spreads to another and another,
And yet remains complete for each, undiminished.
Abraham liked the loaves and fishes,
Multiplying for the five thousand.
We tried to picture how the loaf broke
And the halves passed and the halves broke
And what was passed was still somehow undiminished.
I've lived this. Eight years of childhood spent
On support, I asked my Mom once how they survived.
“The money came in, and the money went out.
And on paper the expenses were always more
Than the income, and yet
There was always enough.”
We've all lived this. Love spreads to another and another,
And yet remains complete for each, undiminished.
Shifting Taste
We were talking of our favorite
Chronicles of Narnia character,
And I glibly gave my middle school stock answer,
Reepicheep, that most valiant, beloved mouse.
Further thought, though, makes me wonder if
My tastes have changed now, preferring something
Slightly more realistic.
Aravis, who bucked tradition in hope for a better life.
And found it.
Doctor Cornelius, that half-dwarf, half-human,
Who served, like Obadiah, in the court of his king,
Hoping to keep truth alive, even though
Neither dwarves nor man would claim him.
Or maybe Tirian, the last king, so noble,
So doomed, who does what he can, as long as he can,
And watches his country overrun and destroyed.
Would I have the courage and tenacity,
In the face of such dissolution, to carry on?
Chronicles of Narnia character,
And I glibly gave my middle school stock answer,
Reepicheep, that most valiant, beloved mouse.
Further thought, though, makes me wonder if
My tastes have changed now, preferring something
Slightly more realistic.
Aravis, who bucked tradition in hope for a better life.
And found it.
Doctor Cornelius, that half-dwarf, half-human,
Who served, like Obadiah, in the court of his king,
Hoping to keep truth alive, even though
Neither dwarves nor man would claim him.
Or maybe Tirian, the last king, so noble,
So doomed, who does what he can, as long as he can,
And watches his country overrun and destroyed.
Would I have the courage and tenacity,
In the face of such dissolution, to carry on?
Reepicheep
I.
Vain and proud, yet truly, wholly loved,
Ever courageous and honorable,
He sought the end of the earth.
Fearless and seeking, he missed—
Salvation was easier.
In the end he was satisfied,
His seeking returned dividends,
And the gallant, furry mouse
Found happiness in Aslan's country.
II.
Twenty years ago or so I wrote Reepicheep a poem,
And was surprised to find, when I read it now,
That not only do I still like this first poetic attempt,
But young me was dealing with the same things
I am now:
Happiness. Reward. Love. Salvation.
Perhaps these are the essentials of life.
Spend your decades and dig deep.
Vain and proud, yet truly, wholly loved,
Ever courageous and honorable,
He sought the end of the earth.
Fearless and seeking, he missed—
Salvation was easier.
In the end he was satisfied,
His seeking returned dividends,
And the gallant, furry mouse
Found happiness in Aslan's country.
II.
Twenty years ago or so I wrote Reepicheep a poem,
And was surprised to find, when I read it now,
That not only do I still like this first poetic attempt,
But young me was dealing with the same things
I am now:
Happiness. Reward. Love. Salvation.
Perhaps these are the essentials of life.
Spend your decades and dig deep.
Precious
I generally avoid the word,
Associating it, rightly, with the worst aspects
Of Victorian sentimentality.
It’s a word like saccharine,
And we all know that aspartame causes
Brain lesions.
Not to mention that most such children
Are also blonde, chubby, and cherubic,
Which not only runs into the issue of cliché
But also makes a mockery
Of the biblical cherubs, with their
Bull aspect, two faces, wings.
The boys, following their daily push-ups,
Did jumping jacks in sync.
Caleb watched these energetic exertions, and then,
With the happiest grin I have seen,
Clapped for his brothers.
This made him giggle, and giggle harder, until he was
Almost screaming with laughter.
This made all seven of us laugh.
Some did more jumping jacks.
He clapped for us all,
Chubby baby hands making a surprisingly loud slap,
With his golden curls as a soft halo.
How precious.
Am I annoyed that my thoughts reverted to
Cliché in the midst of exuberance?
A bit.
Perhaps, though, that is the right word
For a moment of such worth.
Associating it, rightly, with the worst aspects
Of Victorian sentimentality.
It’s a word like saccharine,
And we all know that aspartame causes
Brain lesions.
Not to mention that most such children
Are also blonde, chubby, and cherubic,
Which not only runs into the issue of cliché
But also makes a mockery
Of the biblical cherubs, with their
Bull aspect, two faces, wings.
The boys, following their daily push-ups,
Did jumping jacks in sync.
Caleb watched these energetic exertions, and then,
With the happiest grin I have seen,
Clapped for his brothers.
This made him giggle, and giggle harder, until he was
Almost screaming with laughter.
This made all seven of us laugh.
Some did more jumping jacks.
He clapped for us all,
Chubby baby hands making a surprisingly loud slap,
With his golden curls as a soft halo.
How precious.
Am I annoyed that my thoughts reverted to
Cliché in the midst of exuberance?
A bit.
Perhaps, though, that is the right word
For a moment of such worth.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Stuck
Several of my sons have been fascinated with cans.
When little, they open the pantry and sort cylinders
In serpentine patterns as I prepare food.
New house, new son, the corner cupboard
Draws Caleb irresistibly. I push the glass bottles
To the back, and he removes garbanzos and mustard.
Once, as my pantry emptied, he had to reach deeper.
He started to wail. He had high centered himself
On the lazy Susan, and could go neither forward nor back.
When little, they open the pantry and sort cylinders
In serpentine patterns as I prepare food.
New house, new son, the corner cupboard
Draws Caleb irresistibly. I push the glass bottles
To the back, and he removes garbanzos and mustard.
Once, as my pantry emptied, he had to reach deeper.
He started to wail. He had high centered himself
On the lazy Susan, and could go neither forward nor back.
Feeling the Love
I was dealing with food in the freezer,
Feeling a bit frazzled.
Is it really almost ten? Where does the time go?
Isaiah called me from the front door.
“I have something for you.”
Perhaps a bit annoyed at the interruption, I went to him.
He stood there, baseball cap on,
One hand holding the stick to help drive cows.
He suddenly revealed his other hand,
Holding a morning glory flower,
Creamy white with purple center,
Dew-bedecked, and only a little bit torn.
No stem to put in water, this ephemeral gift
Is mine for the moment to enjoy.
He didn’t say, “I love you and was thinking of you,”
But I felt it all the same.
Feeling a bit frazzled.
Is it really almost ten? Where does the time go?
Isaiah called me from the front door.
“I have something for you.”
Perhaps a bit annoyed at the interruption, I went to him.
He stood there, baseball cap on,
One hand holding the stick to help drive cows.
He suddenly revealed his other hand,
Holding a morning glory flower,
Creamy white with purple center,
Dew-bedecked, and only a little bit torn.
No stem to put in water, this ephemeral gift
Is mine for the moment to enjoy.
He didn’t say, “I love you and was thinking of you,”
But I felt it all the same.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Christus Victor
For a thousand years, saints understood
That Christ triumphed over sin, death, and the Devil
When he died and rose again.
Christ came to defeat the entities
That held people in bondage.
His enemy is not man.
That is beautiful!
That Christ triumphed over sin, death, and the Devil
When he died and rose again.
Christ came to defeat the entities
That held people in bondage.
His enemy is not man.
That is beautiful!
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Growth
My understanding of God has grown recently.
I expect God speaks to all his children,
At times even giving specific instructions.
But these can be subtle.
I mistake them, and that makes me feel like a failure.
Which, I suppose, is true.
When confronted, after the fact, with a failure,
I would ask God to please not stop speaking to me,
To please keep giving guidance despite
My ears ill-tuned to his voice.
This wasn’t a casual request, but a terrified pleading:
Take not your Holy Spirit from me!
I see now that I am going to miss what God is doing sometimes.
But his purposes will go forward, if not through the door
I missed, through the back door he suddenly reveals.
And he is not waiting to remove his Spirit for my lack of attention:
Jesus says that the Comforter will abide with me forever.
How blessed to live in a new dispensation.
I expect God speaks to all his children,
At times even giving specific instructions.
But these can be subtle.
I mistake them, and that makes me feel like a failure.
Which, I suppose, is true.
When confronted, after the fact, with a failure,
I would ask God to please not stop speaking to me,
To please keep giving guidance despite
My ears ill-tuned to his voice.
This wasn’t a casual request, but a terrified pleading:
Take not your Holy Spirit from me!
I see now that I am going to miss what God is doing sometimes.
But his purposes will go forward, if not through the door
I missed, through the back door he suddenly reveals.
And he is not waiting to remove his Spirit for my lack of attention:
Jesus says that the Comforter will abide with me forever.
How blessed to live in a new dispensation.
Welcome
One of my friends is in a new place,
Looking for new friends.
She went to a Bible study
Where women watched her
Struggle up stairs with a stroller,
Where they surged past her in the hall.
They didn’t treat her badly—
They simply didn’t see her.
I love this friend.
My heart aches for her loneliness,
And for the unintentional cruelty
Of established gatherings.
This reminds me to pay attention, to welcome
Warmly those who come into my ken.
I wouldn’t mind more friends to love.
Looking for new friends.
She went to a Bible study
Where women watched her
Struggle up stairs with a stroller,
Where they surged past her in the hall.
They didn’t treat her badly—
They simply didn’t see her.
I love this friend.
My heart aches for her loneliness,
And for the unintentional cruelty
Of established gatherings.
This reminds me to pay attention, to welcome
Warmly those who come into my ken.
I wouldn’t mind more friends to love.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Two Questions
If this small string was spinning
At the speed of light,
Could it lift me off the ground?
If I could open these small scissors
Blades at the speed of light,
Would that cut off my fingers?
Isaiah, I am glad to be your mother,
And I am glad that you are curious.
But I’m not sure how to answer.
Do we assume that the cotton string
Is indestructible, and that your fingers
Could hold something moving
At 186,000 miles per second?
And why would you move your fingers
Near the blades you are opening and closing
At the speed of light?
Have we talked about how the world goes screwy
At the speed of light, that special relativity
Does not match the observable universe?
Can we just talk about something easier,
Like Schrodinger’s cat?
Or maybe just wait to solve these problems
Until you’re older. Maybe when you’re eleven.
At the speed of light,
Could it lift me off the ground?
If I could open these small scissors
Blades at the speed of light,
Would that cut off my fingers?
Isaiah, I am glad to be your mother,
And I am glad that you are curious.
But I’m not sure how to answer.
Do we assume that the cotton string
Is indestructible, and that your fingers
Could hold something moving
At 186,000 miles per second?
And why would you move your fingers
Near the blades you are opening and closing
At the speed of light?
Have we talked about how the world goes screwy
At the speed of light, that special relativity
Does not match the observable universe?
Can we just talk about something easier,
Like Schrodinger’s cat?
Or maybe just wait to solve these problems
Until you’re older. Maybe when you’re eleven.
Five Minutes
On a day when Phil did multiple little repairs
To wiring and brakes,
When he ran to town for a replacement part,
Commandeered sons to aid his efforts,
Cut out two cows and corralled them
With only a little help from me;
On a day when he drove two hours,
Pulling a couple of tons of animal and trailer,
When he was out working before I got up at seven,
And finally pulled in to the abattoir at just about four,
He learned that this was actually the wrong day,
That tomorrow is the day to receive animals.
Had he pulled in five minutes later,
The employees, who were all about to leave,
Would have been gone and he would have had no help
To talk through options, left with
The sudden realization of complete misunderstanding,
Forced to turn around, still fully loaded.
But he was there in time. The owner helped unload
And found hay for the cows. Depending on work flow,
The cows might spend only one night in the holding pen,
Not two. We can hope.
But to think: a single stop for coffee,
Or a bit longer lingering over lunch,
Or the not uncommon frustration of being
Stuck behind someone driving slower than you ...
Five minutes out of a day can be spent in many ways.
Don’t think about it.
Thanks be to God for such perfect timing.
To wiring and brakes,
When he ran to town for a replacement part,
Commandeered sons to aid his efforts,
Cut out two cows and corralled them
With only a little help from me;
On a day when he drove two hours,
Pulling a couple of tons of animal and trailer,
When he was out working before I got up at seven,
And finally pulled in to the abattoir at just about four,
He learned that this was actually the wrong day,
That tomorrow is the day to receive animals.
Had he pulled in five minutes later,
The employees, who were all about to leave,
Would have been gone and he would have had no help
To talk through options, left with
The sudden realization of complete misunderstanding,
Forced to turn around, still fully loaded.
But he was there in time. The owner helped unload
And found hay for the cows. Depending on work flow,
The cows might spend only one night in the holding pen,
Not two. We can hope.
But to think: a single stop for coffee,
Or a bit longer lingering over lunch,
Or the not uncommon frustration of being
Stuck behind someone driving slower than you ...
Five minutes out of a day can be spent in many ways.
Don’t think about it.
Thanks be to God for such perfect timing.
Loading Cows
We had to load two cows today
To bring to the butcher. I helped.
The old one got in without much fuss,
For a cow.
The young one had no desire to enter.
This is the normal issue for animals:
They don’t want to enter a dark cave
With a hollow-sounding floor.
We once had a boar corralled tight and ready.
Rather than take the easy, direct way in,
Up the ramp to where food awaited,
He turned to the side,
Got his nose under the cattle panel barrier and,
With the brute force of desperation,
Forced his 400 pounds underneath.
Pigs are all muscle
And have a low center of gravity.
They go where they please.
Loading animals is stressful,
Even for the humans. And we aren’t going to be
Slaughtered.
To bring to the butcher. I helped.
The old one got in without much fuss,
For a cow.
The young one had no desire to enter.
This is the normal issue for animals:
They don’t want to enter a dark cave
With a hollow-sounding floor.
We once had a boar corralled tight and ready.
Rather than take the easy, direct way in,
Up the ramp to where food awaited,
He turned to the side,
Got his nose under the cattle panel barrier and,
With the brute force of desperation,
Forced his 400 pounds underneath.
Pigs are all muscle
And have a low center of gravity.
They go where they please.
Loading animals is stressful,
Even for the humans. And we aren’t going to be
Slaughtered.
Monday, August 18, 2014
All Things Work Together
As much as I want to claim
Romans 8:28 for my life,
I think the things that work together
For good are rightly understood corporately,
Not personally.
Life is not a bigger or better game,
Where each team starts with a small box
And asks neighbors for something
Bigger or better, often ending
With some useless item that simply
Hasn’t gone to the dump yet,
Like a moldy mattress. You win!
God doesn’t always take something good
And give you something better.
With the death of a parent,
You don’t get a replacement.
With the death of a child—same thing.
Some losses are just
Losses.
I believe that in pain,
God is with you.
But let’s not minimize true loss
With some platitude to make that loss
Less gut-wrenching.
Romans 8:28 for my life,
I think the things that work together
For good are rightly understood corporately,
Not personally.
Life is not a bigger or better game,
Where each team starts with a small box
And asks neighbors for something
Bigger or better, often ending
With some useless item that simply
Hasn’t gone to the dump yet,
Like a moldy mattress. You win!
God doesn’t always take something good
And give you something better.
With the death of a parent,
You don’t get a replacement.
With the death of a child—same thing.
Some losses are just
Losses.
I believe that in pain,
God is with you.
But let’s not minimize true loss
With some platitude to make that loss
Less gut-wrenching.
Making Space
Since childhood, I have been a sincere Christ-follower.
And I have the need to be perfect.
So if we are called to give thanks in all circumstances,
Not only did I want to do that,
I wanted to do that perfectly.
Which meant that often I spent all my efforts
Looking at the good and denying, or ignoring, the bad.
Denial only goes so far.
In all circumstances, there are things to give thanks for.
But not all parts of all circumstances are good,
And I think it’s okay to acknowledge that.
I no longer think that’s being unthankful.
I think that’s just being honest.
Thank you, God, for your good gifts.
Be present, God, with our hurts.
And since few things in life are unalloyed goods,
Teach us to be thankful through tears.
And I have the need to be perfect.
So if we are called to give thanks in all circumstances,
Not only did I want to do that,
I wanted to do that perfectly.
Which meant that often I spent all my efforts
Looking at the good and denying, or ignoring, the bad.
Denial only goes so far.
In all circumstances, there are things to give thanks for.
But not all parts of all circumstances are good,
And I think it’s okay to acknowledge that.
I no longer think that’s being unthankful.
I think that’s just being honest.
Thank you, God, for your good gifts.
Be present, God, with our hurts.
And since few things in life are unalloyed goods,
Teach us to be thankful through tears.
A Beautiful Door
We’ve had a run the last few months
Where every time Phil uses a tool,
Something breaks.
We had a party planned for today.
Hospitable Phil was whacking weeds
Around the table out back
When he kicked up a small pebble.
It wasn’t until he was finished,
Motor off, that I heard a sound of rain.
Except it wasn’t rain.
The pebble had shattered the glass on
The French door. We watched in amazement
For the next forty-five minutes
As the cracks continued, until the door looked like
Lace.
Several guests exclaimed over the beauty
Of the cracks, and it is true.
The tempered glass broke in a beautiful pattern.
I realize that life is maintenance.
And since the house was built from scratch,
By comparison, to replace a window is minor annoyance
And easily fixed.
So I will enjoy my lace door for now,
And the compliments of artistic friends.
And unlike a baseball player, I will hope
That Phil’s run hits a slump soon. And permanently.
Where every time Phil uses a tool,
Something breaks.
We had a party planned for today.
Hospitable Phil was whacking weeds
Around the table out back
When he kicked up a small pebble.
It wasn’t until he was finished,
Motor off, that I heard a sound of rain.
Except it wasn’t rain.
The pebble had shattered the glass on
The French door. We watched in amazement
For the next forty-five minutes
As the cracks continued, until the door looked like
Lace.
Several guests exclaimed over the beauty
Of the cracks, and it is true.
The tempered glass broke in a beautiful pattern.
I realize that life is maintenance.
And since the house was built from scratch,
By comparison, to replace a window is minor annoyance
And easily fixed.
So I will enjoy my lace door for now,
And the compliments of artistic friends.
And unlike a baseball player, I will hope
That Phil’s run hits a slump soon. And permanently.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Hard to Hear
Jesus died to save.
That is easy enough when thinking
Of the sinned against,
The child prostitute,
The bullied, the downtrodden.
Let salvation come.
Amen.
That is harder when thinking
Of the sinner,
The pimp or patron,
The bully, the tyrant.
For these, I long for justice
And not mercy, if I’m being honest.
Jesus died to save.
Thank God He’s the Savior, not me.
That is easy enough when thinking
Of the sinned against,
The child prostitute,
The bullied, the downtrodden.
Let salvation come.
Amen.
That is harder when thinking
Of the sinner,
The pimp or patron,
The bully, the tyrant.
For these, I long for justice
And not mercy, if I’m being honest.
Jesus died to save.
Thank God He’s the Savior, not me.
Can't Return to That Mountain
When we bought our land,
We lived almost two years before moving,
A long time of transition.
Desperate for some direction,
Or at least some reassurance
We were not crazy,
I spent a day fasting. It was amazing.
I felt the chains breaking,
The fear that held me captive, released.
And all was good for a week or two,
When I felt overwhelmed again,
And fasted again. It was horrible.
Mystified, I mentioned this to a mentor.
She gave a knowing nod.
“You can’t return to that mountain,”
By which, I believe, she meant that
Since His mercies are new every morning,
Don’t look to yesterday’s mercy today.
We lived almost two years before moving,
A long time of transition.
Desperate for some direction,
Or at least some reassurance
We were not crazy,
I spent a day fasting. It was amazing.
I felt the chains breaking,
The fear that held me captive, released.
And all was good for a week or two,
When I felt overwhelmed again,
And fasted again. It was horrible.
Mystified, I mentioned this to a mentor.
She gave a knowing nod.
“You can’t return to that mountain,”
By which, I believe, she meant that
Since His mercies are new every morning,
Don’t look to yesterday’s mercy today.
Friday, August 15, 2014
Surprising Chloe
Phil got Chloe after a painful breakup.
He hugged her as he fell asleep each night.
Just back from our honeymoon,
Something outside the window
Startled the dog. She jumped up,
Barking viciously.
I remember waking up with claws on my face,
Claws in my hair, and, in a panic, crying out
Pathetically, “Help, Phil!” as I hoped to avoid
Disfiguring facial scars from the household pet.
But what I remember most is the surprised look
On Chloe’s face as the memory that there were
Now three in the bed sank deep.
She never forgot again.
He hugged her as he fell asleep each night.
Just back from our honeymoon,
Something outside the window
Startled the dog. She jumped up,
Barking viciously.
I remember waking up with claws on my face,
Claws in my hair, and, in a panic, crying out
Pathetically, “Help, Phil!” as I hoped to avoid
Disfiguring facial scars from the household pet.
But what I remember most is the surprised look
On Chloe’s face as the memory that there were
Now three in the bed sank deep.
She never forgot again.
Rock Climbing
I came to rock climbing too late in life,
Or maybe I just never learned to love the rock.
But, as newlyweds, we lived in Boulder,
A climbing Mecca, and Phil owned all the gear.
We climbed the Third Flatiron, eight pitches,
Thirteen hundred feet.
Me in my Christmas plaid Keds.
It took a long time. First Phil, who set the carabiners,
Then me, then a friend.
Eight times.
I am not a patient person.
Sitting on a rock waiting for my turn is not my ideal day.
Had I known that I was exchanging ions with the earth,
Also known as grounding, perhaps I would have
Been more appreciative. (But probably not.)
Another time, we tried a technical climb,
A 5.7 rating, and I did it. Good for me.
Like running a sub-six minute mile,
I can say that I did it, and accept the kudos,
But I have no need to do it again.
Once I’ve achieved that level of awesomeness,
Why go further?
As an interesting side note: my beloved Greek professor,
Dr. Hunt, who I totally had a crush on even though I was married,
Mentioned casually one day that he had taken an hour
And climbed the Third Flatiron.
“Without ropes?” I asked, in horror.
“Of course. It’s not hard!” he replied.
And I agree. A 5.4 is nothing to write home about.
And yet.
One missed step, and the 1300 foot fall brings death.
Who nonchalantly chooses such a hobby?
I came to rock climbing too late in life.
Which is, perhaps, why I’m still alive.
I don’t have the patience to set the ropes.
Or maybe I just never learned to love the rock.
But, as newlyweds, we lived in Boulder,
A climbing Mecca, and Phil owned all the gear.
We climbed the Third Flatiron, eight pitches,
Thirteen hundred feet.
Me in my Christmas plaid Keds.
It took a long time. First Phil, who set the carabiners,
Then me, then a friend.
Eight times.
I am not a patient person.
Sitting on a rock waiting for my turn is not my ideal day.
Had I known that I was exchanging ions with the earth,
Also known as grounding, perhaps I would have
Been more appreciative. (But probably not.)
Another time, we tried a technical climb,
A 5.7 rating, and I did it. Good for me.
Like running a sub-six minute mile,
I can say that I did it, and accept the kudos,
But I have no need to do it again.
Once I’ve achieved that level of awesomeness,
Why go further?
As an interesting side note: my beloved Greek professor,
Dr. Hunt, who I totally had a crush on even though I was married,
Mentioned casually one day that he had taken an hour
And climbed the Third Flatiron.
“Without ropes?” I asked, in horror.
“Of course. It’s not hard!” he replied.
And I agree. A 5.4 is nothing to write home about.
And yet.
One missed step, and the 1300 foot fall brings death.
Who nonchalantly chooses such a hobby?
I came to rock climbing too late in life.
Which is, perhaps, why I’m still alive.
I don’t have the patience to set the ropes.
Ice Blocking
I don’t know how my friends learned
Of ice blocking, but one Friday night
We bought our big ice blocks,
A cheap entertainment,
And headed to our high school.
It didn’t work well, if I remember.
A smooth ride down slope eluded us,
The sharp edge of the block digging in
And stopping us, or spilling us.
We laughed hysterically the whole time,
Honor students attempting the impossible,
Glad for the joy of friends, and experiences,
And the pleasure of being carefree.
We left the grass looking chewed up.
Except for a time or two of TP-ing,
That was my sole act of vandalism.
And I think the grass re-grew.
Of ice blocking, but one Friday night
We bought our big ice blocks,
A cheap entertainment,
And headed to our high school.
It didn’t work well, if I remember.
A smooth ride down slope eluded us,
The sharp edge of the block digging in
And stopping us, or spilling us.
We laughed hysterically the whole time,
Honor students attempting the impossible,
Glad for the joy of friends, and experiences,
And the pleasure of being carefree.
We left the grass looking chewed up.
Except for a time or two of TP-ing,
That was my sole act of vandalism.
And I think the grass re-grew.
Competition
I won't set any visit duration records this time around.
A friend once said,
“American parties last three hours.
If one is really rocking, maybe you can go four.
But that is not the way it is in Europe
Or South America.”
And so began my obsession with long parties.
Granted, I am also a quality time person,
So the longer a person spends with me,
The more loved I feel.
But is there, perhaps, a bit of my competitiveness
Poking through?
Phil wondered today if we should make a chart
Of those vying for the longest visit,
And display it prominently.
We could have separate categories,
Like longest visit during a party
And longest individual visit only talking.
We have had a couple nine hour parties.
One of those Joseph stayed for just about eight,
So he, perhaps, wins with total time.
Individually, friends who stay to talk a mere five hours,
Like Allison or Cat or the DeLauras,
Could use some stamina training.
Tara, at six hours, put up a strong showing,
Though Joseph still passed her, hanging on
For almost seven. Had he helped corral the cow
A little longer, he would have been gold,
But Andrew hung in there for a full seven,
Just the three of us, talking.
But, wait! Is that Mike WG putting up a tent in the yard?
He’s going for the win!
Thinking of Names
When we moved to the land,
Our farm was not yet named,
Though I preferred a book
Find: “Rest and Be Thankful.”
But that sounded, perhaps,
Like a cemetery,
Or retirement home.
So we decided on
Spring Forth Farm,
A name for energy,
The joy of new water,
A season of new life,
Not to mention Bible
References to new things
Springing forth,
And that we read a verse
With those words when we wed.
.
And yet, in a week where
Friends have come and spent
Six hours, or seven hours,
Or even two or three,
But always more time than
Expected or realized;
In a week where friends leave,
We hope, refreshed and thankful,
Maybe my find fits well.
Come to my house.
Rest and Be Thankful.
Our farm was not yet named,
Though I preferred a book
Find: “Rest and Be Thankful.”
But that sounded, perhaps,
Like a cemetery,
Or retirement home.
So we decided on
Spring Forth Farm,
A name for energy,
The joy of new water,
A season of new life,
Not to mention Bible
References to new things
Springing forth,
And that we read a verse
With those words when we wed.
.
And yet, in a week where
Friends have come and spent
Six hours, or seven hours,
Or even two or three,
But always more time than
Expected or realized;
In a week where friends leave,
We hope, refreshed and thankful,
Maybe my find fits well.
Come to my house.
Rest and Be Thankful.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Asking Forgiveness
I lied to Phil and asked his forgiveness.
He gave it.
I asked him again the next day.
He reassured me: I was forgiven.
I asked him again the day after that.
He reassured me again,
But he was starting to get a little testy.
One hundred days later,
When I was still asking daily,
He confronted me.
Why don’t you believe you’re forgiven?
Why don’t you trust what I say?
By asking again and again,
What are you assuming about my words,
Or my character?
This never happened.
But do we do the same thing?
New Testament epistles say that
God, in Christ, forgave.
Past tense.
Christ’s blood covered our sins.
Do we believe we’re forgiven?
Do we trust what God says?
Or do we assume that God is a liar?
He gave it.
I asked him again the next day.
He reassured me: I was forgiven.
I asked him again the day after that.
He reassured me again,
But he was starting to get a little testy.
One hundred days later,
When I was still asking daily,
He confronted me.
Why don’t you believe you’re forgiven?
Why don’t you trust what I say?
By asking again and again,
What are you assuming about my words,
Or my character?
This never happened.
But do we do the same thing?
New Testament epistles say that
God, in Christ, forgave.
Past tense.
Christ’s blood covered our sins.
Do we believe we’re forgiven?
Do we trust what God says?
Or do we assume that God is a liar?
Unwelcome News
An unexpected breakup.
Grief.
Prayers.
The one you thought
Was yours for life
Wasn’t.
Walk through the pain.
Emerge again.
To love.
Grief.
Prayers.
The one you thought
Was yours for life
Wasn’t.
Walk through the pain.
Emerge again.
To love.
Looking at Jesus
Once when we were praying,
I could do nothing but cry for my friend,
Could see nothing but swirling blackness.
It wasn’t empty
Or scary. It was just black, the way I imagine
The Spirit moving on the face of the waters.
Perhaps like a birth, or like being
A channel, healing flowing through.
“I saw you in my memory.
You were looking past me,
And when I turned to see
What you were looking at,
There was Jesus.”
Oh, that I might be looking at Jesus at all times.
Oh, that others might look at him, too.
I could do nothing but cry for my friend,
Could see nothing but swirling blackness.
It wasn’t empty
Or scary. It was just black, the way I imagine
The Spirit moving on the face of the waters.
Perhaps like a birth, or like being
A channel, healing flowing through.
“I saw you in my memory.
You were looking past me,
And when I turned to see
What you were looking at,
There was Jesus.”
Oh, that I might be looking at Jesus at all times.
Oh, that others might look at him, too.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Silver Ball
In high school, I chewed a lot of gum.
With the colorful paper, I made zigzag chains.
I would save the shiny wrappers
For English class, and then separate
Wax paper from aluminum,
And take the shiny metallic wisp
And roll it onto my accretion
Of aluminum gum wrappers,
Until I had a smooth, shooter-marble sized
Ball, shiny and perfect.
Holding a sphere makes me happy.
A semester I did that, paying scant attention
To Hawthorne and Hemingway.
I handed it around during the transit of
A Christmas progressive dinner
And a boy threw it out the window of the bus.
I still don’t know why.
So I made another one the next semester,
Chewing, perhaps, a little more frantically.
I ended up with another perfect, shiny sphere,
The right size to fit in the palm of my hand.
Maybe it was all for the best that the first vanished.
I might have been tempted to make the first too large,
That error of artists, wanting to add too much.
Like if I were now to insert a meditation on
What happened to that first ball, thrown out
Into the December night.
Did the driver behind see that flying silver ball?
Did it land in a yard, for the lawn mower to mangle
Next spring?
With the colorful paper, I made zigzag chains.
I would save the shiny wrappers
For English class, and then separate
Wax paper from aluminum,
And take the shiny metallic wisp
And roll it onto my accretion
Of aluminum gum wrappers,
Until I had a smooth, shooter-marble sized
Ball, shiny and perfect.
Holding a sphere makes me happy.
A semester I did that, paying scant attention
To Hawthorne and Hemingway.
I handed it around during the transit of
A Christmas progressive dinner
And a boy threw it out the window of the bus.
I still don’t know why.
So I made another one the next semester,
Chewing, perhaps, a little more frantically.
I ended up with another perfect, shiny sphere,
The right size to fit in the palm of my hand.
Maybe it was all for the best that the first vanished.
I might have been tempted to make the first too large,
That error of artists, wanting to add too much.
Like if I were now to insert a meditation on
What happened to that first ball, thrown out
Into the December night.
Did the driver behind see that flying silver ball?
Did it land in a yard, for the lawn mower to mangle
Next spring?
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Messed-Up Party
On Joe’s birthday, he was ready
To blow out the candles when Phil said,
“You know, I have a lot of sin in my life.”
I looked in disbelief.
“This is Joe’s moment! It’s not about you.”
“Yes,” Phil continued. “Sometimes
I grow irate with pokey drivers on the road.
That’s not exactly loving my enemies.”
“Can we please talk about this later?”
I pleaded. “Let’s let Joe blow out his candles,
And we’ll all eat cake.”
Completely ignoring me, his melancholy
Diatribe against himself went on,
Covering sins from elementary school on,
While the candle wax pooled in the frosting
And Joe stood, neglected.
None of this actually happened.
But do we do the same thing?
We’re invited to a celebration
Of a Son, and instead focus on
Our failures, ignoring the One
Worthy.
To blow out the candles when Phil said,
“You know, I have a lot of sin in my life.”
I looked in disbelief.
“This is Joe’s moment! It’s not about you.”
“Yes,” Phil continued. “Sometimes
I grow irate with pokey drivers on the road.
That’s not exactly loving my enemies.”
“Can we please talk about this later?”
I pleaded. “Let’s let Joe blow out his candles,
And we’ll all eat cake.”
Completely ignoring me, his melancholy
Diatribe against himself went on,
Covering sins from elementary school on,
While the candle wax pooled in the frosting
And Joe stood, neglected.
None of this actually happened.
But do we do the same thing?
We’re invited to a celebration
Of a Son, and instead focus on
Our failures, ignoring the One
Worthy.
Protection
When the Virginia Tech shooting happened,
I came across a photo the shooter took,
Gun barrel pointed at the camera. At me.
Something in that photo changed me.
A year later, we went camping on the land
Where we would one day live.
With space and time, Phil wanted to sight in
His rifle, his handgun.
After some persuading, I, too, took the handgun,
Aimed, and pulled the trigger.
To say that the discharge deafened me
Would be true, except that it was horrifically
Painful, far beyond what I anticipated.
My head felt like it would explode.
I dropped the gun and staggered away,
In tears and shock.
It didn’t help my phobia to learn that
I dropped the gun pointing towards my sons,
And the gun was loaded and ready to discharge
Again.
There is no real point to this story, other than
Thanks be to God for his protection that day.
I came across a photo the shooter took,
Gun barrel pointed at the camera. At me.
Something in that photo changed me.
A year later, we went camping on the land
Where we would one day live.
With space and time, Phil wanted to sight in
His rifle, his handgun.
After some persuading, I, too, took the handgun,
Aimed, and pulled the trigger.
To say that the discharge deafened me
Would be true, except that it was horrifically
Painful, far beyond what I anticipated.
My head felt like it would explode.
I dropped the gun and staggered away,
In tears and shock.
It didn’t help my phobia to learn that
I dropped the gun pointing towards my sons,
And the gun was loaded and ready to discharge
Again.
There is no real point to this story, other than
Thanks be to God for his protection that day.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Delight
When you told me that you don’t know
If Jesus delights in you,
I felt it physically, a pressure in my head.
Such a deep pain.
How can you, could anyone, bear it?
I want you to know that
He does delight in you,
That his eyes,
When he looks at you, are filled with
Love and joy.
Precious daughter,
How could it not be?
If Jesus delights in you,
I felt it physically, a pressure in my head.
Such a deep pain.
How can you, could anyone, bear it?
I want you to know that
He does delight in you,
That his eyes,
When he looks at you, are filled with
Love and joy.
Precious daughter,
How could it not be?
First Look
If ever I chafe against motherhood,
Days filled with dishes and cleaning,
Potty-training and breaking up fisticuffs
Or soothing simple disagreements;
If ever I grow weary from
Nights interrupted by bad dreams
Or wet diapers or infant hunger,
Or simply years of unselfishness;
Let me remember my baby
Startling awake, wide-eyed in the day
Again, ready to cry that the world
Is what it is and what it is not,
Until he sees me and relaxes
And smiles and laughs and reaches,
And I hug the compact warm body,
Glad again to be called mother.
Days filled with dishes and cleaning,
Potty-training and breaking up fisticuffs
Or soothing simple disagreements;
If ever I grow weary from
Nights interrupted by bad dreams
Or wet diapers or infant hunger,
Or simply years of unselfishness;
Let me remember my baby
Startling awake, wide-eyed in the day
Again, ready to cry that the world
Is what it is and what it is not,
Until he sees me and relaxes
And smiles and laughs and reaches,
And I hug the compact warm body,
Glad again to be called mother.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Caiaphas
High priest Caiaphas said,
It is better that one man die,
That the nation perish not.
He meant that Jesus must die,
Lest the Romans invade and destroy.
He would lose power, and probably life.
Throughout the Gospels,
He opposes Jesus.
And yet.
As high priest, he prophecies truly.
It is better that Jesus die.
All children of God would then
Be gathered together in one.
How can a profane man speak such
Truth? His office bestows such grace?
There is, then, hope for me.
For you.
It is better that one man die,
That the nation perish not.
He meant that Jesus must die,
Lest the Romans invade and destroy.
He would lose power, and probably life.
Throughout the Gospels,
He opposes Jesus.
And yet.
As high priest, he prophecies truly.
It is better that Jesus die.
All children of God would then
Be gathered together in one.
How can a profane man speak such
Truth? His office bestows such grace?
There is, then, hope for me.
For you.
Guaranteed
There are not many guarantees. But what we can know for certain is that we will feel some hurt and do some hurting.
Of course I have felt hurts.
Harder to accept is that
I will do some hurting.
And not just the restorative sort,
Such as discipline or truth telling.
That, after all, is hardly hurting.
No. There are times when I hurt others.
Misunderstanding. Thoughtlessness.
At times, even, retaliation.
I loathe this guarantee.
Close Shave
While his older brothers
Emptied the dishwasher,
Caleb crawled over and
Helped himself to a dull
Steak knife.
Horrified, Joe grabbed it
And announced,
“I just saved him
From cutting off his own
Head.”
I’m fairly certain that
Despite all history of
Hara kiri, beheading of oneself
Has never been accomplished.
Nevertheless, thank you,
Son, for your vigilance.
Emptied the dishwasher,
Caleb crawled over and
Helped himself to a dull
Steak knife.
Horrified, Joe grabbed it
And announced,
“I just saved him
From cutting off his own
Head.”
I’m fairly certain that
Despite all history of
Hara kiri, beheading of oneself
Has never been accomplished.
Nevertheless, thank you,
Son, for your vigilance.
Heaviness
In the years we had no house,
We had few guests.
Who wants to drive an hour
To stand outside or sit in cramped quarters?
We are blessed with guests now.
I am thankful every day.
But with relationship comes
Deeper connection with pain.
Abandonment, anger, anxiety,
Death, depression, disagreement,
Headaches, loneliness, missing grace,
Misunderstanding, suicide, transition, trauma.
Some weeks feel heavier than others.
Thank you, Jesus, that you have strong shoulders.
That you bear our burdens.
That you give us peace.
Because this world is too much for me.
We had few guests.
Who wants to drive an hour
To stand outside or sit in cramped quarters?
We are blessed with guests now.
I am thankful every day.
But with relationship comes
Deeper connection with pain.
Abandonment, anger, anxiety,
Death, depression, disagreement,
Headaches, loneliness, missing grace,
Misunderstanding, suicide, transition, trauma.
Some weeks feel heavier than others.
Thank you, Jesus, that you have strong shoulders.
That you bear our burdens.
That you give us peace.
Because this world is too much for me.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Not Natural Born
We parented a child not our own
For seven months.
It was different than I expected.
She had four years of patterns ingrained,
With dozens of different expectations.
We had to teach her our ways.
We poured love into her,
But it felt like it bounced off.
She did not attach to us.
As I look back, I understand more deeply
Why it can be hard to trust.
Thank God, we are part of his family.
But we are not natural born.
We have years of other patterns ingrained.
And it is hard to receive love when adopted.
For seven months.
It was different than I expected.
She had four years of patterns ingrained,
With dozens of different expectations.
We had to teach her our ways.
We poured love into her,
But it felt like it bounced off.
She did not attach to us.
As I look back, I understand more deeply
Why it can be hard to trust.
Thank God, we are part of his family.
But we are not natural born.
We have years of other patterns ingrained.
And it is hard to receive love when adopted.
It Never Rains in Utah
When packing for a camping trip to Utah,
We asked if we should pack rain clothes.
“Oh, no,” my mother confidently asserted.
“It never rains in Utah.”
And when it proceeded to rain every afternoon,
We sat in the tent and laughed and quoted that back.
There would be no joke, no story, without the error.
Maybe don’t be so afraid of mistakes?
We asked if we should pack rain clothes.
“Oh, no,” my mother confidently asserted.
“It never rains in Utah.”
And when it proceeded to rain every afternoon,
We sat in the tent and laughed and quoted that back.
There would be no joke, no story, without the error.
Maybe don’t be so afraid of mistakes?
Training
After finding Caleb playing
With water in the toilet,
We realized he needs training.
A stern face and a stern, “No,”
Is enough to crumple his face.
His tears stream.
I would prefer to always smile
At my baby. But then
He’d be into unpleasant things.
No discipline seems pleasant,
But afterwards produces
A harvest of righteousness and peace.
With water in the toilet,
We realized he needs training.
A stern face and a stern, “No,”
Is enough to crumple his face.
His tears stream.
I would prefer to always smile
At my baby. But then
He’d be into unpleasant things.
No discipline seems pleasant,
But afterwards produces
A harvest of righteousness and peace.
Friday, August 8, 2014
Inveterate Liar
In casual conversation,
A man told my uncle how happy he was
With his new motorcycle, his trip to
The Dakotas. “Have you ever biked?”
Honestly, my uncle mentioned the awesome bike
He once took the length of New Zealand
Before he caught the ferry to Bora Bora.
Unintentionally, he rained on the man’s parade.
And came across either egotistical
Or an inveterate liar.
Once your life has gone to such an extreme
That the unusual becomes normal,
It’s hard to know how to speak to people.
Try dropping into casual conversation
That you spent over four years in
228 square feet with your family of
Four, then five sons.
Oh, and no running water or kitchen
For nine months.
The year Virginia had 52 inches of snow.
It sounds ridiculous.
It’s true, but to the casual conversant, sounds
Untrue.
And did I mention that we petted the dolphins
At Sea World?
A man told my uncle how happy he was
With his new motorcycle, his trip to
The Dakotas. “Have you ever biked?”
Honestly, my uncle mentioned the awesome bike
He once took the length of New Zealand
Before he caught the ferry to Bora Bora.
Unintentionally, he rained on the man’s parade.
And came across either egotistical
Or an inveterate liar.
Once your life has gone to such an extreme
That the unusual becomes normal,
It’s hard to know how to speak to people.
Try dropping into casual conversation
That you spent over four years in
228 square feet with your family of
Four, then five sons.
Oh, and no running water or kitchen
For nine months.
The year Virginia had 52 inches of snow.
It sounds ridiculous.
It’s true, but to the casual conversant, sounds
Untrue.
And did I mention that we petted the dolphins
At Sea World?
Six Years Ago
I like cool times, like the twice a day
12:34, or 11:11, or 6:24 (anniversary).
And I like cool dates, like 11/12/13.
So it surprised me that I was many months
Pregnant before I realized
That ten days after my due date was
08/08/08.
Now no pregnant woman wants to be ten days overdue.
Seriously.
And I had been here years before, hoping for an early delivery
On 12/21 (ah, beloved palindrome!),
Crushed when that didn’t happen.
I also had missed a 5/25 (farewell, dear square).
Farewell to my assumption that I was a princess
Whose life whims were to be satisfied.
I did think that it would be a mite unkind
To be nine days overdue and deliver on 08/07/08,
But I rather expected it.
Sometimes God seems capricious.
Or at least unpredictable.
But an imperfect 8-7-8 date would surely be growthful.
Nine days overdue, my parents and I went for a long walk.
Nothing happened.
The hours passed, and the day changed.
At two in the morning I woke and thought, “I will stand up
And my water will break and then I will have this baby.”
I stood up and my water broke.
I had about an hour of contracting in peace,
Listening to hymns in my house.
Midwife and aides arrived,
And in another hour Joe came, too.
“That was a beautiful birth.”
And it was.
So I ended with the 08/08/08 date,
A fourth son,
A beautiful birth.
And a princess whim satisfied.
12:34, or 11:11, or 6:24 (anniversary).
And I like cool dates, like 11/12/13.
So it surprised me that I was many months
Pregnant before I realized
That ten days after my due date was
08/08/08.
Now no pregnant woman wants to be ten days overdue.
Seriously.
And I had been here years before, hoping for an early delivery
On 12/21 (ah, beloved palindrome!),
Crushed when that didn’t happen.
I also had missed a 5/25 (farewell, dear square).
Farewell to my assumption that I was a princess
Whose life whims were to be satisfied.
I did think that it would be a mite unkind
To be nine days overdue and deliver on 08/07/08,
But I rather expected it.
Sometimes God seems capricious.
Or at least unpredictable.
But an imperfect 8-7-8 date would surely be growthful.
Nine days overdue, my parents and I went for a long walk.
Nothing happened.
The hours passed, and the day changed.
At two in the morning I woke and thought, “I will stand up
And my water will break and then I will have this baby.”
I stood up and my water broke.
I had about an hour of contracting in peace,
Listening to hymns in my house.
Midwife and aides arrived,
And in another hour Joe came, too.
“That was a beautiful birth.”
And it was.
So I ended with the 08/08/08 date,
A fourth son,
A beautiful birth.
And a princess whim satisfied.
Crazy
I have always looked at the crucifixion
Through the lens of Jesus. No greater love
Than a man lay down his life for his friends.
A heart-stopping moment today, to shift perspective.
Jesus has a Father. Who lays down his child’s life?
Hurt me, fine. But don’t mess with my boys.
How great the Father’s love for us.
How vast beyond all measure.
Through the lens of Jesus. No greater love
Than a man lay down his life for his friends.
A heart-stopping moment today, to shift perspective.
Jesus has a Father. Who lays down his child’s life?
Hurt me, fine. But don’t mess with my boys.
How great the Father’s love for us.
How vast beyond all measure.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Bending
Every once in a while,
The world bends in perfect ways.
Like when the Hudson River
Offered a landing place for a plane,
And there were no boats in its path,
Just at that moment.
Or when the deer darted at our van,
So that there seemed no way the brakes
Could possibly stop,
And yet the two did not touch.
Did an angel made the van ripple?
Or when my brother, on his way to work,
Stopped for a red light. Suddenly
His rear view mirror broke off.
He looked at the car stopped in the next lane
And the two drivers stared in shock.
A third car had lost its brakes and passed between the two
And through the intersection,
Without an accident.
I think of that and suspect that,
Like in a cartoon, the runaway car
Fitted between the two by smooshing smaller,
A minor miracle
On the way to work.
The world bends in perfect ways.
Like when the Hudson River
Offered a landing place for a plane,
And there were no boats in its path,
Just at that moment.
Or when the deer darted at our van,
So that there seemed no way the brakes
Could possibly stop,
And yet the two did not touch.
Did an angel made the van ripple?
Or when my brother, on his way to work,
Stopped for a red light. Suddenly
His rear view mirror broke off.
He looked at the car stopped in the next lane
And the two drivers stared in shock.
A third car had lost its brakes and passed between the two
And through the intersection,
Without an accident.
I think of that and suspect that,
Like in a cartoon, the runaway car
Fitted between the two by smooshing smaller,
A minor miracle
On the way to work.
Freedom
Like the proverbial cat that comes
When the can opener opens a can,
Caleb hears the door lock click
And makes a crawl for it.
When the can opener opens a can,
Caleb hears the door lock click
And makes a crawl for it.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Jesus Is Gentle
In the midst of midnight rage,
A friend suggested writing
The name of Jesus on the palm of my hand.
He is here.
More treasures to come.
A friend was ready to pray,
And mentioned later that the whole family
Had already intended to spend the day
In fasting and prayer.
Perfect timing.
A friend asked not only, “How are you?”
Which would have been answered
With a breezy, “Great!”
But “Can I pray for anything?”
Which reminded me: yes.
A friend sent the song,
“Let It Be Morning,” a capstone
Of comfort from the Comforter.
My niece had struggled ten days,
When her parents prayed:
“Joy in the morning, Lord,
Either healing or home.”
Home in the morning she went,
And left us with morning and mourning.
So we ask again, let it be morning.
We ask not alone, but borne
By the prayers of the saints,
Fellow sojourners.
And friends.
A friend suggested writing
The name of Jesus on the palm of my hand.
He is here.
More treasures to come.
A friend was ready to pray,
And mentioned later that the whole family
Had already intended to spend the day
In fasting and prayer.
Perfect timing.
A friend asked not only, “How are you?”
Which would have been answered
With a breezy, “Great!”
But “Can I pray for anything?”
Which reminded me: yes.
A friend sent the song,
“Let It Be Morning,” a capstone
Of comfort from the Comforter.
My niece had struggled ten days,
When her parents prayed:
“Joy in the morning, Lord,
Either healing or home.”
Home in the morning she went,
And left us with morning and mourning.
So we ask again, let it be morning.
We ask not alone, but borne
By the prayers of the saints,
Fellow sojourners.
And friends.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Calling II
As I think about hospitality,
There is a greater mystery
Than I could at first see.
First, an analogy:
Though others possess both fingers and voice,
When our friend leads worship,
The Spirit moves, and more stirs than
The senses would project.
And I make funnel cakes and greet with a grin,
But with the Spirit, the fellowship is greater,
The rest and restoration more, than
The welcome and home would make you expect.
No boasting in that.
It’s not me anyway.
There is a greater mystery
Than I could at first see.
First, an analogy:
Though others possess both fingers and voice,
When our friend leads worship,
The Spirit moves, and more stirs than
The senses would project.
And I make funnel cakes and greet with a grin,
But with the Spirit, the fellowship is greater,
The rest and restoration more, than
The welcome and home would make you expect.
No boasting in that.
It’s not me anyway.
Tomato Gift
I went to cook a meal
And realized I had calculated incorrectly,
One can of tomatoes short.
Garlic and meat already sizzling.
What is a mother to do?
As I turned away from my fruitless pantry search,
My eyes fell on a bowl on the counter,
Filled with tomatoes.
A farm share gift from a guest.
Once cut, precisely the right amount needed
To fill my pot. Of course.
I felt loved just that my friend gave me fruit.
How much more then, that the Spirit
Knew what I needed, and provided,
Through the listening obedience of
His daughter.
And realized I had calculated incorrectly,
One can of tomatoes short.
Garlic and meat already sizzling.
What is a mother to do?
As I turned away from my fruitless pantry search,
My eyes fell on a bowl on the counter,
Filled with tomatoes.
A farm share gift from a guest.
Once cut, precisely the right amount needed
To fill my pot. Of course.
I felt loved just that my friend gave me fruit.
How much more then, that the Spirit
Knew what I needed, and provided,
Through the listening obedience of
His daughter.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Blood Cries Out
After Cain killed his brother,
Abel’s blood cried unto the LORD.
The earth opened her mouth
And received Abel’s blood.
And Cain was cursed from the earth,
Made fugitive and vagabond.
Jesus described Abel as righteous,
And Abel’s blood spoke no good thing.
We also come to blood from a murdered man,
The blood of Jesus, of sprinkling.
It speaks better things than that of Abel.
Forgiven sins. Cleansed.
Saved from wrath.
Reconciliation.
Made near. Made peace.
Made holy. Made righteous.
Boldness to enter into the holiest.
Eternal life.
Abel’s blood cried unto the LORD.
The earth opened her mouth
And received Abel’s blood.
And Cain was cursed from the earth,
Made fugitive and vagabond.
Jesus described Abel as righteous,
And Abel’s blood spoke no good thing.
We also come to blood from a murdered man,
The blood of Jesus, of sprinkling.
It speaks better things than that of Abel.
Forgiven sins. Cleansed.
Saved from wrath.
Reconciliation.
Made near. Made peace.
Made holy. Made righteous.
Boldness to enter into the holiest.
Eternal life.
Calling
Buechner said that calling is found
“Where your deep gladness
And the world’s deep hunger
Meet.”
At the end of a week or so where I have
Rejoiced in fellowship
As many hours as a full-time job,
I wonder.
I have found my deep gladness.
But is it really a calling to feed French fries
To my friends?
Does that count?
Isn’t there some call to welcome the lame
And pathetic?
I’d be content to carry on with my
Exuberant hospitality,
But I note the warning:
Do not even sinners do that?
“Where your deep gladness
And the world’s deep hunger
Meet.”
At the end of a week or so where I have
Rejoiced in fellowship
As many hours as a full-time job,
I wonder.
I have found my deep gladness.
But is it really a calling to feed French fries
To my friends?
Does that count?
Isn’t there some call to welcome the lame
And pathetic?
I’d be content to carry on with my
Exuberant hospitality,
But I note the warning:
Do not even sinners do that?
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Another Budget Story
When Phil started his own engineering firm,
We had to live by faith.
One month, after we paid the bills,
We had less than a quarter in both checking and savings.
Our needs were met, with none left over.
And I felt so blessed that we weren’t a quarter short.
Praise his name.
We had to live by faith.
One month, after we paid the bills,
We had less than a quarter in both checking and savings.
Our needs were met, with none left over.
And I felt so blessed that we weren’t a quarter short.
Praise his name.
A Budget Story
At one point, we kept a strict budget.
My brother married around that time,
And once we had covered the rental car
And various parking fees and treating friends,
We were short $498.73.
Unbelievably, my uncle sold his house around that time,
And our half decade late wedding present arrived
That same week, very generous.
Five hundred dollars.
God provided, in such precision.
Praise his name.
My brother married around that time,
And once we had covered the rental car
And various parking fees and treating friends,
We were short $498.73.
Unbelievably, my uncle sold his house around that time,
And our half decade late wedding present arrived
That same week, very generous.
Five hundred dollars.
God provided, in such precision.
Praise his name.
International Friendship Day
Of all the trumped up holidays,
International Friendship Day
Ranks up there in absurdity.
When needing any excuse for a party, though,
That’s as good as any.
We celebrated our friends for eight hours,
With music and drinks,
French fries and funnel cake,
Conversation and laughter.
Who else gets to soak in friendship so deeply?
How blessed are we!
International Friendship Day
Ranks up there in absurdity.
When needing any excuse for a party, though,
That’s as good as any.
We celebrated our friends for eight hours,
With music and drinks,
French fries and funnel cake,
Conversation and laughter.
Who else gets to soak in friendship so deeply?
How blessed are we!
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Ein Deutsches Requiem
That most sweet of composers,
Brahms, wrote a German Requiem
So lovely it defies description.
I lived two blocks from campus. Grieving,
I walked one day to see a performance
And sat entranced, in tears.
When the orchestra and the choir build
Together the swirling darkness to proclaim
“Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras,”
I feel physically that my flesh, all flesh, is as grass,
Even as my scalp crawls with shock at the beauty.
Today I watch badly pixellated minifigures
Playing online. So pathetic by comparison.
And yet it still brings me to tears.
Brahms, wrote a German Requiem
So lovely it defies description.
I lived two blocks from campus. Grieving,
I walked one day to see a performance
And sat entranced, in tears.
When the orchestra and the choir build
Together the swirling darkness to proclaim
“Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras,”
I feel physically that my flesh, all flesh, is as grass,
Even as my scalp crawls with shock at the beauty.
Today I watch badly pixellated minifigures
Playing online. So pathetic by comparison.
And yet it still brings me to tears.
Harmony
There are almost eight years
Between my youngest brother and me.
When I was thirteen, we would put on
Elton John’s “Harmony.”
My arm around his shoulders,
We would sway as we belted it out
Together.
Between my youngest brother and me.
When I was thirteen, we would put on
Elton John’s “Harmony.”
My arm around his shoulders,
We would sway as we belted it out
Together.
Things That Make Me Go Hmm
My son woke me three times in the night.
“I’m having nightmares, Mommy.
Pray for me.”
Another son could not settle in to sleep.
A friend asked me to pray:
“It’s one of those days.”
The rain is falling.
My communications are imperfect at best.
Is this a shakeup in the heavenlies?
Or just a change in barometric pressure?
“I’m having nightmares, Mommy.
Pray for me.”
Another son could not settle in to sleep.
A friend asked me to pray:
“It’s one of those days.”
The rain is falling.
My communications are imperfect at best.
Is this a shakeup in the heavenlies?
Or just a change in barometric pressure?
Good Appetite
My baby ate chicken off my pizza.
I thought he was full.
I got a little cup of ice cream. He tried it.
The first bite of frozen food was rough,
But he opened up for a second bite.
Again and again, until his whole body
Shivered.
He ate the whole cup.
I guess he was not full.
I thought he was full.
I got a little cup of ice cream. He tried it.
The first bite of frozen food was rough,
But he opened up for a second bite.
Again and again, until his whole body
Shivered.
He ate the whole cup.
I guess he was not full.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Cool
Years ago, a friend was learning about prayer.
The prayer warriors she knew were all
A little strange.
“I know I’m cool. Is it bad to admit that I’m not sure
I want to give that up to be powerful in prayer?”
I have never been that cool.
The idea that I could be even less so by praying
Was a deterrent.
I think I’m ready now, though.
The prayer warriors she knew were all
A little strange.
“I know I’m cool. Is it bad to admit that I’m not sure
I want to give that up to be powerful in prayer?”
I have never been that cool.
The idea that I could be even less so by praying
Was a deterrent.
I think I’m ready now, though.
Shadowbox a Cow
The animals’ disregard for my schedule annoys me.
One summer I faithfully went to milk daily,
And the cow was always hiding in the thickets
And her calf had always just nursed her dry.
An hour’s unpleasant effort for no payout.
Did I mention she was cantankerous?
One scorching day, I couldn’t take another minute.
Furious, I found myself shadowboxing her,
As she stood five feet away, calming chewing her cud,
Mocking me with her emotionless eyes.
I didn’t strike her, but spent my rage on the air.
It didn’t diminish the anger, as
Then I was furious for being furious.
Add some self-condemnation to make an untenable situation
That much worse.
I needed to learn that emotions just are what they are.
No need to feel angry for being angry.
And sometimes anger is justified.
One summer I faithfully went to milk daily,
And the cow was always hiding in the thickets
And her calf had always just nursed her dry.
An hour’s unpleasant effort for no payout.
Did I mention she was cantankerous?
One scorching day, I couldn’t take another minute.
Furious, I found myself shadowboxing her,
As she stood five feet away, calming chewing her cud,
Mocking me with her emotionless eyes.
I didn’t strike her, but spent my rage on the air.
It didn’t diminish the anger, as
Then I was furious for being furious.
Add some self-condemnation to make an untenable situation
That much worse.
I needed to learn that emotions just are what they are.
No need to feel angry for being angry.
And sometimes anger is justified.
Baby Curls
When I was four, I went shopping with my dad
For a present for my mom.
He picked out some perfume, and I remember
The saleswoman saying,
“What a beautiful girl,” and giving me
A box with tiny pillow and vial of perfume, gratis.
I look at my baby’s little blonde curls behind his ears
And understand how affection for sweet things
Might make a person behave
Irrationally.
For a present for my mom.
He picked out some perfume, and I remember
The saleswoman saying,
“What a beautiful girl,” and giving me
A box with tiny pillow and vial of perfume, gratis.
I look at my baby’s little blonde curls behind his ears
And understand how affection for sweet things
Might make a person behave
Irrationally.
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