A Shift

As I squatted in the dark and snow,
Phil’s headlamp illuminating just enough
To see the baby take each teat in turn,
I remembered the rage such tasks used to bring.

For so long, I had no margin.
To spend a half hour with a needy calf
Meant a half hour less to read to the boys,
Or a half hour less of work or sleep (both vital).

I monetized everything I could. I felt I must.
How much had this calf cost us thus far?
We would never see those hours again.
Is this calf—anything—worth the effort, the expense?

And I sat there today and thought,
I have time now for a few minutes a day for Facebook.
I write poems when I wish. I read to the boys as I please.
Today I spend my free time being hospitable to a calf.

Thanks be to God for the life.

A Story

Phil was ready to check on the new calf
Early in the afternoon,
When I suggested a different task
That required a run to the local hamlet.
Before he left, I asked if he wanted to check on the calf
First. He chose not to. I didn’t push it. He left.

A few hours later, home once more, I asked again.
He headed out. And found that

The calf had somehow pushed her way
Into a little gulley where the mom could not finish licking her.
The baby had not yet eaten.
This should never happen.
Babies need the mother’s colostrum in the first half hour
Before the stomach lining changes and the window is lost.
Shivering, unable to stand, the baby needed
Help.

Phil carried her up to the calving shed.
We gave them a bit of time to recover from the trauma of the move
Before we went to intervene.

Phil held the cow. I milked her.
We tried tubing the baby,
Bypassing the mouth and going directly to the stomach.
The problem is, if the tube goes to the lungs,
You kill the baby.
It’s a drastic threat to work with.

So we sort of half tubed the baby,
And I think she had some.
Then we tried bottle feeding, but that didn’t work.
Then I tried propping her up and getting her to nurse.
Then Phil did that while I went to reheat the now-chilled colostrum.
If we needed to tube the baby, really, we could do that.
I returned to find the baby gingerly nursing.

Before bed, we rousted mom and daughter
And made the daughter eat from each teat.
Will that be enough for her to live through tonight?

We shall see.

But the real story, to me,
Is that I don’t view this all as entirely my fault.

Yes, I did arrest Phil’s initial progress out the door to check on the baby.
And I didn’t insist, before he left for town,
That he simply check.
Both of those were opportunities I should have pressed:
Both times I felt a check in my spirit.

In the past, I would have carried the weight of this
Entirely.

But it is not entirely mine.
Yes, I ignored the prompting of the Holy Spirit.
But I suspect (though I have not confirmed) that I was not the only one.

For now, the calf lives

With Adam and Eve,
Who can no longer hear the voice of God clearly.

Happy Sad Happy

Phil’s morning report.

Happy:
Cow that lost outer horn
Yet lives.

Sad:
Calf born Monday
Now dead.

Happy:
New calf born.

For me, the sad takes
Precedence.

Bath Time

Caleb liked the tub enough that
I expected him to like the ocean.
Holding my hand, we walked across the sand.

When the quarter inch of water
From the very edge of a tiny wave
Ran up on his feet,
He cried out in a loud voice,
His whole body quivered,
And he clung to me.

The sound of the ocean,
For days after, made him cry
And shake in my arms
Until he fell asleep as fast as he could.

And as sad as this story is,
I wonder if his loud cry and trembling
Was actually the right response
To the terror and wonder
Of water running uphill,
Wetting what was dry,
A tiny edge of force from immensity.

For today, I am just happy
He finally squatted in the tub again
Of his own volition.
Maybe in four more months,
The trauma of the moment will have passed
And he will actually sit down.

Blood on the Snow

Phil gasped.
Five crows flew up from our pasture.
Blood on the snow.
Binoculars showed a cow with a bloody horn.
A goring?

No.
The tough outer horn stuck
On the mineral feeder
And tore off.

Internet chats claim this happens sometimes.
Undoubtedly it hurts.
It is not fatal and requires no intervention.

This on a day I already wondered
If all that could go wrong
Had gone wrong.

I am not sure whether I am
Thankful or
Cynical
For this reminder:
There is always something else.

Confused

Awake through the night,
I thought about the things that
Went wrong.
The random ram who showed up
From, literally, God knows where,
And leapt into me.

Gored by a cow.

The hive after hive that failed,
From extreme weather and
Insufficient experience and
New baby distraction and
Weak queens.

The lambs that died in birth and
Early childhood.

The chickens that died
From heatstroke,
Dog attack,
Fox attack.

The chicks who carried a virus
That made them infertile
And struck our laying hens infertile
Overnight.

The trees that don’t thrive.

We tried so, so many things.
We were as faithful
To our call
As we knew how to be.

From a farming perspective,
It made no difference.

I suppose I can be thankful
I’m not awake in the night often
To think about these things.

Sick Baby

After a week of cough and snot,
Caleb came up feverish.
He sits on my lap and just
Rests.
I don’t mind.
Except for morning sickness,
I think the last time I was sick
Three days in a row
I was a sophomore in high school.
We can be miserable
Together.
Presumably there is some comfort in that.

Flash Mob

I.
One of my first YouTube memories:
A girl on a cell phone suddenly stands
In the food court, and, in a stunning soprano, sings

“Hallelujah!”

And soon more people come in, by ones and twos,
Until the entire area is filled with praise,
And the people, dutifully eating their fast food,
Look up and smile
At the transcendence
Breaking out around them.

II.
My tears stream as I watch the musicians,
The singers on “Ode to Joy.”
Better, I watch the watchers,
And wonder when does a musician get to see
How the audience responds?
How thrilling to see the video after:
The children happily imitating the conductor,
The rapt grandmother,
The handsome man saying, “Wow.”

The Golden Compass

I was a junior in high school
When this came out.
From the time I started reading it,
I felt addicted, and I read
Walking to the bus stop,
On public transportation,
During passing periods,
In class, book propped studiously—
And, in retrospect, probably not
Surreptitiously—
Behind the assigned texts.

I never read the sequels,
And I disliked all the author’s other novels,

But I remember the helpless and delicious feeling
Of being carried along by the story,
Willingly and completely.

Feeling Sick

Six of the seven of us have been sick this week;
Jadon thus far the only unstricken.
I spent the day in bed and in the tub,
Just reading and resting.

At times I would rise and think,
I don’t feel good!

Two years ago to the day,
I felt sick like this
And realized I would not feel better

Until June.

More Effective

The Romans preached,
Asked for a decision,
And then incorporated the saved:
“Presentation, Decision, Assimilation.”

The Celts worked differently:
Gather people into community,
Then talk, pray, minister, worship together;
In time, invite a commitment.

Make people feel welcome;
Offer all you can;
Expect that Jesus will work his ways.

Law of the Excluded Middle

We know of spiritual truths:
God and eternity, salvation and redemption.

We know of natural laws:
Seeds sprout, yeast rises, babies gestate.

But we don’t often remember the uncertain middle:
Will this seed sprout?
Will this loaf rise?
Will this baby live?

Celtic Christians had prayers for daily life:
Morning and night,
Fire building and fire banking,
Bread making,
Child raising.

We live our lives in the uncertain middle.
We could remember to pray more.

What Were They Thinking?

Drink no longer water only, but use a little wine for your stomach's sake and your frequent illnesses.

Paul suggested a simple remedy
For Timothy’s upset tummy.

Apparently he hadn’t heard the message
Of the name it and claim it folks.

Too bad Timothy didn’t have a bit more faith
So the wine wouldn’t be necessary.

More Than a Gift

Young Josh has a gift,
But he wants to live more than the gift.

Abraham understands this.
“I like art, but I also like Legos and Playmobil
And other things, too.”

Some define themselves by their worst traits.
But even to define oneself by their best is too
Limiting.

On Demand

The boys were eating dinner when
I had a sudden hankering for a movie
That I saw one time, twenty years ago:

Searching for Bobby Fischer.

Thanks to improved internet
And a three dollar rental,
The boys and I had
A completely restful evening,
Without leaving the house.

I Drank Water

For Lent one year as a young mom,
I ate what I wanted, but
Circumscribed my liquids:
Nothing but water.

Later that year, I told a friend
Of the startling ways God moved in my life
Those forty days.

“And to think,” she said,
“All those riches because you gave up
Optional beverages.
Such advance for so little cost.”

Definition

The Star Wars Legos were interacting.
“Get your cloak. Your cloak.

It’s like a coat, for Jedis.”

Ask Small Questions

If I ask:
How can I improve my marriage?
I grow paralyzed.
The question is too much.

But if I ask:
How can I love my husband today?
I can think about that.

And answer:
I can look at him and not at the dishes,
Or ask him a question instead of keeping by myself,
Or thank him for allowing me to nap at any time.

Marriage building, apparently,
Is more about small, loving choices,
Than about large romantic endeavors.

Good thing.

Community Effort

The man who had died came out, his hands and feet bound with linen strips, and his face wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead,
And he walked out, shrouded in linen.
Quickened, yet still bound.

His community released him.

Holy Places

A respected theologian said
That he comes to some places and
Recognizes that prayers have gone up,
That there is peace.

And so he suggests that perhaps
Pilgrimage
Can have some meaning to the believer,
Not as a requirement, of course,
But as an optional benefit and privilege.

It made me wonder about my place,
How deeply I felt rest when first we walked the land.

What saints dwelled here in years past?

No Separation

So Jesus also suffered outside the gate.

Renaissance painters portray
The Crucifixion
As an epic event: high hill, isolated.
A mountaintop experience.

When I saw a more realistic illustration,
I was shocked by the scale.
The small rise of the Place of the Skull
Was close to the wall, the gate;
A road ran right at the base.

It was so exposed.

It looked like: if Whole Foods was the city,
The Crucifixion
Would be on a mound in the parking lot,
With traffic circling this
Very human-scale experience.

Direct Hit

I had a short message to deliver,
And I had to do it in person.

Awkwardly interrupting,
I said my two lines,

And I watched your face
As you received what I said.

It penetrated your public façade
And I could see your heart for a moment,

That the truth lodged there,
Like a bullet, like an arrow.

And I thought, that shot went home,
As I turned and left without seeing more.

On a Birthday

When my friend, then mere acquaintance,
Asked if we could meet,
I was so honored.
I remembered the beauty of the talks
With my Wendy at that age and was happy to try
To share whatever I could.

Which usually doesn’t feel like much.
My friend knows her Bible and herself well,
And uses her gifts for the building of the Body,
And listens to the Spirit and obeys.

But whatever value there may be
In talking and laughing and co-laboring together,
I am still honored.
I am still happy.

So Close

Phil told me to drive slowly when going downhill.
I thought that I was.

So when I stepped on the brakes
And felt the anti-lock clicking underfoot
And no diminishment of speed,
I knew that I was coming
To an intersection
And if there was a car there,
We would collide.

It would either happen or not,
But I wouldn’t know until I got there.

A car passed right in front of me
And then I was at the stop sign,
And there was a black Jeep,
And we were going to hit
Except it was turning and had stopped
And so we did not collide.

I took that as a sign,
And headed home.

A Pause

My friend’s brother’s childhood friend
Died of a heroin overdose.

He is several degrees of separation from me.
And yet …

He was in the world
And is no longer in the world.

And so I have a pause.
His death sends forth a ripple of grief

That touches me.

Minister Grace

Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.

We think about grace often.

A person can move with refinement,
Or dress with simple elegance.

One can behave with courteous goodwill,
Or have the social graces, attractively polite behavior.

To favor someone,
To have a talent or blessing from God …

All graces, by definition,
Along with the main glory,

The free and unmerited favor of God,
That saves sinners and bestows blessing.

Imagine speaking so that you minister grace.

Each a Catch

One of my friends said of our circle,
“I think we’re all catches. We all love Jesus.”

Whether it be the one who can talk to,
And enjoy, absolutely anyone;

Or the one who is so fun to be around
That her roommate’s friends all ask if she is there;

Or the one who is hysterical and helpful,
Who enjoys dates and is figuring out life;

Or maybe the one who wants to talk
And think and change the world;

The one who exudes kindness and thoughtfulness,
Who listens and remembers and contributes;

The one who cares about relationships,
And who enthusiastically laughs and cheers;

Or the one who prays and shepherds
And hopes and perseveres (we might say “loves”);

I have a friend who is simply content,
And who calmly embraces several circles of friends;

One who cheerfully jumped in to community
And converses on a wide range of thought;

And one who loves Jesus and talks about him
In season and out, and willingly goes where he leads …

My friend is right.
These people I love are each a catch.

Celebrate Friends

We don’t really have anything in common, but I really like you.

I threw a party and thirteen showed up.
For seven hours, friends
Ate and talked and laughed,
And I watched the amorphous
Circles of friendship form and reform
In my bright, warm space.

Breath Taking

People are hurt and they vomit hate.
And although I know that their filth
Is about them and their master
And not me and my identity,
I am still covered in vomit and
Trying not to throw up in turn.

The truth is:
Whatever I may have been,
Whatever failures I carry,

I am also completely transformed
Through the blood and resurrection of Christ.

And this I proclaim to all:
Christ.

Tide

I stopped using this after I learned about chemicals,
Opting for an unscented, natural product instead.

But I confess that sometimes a friend walks by
And I catch a whiff of fragrance and think,
I know what detergent you use.
And I miss it. Just a bit.

Hiroshima

I read an account of six survivors.
Amidst the details of burns, nausea, and death,
Came the story of an uninjured survivor,
Running through the city,
Saying to the wounded and dying,
“Excuse me for having no burden like yours.”

My context is different, but I say this, too.

Miscommunication

As Isaiah moves ahead into algebra,
Phil explains that, in an equation,
You can do anything,
So long as you do it to each side.

This all seems straightforward
Until Isaiah states, frustrated,
I don’t understand,
But cannot explain what he doesn’t understand.

That’s the nature of miscommunications,
Of course. Neither side knows what the other is missing.

Do You Trust Me?

When God asks that, how do we respond?
Jesus came to earth and was crucified.
Did he trust God? Presumably so.
And it led to a cross.

I’ve read the missionary biographies.
I know about wives who go insane,
Children buried young,
Eager volunteers who die en route.

Do I trust you for my salvation? Yes.
Unequivocally.
But you don’t make life pain free,
And you sometimes seem wasteful,

And if it were up to me, I confess
I sometimes think I would do things a different way.
I can relate to St. Teresa of Avila
Who, when Jesus said,

"Teresa, that's how I treat my friends,"
Replied, "No wonder you have so few."
This is not meant to be unfaithful.
It’s just meant to be honest.

Tooth

Joe cried because he had a loose tooth,
And refused to eat solid food.

I looked more carefully and saw
The adult tooth fully emerged behind the baby tooth.
Bleeding gum.
Baby tooth discolored already,
Yet still tenaciously holding on.

I suggested he wiggle it,
And made him smoothies for every meal.

He came in to talk to me all day.
To show me the tooth.
To talk about the change.

I grew a little annoyed.
And then I thought,
He is processing his life.
You do this with other people almost every day.
Why not listen to your son, too?

I wish I had no short-comings as a mother.

Connection

This odd week ends with that most
Pernicious of holidays,
A celebration of romantic love
That manages to make most of us feel like failures.
Whatever.

This week I have sat with those who cried,
Read emails from those hurting and annoyed,
Entered in to grief and isolation,
Brokenness and pain.

Phil looked at me today and said,
You look sad.
And I think that’s fair.
The world has too little connection,
And there’s not a day to mourn that.

Judo

The boys are starting judo with Phil.
Two nights a week they will
Drive up and back,
Away for three hours.

When we moved to the country,
We wanted to avoid
Extracurriculars,
The time they pulled from family.

So much for that idea.

It Makes Me Feel Broken

I went to pray with a friend.
And I sat there, eyes closed, and felt the familiar
Vertigo, and felt
My hand grow heavy and hot,
My fingers go numb.

I suspect that those perceptions
Poke through to what is really happening
In the unseen realm.

This time, for the first time, for a short time,
I longed to exhale entirely,
To breathe the Holy Spirit’s truth out,
And I sucked in air raggedly, deeply.

And though I am thankful for the sensations,
So that I feel like I am actively involved,
It makes me feel broken that I need them.

We All Cheered

When guests come, I clap for them, and cheer.
Yay! Welcome!

At the last party, guests arrived and suddenly,
We all cheered.

No Phone

I left the house for a day in town.
My phone was updating.
It lost cell service and froze.
My day was strictly timed.
I couldn’t go back.

No clock, and I without my watch.
No iTunes, and I without CD, tape, or radio.
No notes, and I without paper and pen.
No maps, and I without written directions.
No contacts list, and I without knowing my home phone number.
No texting, and I without guarantee of meeting my friend on time.
No email, and I without a way to reach friends even to tell them.

I have enjoyed my phone much,
But I was taken aback how panicked I felt without it.

Obea

One year, we had a new boy in my elementary school,
With the unusual name Obea.

At a school fair, the cotton candy ran out
And he smiled and offered his to me.

That may have been the only time we spoke.
Our circles didn’t coincide much.

But this I remember:
He was fast.

We fifth graders cheered as he handily beat all comers.
He was our champion, our class celebrity.

Seven years later, I found an article about him
In a national magazine.

He still holds the World Youth Best record in the 400.
We all hoped for good things.

But then reports trickled in about his SAT scores,
His ineligibility for college.

Two decades later, the internet allows easy voyeurism:
Injury, depression, expulsion, panic attacks, alcohol.

I think of that sunny day and our cheers,
His smile as he offered cotton candy,

And I wish his life had played out differently.

Engagement Day

We dated by phone
The year I studied in Idaho
And got engaged by phone
Fifteen years ago today.

I was taking two full-loads that year,
And I checked the time compulsively.

Whenever the numbers were all the same,
Like 1:11 or 2:22 or 3:33 or 4:44 or 5:55
(One afternoon I caught them all),
I would pray for Phil, a thanksgiving.

I don’t check the time as often these days,
But to the list of sames, I have added
Our anniversary, 6:24,
And a few times a month yet
God is thanked for Phil.

I don’t do everything right as a wife,
But I like that I do this.

Leaderboard

• First ever visit of reasonable length and depth: 4 hours: Joseph Holm
• Longest tête-à-tête with Amy: 12.25 hours: Tahni Candelaria
• Longest visit for one person not from out of town: 9.5 hours: Andrew Lynn
• Longest visit for an introvert: 8.5 hours: Andrew Thornton
• Longest visit without a bathroom break: 7 hours: Andrew Lynn
• Longest visit total, including overnight: 21 hours: Andrew Lynn
• Longest party attendees: 13.5 hours: Olivia Patton and Andrew Lynn
• Latest to leave without spending the night: 3:30am: Andrew Lynn
• Longest first visit: 10 hours: Sarah Kim
• Most sequential days visited: 2: Sarah Kim
• Most separate visits in a single week: 3: Sarah Kim
• Visit that most surpassed predicted duration: 6 hours (predicted 3): James Ramsey

Also:

• Most pets accompanying masters: 2: Larkin and Will Muncaster
• Most children accompanying parents: 5: Andy and Amy Eckert

And just in case Andrew Lynn doesn’t hold enough records, we can add:

• Most difficult piece of music performed on our piano: Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C#minor: Andrew Lynn

Thankful for a Red Light

I woke in an adrenaline rush this morning.
In my dream, Phil and I had been driving to a wedding, running late.
We barely made it through one light as it turned yellow.
And the next light had turned fully red,
But Phil, who hates to be late, took a chance.
He skittered through, past three lanes of traffic who legally could go,
Who all had seen us coming and waited.

Safe on the far side, with nothing but open road
And a shot of adrenaline, I turned in fury.
What if one person had been looking away from us?
We would have been dead! Or at least really late!

And then I woke and simply considered.
I am not patient, but I would have preferred then to stop than to go.
Is there a way that I am rushing something?
Because if so, far better to be a minute late
Than dead.

Gotcha!

Caleb communicates more every day.

He climbed up on the bench and held his carrier
When he was ready to be carried to sleep.

He tugs my arm and looks at me forcefully
When he needs to go potty (or sometimes just after).

If I quote a board book, he can fetch it.
If I ask how big he is, he puts up his hands.

If I tell him no, he either obeys or not,
But I can tell that he understands.

I caught him plugging an electric cord into an outlet today.
He had done it correctly, but I’d rather he not try yet.

And after I took off a diaper, he ran away, bare-bipped.
I thought he went to his brothers’ room.

I got a new diaper and went to find him,
But his brothers’ room was dark and silent.

I stood for a moment, considering.
He must have run to a different room without my notice—

Until a sudden giggle from the recesses of the bottom bunk
Revealed my little hiding son, happy to have played a trick on mommy.

Jelly Bracelets

One Sunday between services,
I held a small pack of gum
As I sat in the sun, waiting.

A girl from Sunday school asked for a piece.
I declined. Gum was a rare treat.

She offered jelly bracelets
In trade. I accepted.

Gum in mouth, she suddenly
Remembered that her parents
Wouldn’t allow this exchange.

Worse than the loss of the gum
Was the knowledge that I’d been a sucker.
I hadn’t realized before that church people might lie.

Barbie

Glancing through a catalog,
A chance look at a vintage Barbie
Brought to mind one of the things
I’d prefer to forget.

One Christmas, perhaps age seven,
I received a collection of Barbie clothes
From old friends of my parents.
At the time, I thought only
How hard they were to get on.
Almost impossible.

Playing with a friend, her Barbie had a chic outfit,
Reversible.

We traded.
My collection of unusable clothes
For her one gown.

Pleased, I showed my mother.

“Those women made you those clothes,
Sacrificially and in love.
And you traded them away.”

Thirty years later, the full horror
Rushes on me again.

The childish frustration of receiving
So many sweaters and pants that I could not use.

My own disregard for the kind intentions of near strangers;
How incorrect was my sense of value.

The realization that my friend was predatory.

Disappointing my mother.

From then on, of course, the gown’s beauty was
Poisoned.

No Pressure

I read about a man who quit his job
And, for eighteen years, wrote full-time.
No guarantee of success, no income.
In the end, he published and achieved some fame.
Perhaps his story plays out elsewhere,
With poor folks who never meet success.
But maybe not—who, after all, quits their job?

But what struck me most was the idea of his wife,
Acting as patron, working all those years.
“She put no pressure on me, ever, to perform.”

And I thought of my husband,
Who has encouraged me from the beginning
To spend time with friends,
To write when I wanted,
To relax and take some time for myself.

No pressure, ever, to perform.
I think I, too, could say that.

I Don't Understand It, But It Happens

A friend encouraged me, one time, to write a poem.
I write now for myself, for my friends, for my family.

I woke up this morning to find a poem for me, about me,
In my inbox. This has happened before. It staggers me.

I wonder what other channels could be unleashed
With a single encouragement to try something new.

He Understands

Caleb ate lunch, mostly using his fingers.
“Can we wash your hands?”
He walked to the sink and held his arms up.

While I changed his diaper, I sang,
“Clap your hands, all you peoples,”
And he clapped his hands.

And when he escaped from me
During said diaper change, and I told him, “Come,”
He ran the other way.

Not Sin

I was talking to a friend in pain.
“It’s just sin,” my friend said.

But when pressed, we found no sin,
Just legitimate sorrow.

“I wanted it to be sin,
Because then Jesus would just take it away.”

Instead, my friend has to walk through pain.

This life: it has its moments of beauty,
And its long slogs of sorrow.

We walk with the man of sorrow,
Acquainted with grief.

Hospitality

Eight people listened to my little talk on hospitality.
Afterwards, a friend joked,
“Did someone bring cookies?”

Actually, yes. Someone brought cookies.

“Well, I can’t joke about that then.
Did someone invite you all over for a party?”

Actually, yes. Someone invited us all over for a Superbowl party.

Usually the gifts are distributed throughout the body,
Not concentrated in a circle.

Release us to the Church again!

Claustrophobic Dishwasher

For a month now, our dishwasher has been sketchy.
Phil tried a fix that eked out a few more weeks,
Although every wash cycle dumped a cup or two of water on the ground.
Unpleasant, but better than hand-washing.
Until even that stop-gap method failed,
And the machine simply quit.

This made me almost frantic.
We have so many guests, and so many children,
And I washed dishes by hand for so many years,
I can hardly bear a day without my mechanical servant.
Phil ordered a new part, and paid for expedited shipping.
He installed it, and tested the dishwasher.
All appeared fine, and so he pushed it back in place under the counter.
When he tried to run it, fully loaded,
It didn’t work.

I was ready to drive to town and buy a new one.
I’m not pleased to have only a year of use before failure,
But I can deal with disappointment.

We prayed, then, as we should have done before.
If this is from God, we accept it.
If not, we reject it, and ask for a swift resolution and clarity.

Phil pulled the machine out from under the counter,
And for some reason ran it in the middle of the kitchen.
What part of the cycle was the problem?
None.
It ran all the way through without difficulty.

Was the dishwasher struggling with claustrophobia?
Anthropomorphically, it worked in the middle of the kitchen,
But not under the counter in the confines and the dark.

Phil, problem-solver extraordinaire, realized suddenly
That the issue began around the time we got a dehumidifier.
One bowed floor near a bedroom settled dramatically with the moisture reduction.
Perhaps the floor under the dishwasher settled, too,
Tilting the machine just enough to make it cease functioning.
A bit of re-leveling, and it works again.

Swift resolution and clarity indeed.
Thanks be to God.

Part of the Body

The pastor spoke on our unique place in the body.

We have an enormous medical center in town
Dedicated to fixing different body parts.
Some have the heart fail, or the kidneys, or the liver.

If a part of the body ceases to function,
The entire body breaks down.

And I thought, pity the poor appendix.

Sunrise

I was reading one morning
When a ray of light hit my eye.
The sun had peeked over Mount Alto.

There were no clouds to display
A colorful light show beforehand,
Just a pale, monochromatic sky.

And then this brilliant light
That rapidly grew larger,
The source of light. It surprised me.

Art

While we talked,
My friend created a sunset
With oil sticks
At my kitchen table,
Using blue, white, yellow,
And a hint of red.

Have I watched an artist at work?

The courage to live in the mess,
The patience to persevere,
The faith that what will come to be
May not be precisely what was expected,
But will still be beautiful and new.

I lack all skill in the visual arts.
But I can hope for artistry in life.