The Lost Tooth

Joe, at six, has struggled to eat,
As his front tooth has grown ever more loose.
I suggested he pull it.

He gripped it and tugged,
And there it came.

“I didn’t know if I could get it.
It was so sheer!”

Definition:
Especially of a cliff or wall:
Perpendicular, or nearly so.

He found le mot juste.
Well done, son.

How to Respond to That?

Sitting at a table with:
A doula in training, mother of two;
A childbirth instructor in training, mother of five;
A mother of six;
Godly women all,
Intent on raising their children well,
And doing an excellent job.

One said to me:
“I dreamed you were pregnant,
And I was your doula.”

And my favorite 18-year-old
Said, “I think it would be hard to be your doula.
You are so wise, so knowledgeable….”

As I sat at table with
Godly women all.

Cost of Ministry

I am learning that to minister
Means to absorb pain
And return charity
And understanding.

This is impossible to do perfectly,
So for me it also means
A lot of days where I wander the house
Looking glum. Feeling glum!

The Triumphal Entry

I.
A donkey is not a tall animal.
A colt is smaller still,
Perhaps the size of a large dog.

What ludicrous picture is this,
The king riding with his feet dragging?

II.
I appreciate that Jesus chose an animal
Never before sat on,
An echo, perhaps, of Adam and Eve in the garden,
Of his time of testing in the wilderness
When he was with the wild beasts.

A glimpse of the peaceable kingdom.

III.
He ascends, to acclaim.
Blessed is the king,
Peace in heaven,
Glory in the highest!

Had the people held their peace,
The stones would have cried out.

And then the king weeps.

Sitting on the ridiculous donkey,
Surrounded by the joyful throng,

The King
Cries.

Peace is not come.

Death is coming.

Clinging

I left the house before all were awake.
Caleb was one awake,
And he noticed I was gone
As the door squeaked closed.

He cried, I heard later, most of the time
For the next six hours.

When I walked in finally, he ran to me,
Clung to my legs before I could set down
Sweatshirt, boxes, purse.

The crying continued.
The clinging continued.

I expect tomorrow will be more of the same.

I don’t go away often.
And when I do, I know there is a price
We all pay.

Exodos

Who appeared in glory, and spake of his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem.

Jesus, transfigured, spoke with Elijah and
Moses of his decease, his exodos,
Which he should accomplish at Jerusalem.

His exodus.

He was going to Jerusalem to leave.

Moses led the slaves to freedom,
A shadow of things to come.

Jesus leads slaves to freedom yet.
Greater than Moses is come.

Received Up

And it came to pass, when the time was come that he should be received up, he stedfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem.

Jesus set his face like flint.
The time was come.

He should be received up.
Here I have always pictured the crucifixion—
As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness,
Even so must the Son of man be lifted up.

But the Greek is the word also translated

Ascension

Which offers a new layer of meaning.
The time was come to return to his father.
The time was come for death-resurrection.
The time was come to lose to win

Permanently.

The Underdog

A historian wondered what happened in the ‘60s.
Civil Rights, Women’s Rights …
This incredible push of the less privileged
Had never happened
In the history of the world.
History is written by the victors.

As he studied, he found that
The stream of liberation
Flowed back to the cross,
Where a man became
A winner
By losing.

Critical Thinking

A philosopher pointed out
That opinion and fact are
Not
Opposites.
A statement might be both.

And a fact might be truth,
Or it might be proof.
The former is real,
The latter, a mental construct.

Which is all to say:
Think.

March Madness

I never went to a college basketball game in college.
The idea of sweaty arms in my personal space—
Anyone’s personal space—
I don’t like it.

But for a few weeks in March,
I think of any possible connection
To any of the sixty-four teams,
And track the scores and feel elated or not.

My boys crowded around the computer,
Cheering for a team we know nothing about,
Because their opponent beat the home team,
And the enemy of my enemy is a friend. I guess.

We can be basketball fans a few hours a year.

The Tub

The weekly rotation of chores
Shows Joe cleaning the bathtub.
He tells me I must help.
I tell him he must start.

I arrive a few minutes later
To the overwhelming smell
Of almond,
My soap of choice,
Though perhaps not in quite
Such quantity.

Joe assures me cheerfully,
Though, that the swiftness
Of the cleaning is due to
Such sum of soap.

Older Brother

I glance out the window
At the baby, toddling over the rough gravel,
Palms coated in red clay, showing how often
He has fallen, and risen again.

His oldest brother steps behind him,
And as the baby’s steps falter,
Jadon brushes the back of his head,
A tender encouragement,
A gentle stability,
A wordless

Keep going, brother.

Playing

With an open schedule today,
I made granola.
I made soup.
I made snack bars.

And I thought how

Terribly

Happy

I am.

Not Yet a Teen

The boys’ history said something
Phil didn’t like.
He told the boys his view.
Ended, “This is the truth.”

Isaiah said,
Without irony,
“Well, it’s a good thing we have you
To tell us the truth!”

We Can't Own It

But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.

A friend creates art of astonishing power,
Yet questions whether she is even good.

A friend asks questions with clarity and grace,
Yet resists accepting his intellect.

We are told we are hospitable.
But most parties end with feelings of failure.

Why is it so hard to own our gifts?
Do we fear to grasp a clear expression of God?

Christened

A year ago today Phil had just barely
Finished the bathroom
Enough to allow visitors.
There were some loose ends yet.

But our friend came down.
And told his story.
We entered in to trauma.
It was not without tears.

But that released us. Those tears,
The champagne bottle smashed.
Christen our home an oasis of grace.
Let a new thing spring forth.

Overwhelmed

It’s been some months since I went grocery shopping.
Practically, it worked out for me to go tonight.

I walked in and looked at the beautiful array of
Cosmetically perfect fruits and vegetables.

And it brought me to the verge of tears,
That I live in a time where I can buy

Jicama, cashew butter, lemongrass,
Among the more standard ingredients,

Products I neither grew nor harvested,
But that I will eat with thanksgiving and joy.

Just Another Beetle

We used to order feed in bulk.
Every month I greeted delivery man
Dan, cheerful and kind.

Once, when we were moving a ton
Of fifty pound sacks,
A cockroach skittered across our pallet.

I didn’t grow up with cockroaches.
I think I was in my thirties before I saw my first one …
In a bug museum.

Looking back, I see that bugs belong outside,
And there was nothing inherently nasty
About me that a bug lived on my farm.

Yet in that moment I felt shamed by my living situation,
By my inability to control
Anything,

By the squalid aspects of country life.
So I apologized for this nasty bug.
And Dan looked at me, and smiled, and said,

“I’ve always said that a cockroach is just another beetle.”

Silent God

Beautiful friends spent years raising support
And went to Asia,
Divested of possessions,
Ready to serve and love.

Weeks later, their visa renewal denied,
They returned stateside,
Broken-hearted,
Leaving part of themselves behind.

In all the story, what made me cry was the
Uncertainty, the nights spent calling out:
What, Master of the Universe,
Is the faithful path?

Distant Land

Like cold water to a weary soul is good news from a distant land.

On a day of sorrow and soul-fatigue,
A brief note from a friend:

A book I love made him laugh out loud.
Thank you.

Thank you.

Honey

Of the four hives of bees purchased,
And the three or four swarms,
None remain.

I haven’t had the
Courage

To open the last two hives.
Afraid to find the black ooze of foulbrood,
Or maybe just the nastiness of
Black widow or rodent.

One hive appeared fully empty,
Dead bees dropping from empty wax frames.

Soon after I pulled off the top of the second hive
I noticed a drop of what I have never yet seen
On this farm:

Honey.

It only took four years.
And the death of all the makers.

I have no idea what to make of this final, sweet gift,
Except that I prefer it to
Foulbrood, black widow, rodent.

Praise Me!

When the boys have created something
They find astonishing,
They fetch me so I can admire their handiwork.

While I was working today,
Caleb grabbed my jeans and pulled insistently.
He led me to a corner of the playroom,

Where he picked up a Lego car from the floor—
That he did not assemble—
And set it on the shelf. He did this with another Lego car.

He pushed the two around aimlessly,
Pointed to a few bits and pieces. I think I heard him say,
“Praise me, too, Mommy!”

Learning

As much hospitality as we have practiced,
Each month, I feel I learn something new.

One month, I had to examine why,
After a five hour party,
I felt bereft when guests left.

I wanted seven hour visits with each.
I needed an adjustment in expectation.

One month, I had to release the outcome to God.
I do what I can, but the end result is not up to me.
If people had a great time, or not a great time,
I could give that to him.

One month, I knew a guest was coming
Who I had not met but was described as a bit grumpy.
When this guest arrived, frown on face,
I expected that, and had compassion.

Normally, I would have run through the list
Of all the ways the farm had already spoiled the visit:
Long drive down, dog greeting, mud, unfinished exterior….

But perhaps it is okay to acknowledge that maybe
A person is just grumpy.

I can love grumpiness for a few hours,
And neither try to change it, nor lift it,
But just love through it.

This was a new freedom.

Didn't Expect That Name Yet

Running through the orchard
With my 8-year-old, he said,
“I’m going for a run with my
Old lady!”

In Time

Five Christmases ago,
Living in the squalid trailer,
I requested a splurge,
An organic honey purifying masque,
Something frivolous and feminine,
Expensive and disposable.
Something not like my life.

And when it came, the instructions:
Place warm washcloth over face to open pores.

I thought about what that would entail.
A trip outside into the cold December air.
Lighting the burner on a stove with a broken lighter.
Warming water in a pot.
Maybe cleaning the pot first.
Finding a washcloth, which might not be possible
If it had been some time since we did laundry.

I put the masque away sadly, unopened,
Another reminder of our
Unconventional, sometimes painful, life.

The masque expired in September 2012.

I opened it today, turned on the faucet,
Wet a clean washcloth from my cupboard
With warm water
And indulged in my frivolous and expensive masque.

I just needed a little time.

Gave Me a Hug

My friend was away for a week.
In the midst of after church tear-down
And introductions,
He sought me out
And gave me a hug.

I am planted in community.
I rejoice.

God Knew

God directed my friend specifically.
Just weeks later his life fell apart
In ways that showed clearly
God knew what was coming.

We ache for the turmoil and sorrow,
And seek rest in the succor God offers,
Even as we tremble at the majesty
Of a God who knows

And is known.

Direction

My friend, done with school,
Could have gone anywhere in the world.
She spent a week researching options.

A Habitat for Humanity internship
Converged three of her passions:

Construction,
Talking to people,
Racial reconciliation.

Thanks be to God.

Good News Made Simple

James Chuong tells the story:

Designed for good.
Damaged by evil.
Restored for better.
Sent together to heal.

Where are you?

The Woman at the Well

The woman at the well:
An outcast in a community of outcasts,
Five husbands and now a lover—
And then a man—a Jew!—spoke.

How long had it been, to simply be included?

Jesus draws her out, soon fingers her shame.
She, avoidant, changes the subject to worship,
And he, compassionate, answers her question.

He declares himself to her. To her!
The broken, outcast, sinner.

She spreads the good news.

Restored: to her community.
To God.

Present

I have things on my mind this day,
Every day.

I found myself
Playing with the baby.
I don’t remember how I began.

But he will be small enough
To lift overhead and then hug
Only a bit longer.

I reminded myself to be present,
And played with my living kewpie doll.

Musical

Although Joe’s middle name is
Asaph,
For the Psalm-writing worship leader,
He covers his ears when I sing
And begs me to stop.
Music is not his thing.

So how surprising to see Caleb,
Standing at the window,
Humming an atonal, repetitive sound,
With a stack of pegs at his lips,
Pretending to play an instrument.

Whether they sing or not,
I hope all my sons
Worship.

Just Needed a T

Getting ready for judo,
Phil asked, joking,
“Are you ready to die?”

Jadon replied immediately,
“Are you ready to diet?”

Resurfacing

When I have gone deep in prayer
And seen the Spirit move
In my life or the life of a friend,
I come out of it

Stunned.

I understand that Isaiah said,
Woe is me, for I am of unclean lips
And I live among a people of unclean lips,
For my eyes have seen the glory.

It takes me, sometimes,

Hours

To feel like I am again embodied.
I know that I will return to myself,
But it will take some time.
Meanwhile,
It is like my spirit has displaced my flesh.

I think about John the Apostle,
After his vision of the Seven Churches.

He would have come out of that
And eventually needed sustenance
And sleep.

To wobble between the eternal realm
And the temporal …

How shaky he must have felt.

Spirit of ...

We know of the Holy Spirit
As part of the Trinity.
But what is
The spirit of wisdom and revelation
That Paul asks for his friends?
Is it an entity that will come and indwell,
Sort of the opposite of a demon?

Is it a character trait, like
A spirit of gentleness or beauty?

Because Paul could have asked for just
Regular wisdom and revelation.

But he didn’t.
He asked for
The spirit of wisdom and revelation.

A mini-mystery in Ephesians.

Cease Not

When Paul said to the Ephesians
That he ceased not to give thanks for them,
I once thought that he never stopped,
At any hour of the day or night.

With such absurdities, I used to pummel myself:
Not as good as Paul!

But I get food for the boys without ceasing.
Every day, several times,
They are fed.
But I do not live entirely in the kitchen.

I expect this is what Paul meant.
He prayed as they came to mind, and they came to mind
Every day, without cease.

Impulse Control

I baked a cake.
Walking by some hours later,
An interesting indentation
Had shown up, shaped
Remarkably like a finger
Of a six-year-old
Without impulse control.

This has never happened,
In dozens of cakes baked.
And it made me happy,
In a complicated way,
That a son cast aside caution
And had a moment when
He tasted what he wanted.

Do younger children grow up spoiled
Because their parents grow weary?
Or do the parents, as they age,
Start to see such a failing not as
Moral decay that must be eradicated,
But as a charming memory
Worthy of encomium?

Should I think of this as
Adam and Eve temptation, or
Carpe diem?

Impoverished

To celebrate some friends,
We had a dinner party,
A gathering that may soon be
A lost art, as the practice of years
Goes into any such meal:
Recipes tested and skills honed,
Kitchen equipment acquired,
Time to prepare and clean.
Who has these luxuries these days?

I read a book that claimed a third of people
In the United States struggle to get by.

For these people, convenience food
Is truly convenient,
As perhaps they have no oven,
No pots and pans,
No time to sleep,
Just a ceaseless toil
With some temporary hook-ups.

How glamorous, then,
My simple dinner party,
With bread, salad, applesauce, lasagna, cake.
How wealthy we are.

And to consider the lack, not just of food,
But of friends:

How many truly impoverished.

Ice Cube

The baby goes to Abraham
All day long,
And pats his arm
And communicates
Through nonsensical syllable.

Abraham, knowing,
Drops everything,
Runs to the freezer,
Gets an ice cube,
And runs back
So the baby can be
Satisfied.

Before

I stand at my sink,
Calmly washing dishes
In the hours before a party
And I wonder who will come, when,
And if the Spirit will come in power,
If the energy and hope expended will be
Poured out as a drink offering, sacrificial.

A Real Person

Caleb doesn’t yet know precisely how to use
Utensils.
Sometimes he scoops stew with the spoon
Into his hand and from his hand into his mouth.
He ends messy, but satisfied,
And climbs down to find me,
And leads me to the counter, the sink,
And reaches up so I know to lift him
And wash one soft, chubby hand
And then the other, and wipe his face.

Then he climbs up and gets his spoon,
Climbs down to the dishwasher so I open it
And he can put in his spoon.

He climbs up to get his bowl—not always empty—
And brings it to the dishwasher, too.
Then he opens the cupboard and gets
The box of soap,
And if we don’t run the dishwasher,
He grows
Distraught.

We will teach him about
Conservation
Tomorrow.

Sometimes III

Sometimes I listen
To yet another political conversation,
Which seems to me the height of
Pointlessness
(Because what changes can you really make)
And I wonder
Who is this person I married?
And I get a little
Annoyed.

Then I read a description of
Five things abusive men do
Or six ways to see if you are with a manipulator,

Or I remember my friend whose spouse
Sold their house
Without telling her,

My friend whose husband forged her signature
On a massive loan
Without telling her,

The one I know who married a
Psychopath, or just the basic
Narcissist,

And I realize that a little talk about
Politics is not much,
And I give my husband a hug
For no real reason,
For every reason.

Sometimes II

Sometimes I look at my unmarried friends
And think,

When you are sick, you are just sick,
And no one makes demands on you.

And when you go to bed, you can just sleep,
And no one comes in the middle of the night
To steal your covers and kick your face.

And when you make food, you make enough for one,
And that is enough,
And it will last as long as it will,

And you have only one stomach
Demanding more,
Not seven.

Not that I would trade
(Most of the time).

Sometimes I

Sometimes I imagine
Just walking away,
Without a plan,
Without companions,
Just leave it all

Behind.

In my mind,
It’s an extended vacation,
Without responsibility,

Forgetting that,
In the real world,
There would be
Twice as many bills
And infinitely more
Heartache.

Can't Out Read That Boy

When Jadon was a year, was two,
He would sit with me, with my mom,
For an hour, for two,
And listen quietly and still
To book after book.
We might grow hoarse,
But still he listened.

Today Jadon sat on the couch and read
To his brother, now a year, for an hour,
Using voices, making sounds,
Laughing,
As the love he received before he could
Remember it
Flows to his younger brother.

Baby Bobbing

Caleb figured out that he could push
The bench
To the counter
And climb up.

We trained him not to sit on the counter.

The next day, we looked at
The baby, standing on
The bench,
Hands on counter,
Face buried in
A bowl,

Bobbing for apple(sauce).

Unjust Judge

A friend of mine once went before
An unjust judge.
He fought for justice for years,
Difficult when the arbiter of his fate
Was the inhibiter of his justice.

I hadn’t realized before how strong
Groaning prayers could be.
I groaned for my friend, going up once again,
And somehow the court scene shifted.
It felt miraculous.

I have another friend now,
In a different state,
Also facing an unjust judge.
I can sense her terror and
Helplessness.

God says: “Seek justice,
Correct oppression;
Bring justice to the fatherless;
Plead the widow’s cause.”
Yes, please, God. Bring justice. Plead.

Restful

Somehow three months had passed
Since our last visit.

In the three hours we talked of many things,
And went our separate ways, all, satisfied and rested.

Ethnicity

We know the ethnicity of every character who has a name in the Bible—not one is lost on us.

I wonder at the person who realized this first,
Tracing the ethnic backgrounds
Of characters great and small.

Three of my four grandparents
Immigrated to the United States.
My ancestry is important to me.

I like that ancestry is also important to God.

So Sick

At one point during my illness,
I thought,
I will never be healthy again. How can
Anyone recover after feeling this bad?

A week later, I feel like my brain remains
In slow motion, and my body drags around
Behind the normal me like some dress train
That keeps snagging and needs to be
Coddled.