Theophostic Prayer for Me

The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.

Phil and I talked at length,
Trying to figure out
Direction for the farm.
What do we invest in?
What would allow the boys to learn?
To earn?

In the end, I grew too agitated
To continue the talk,
Overwhelmed with the ways
This farming life has disappointed.

While Phil took the boys to hike the land,
I went out into the brisk midday
And sat for a time in peace,
And dealt with God.

“I feel like you brought us here
And then left us alone.”

My child, I will never leave you
Or forsake you.

While my eyes stayed shut,
Then came a breeze,
And what came to mind was,
A line from the gospel of John and
“You cannot see the wind,
Only the effects of the wind.”

Then I opened my eyes
And my entire vision was captured
By falling leaves
In the sunshine and shadow of the forest floor.

But into this transcendence
I thought again of all the failures,
And I sobbed with all the sorrow
Of year after year of trial and failure.
“We are idiots! Nothing has come out
Anything like the books claim!”

I am teaching you things you can’t learn in books.
Like: how to listen to me.
You have been amply provided for.

All of this is true.

And if it isn’t precise direction for the future,
It is solace for the frustrations of the past.

Thanks be to God.

Two Marriages

God tells Hosea to marry Gomer.
She’s a prostitute.
She bears children.
She leaves him to ply her trade.
Were the sons even his?
Probably not.
He goes after her and brings her back,
Unfaithful woman that she is,
A crazy picture of the love of God
For his people.

There is one other instance in the Bible
Of God telling a man to marry.

Mary was pregnant, not by Joseph.
God told him to marry her anyway.
So he does. And Jesus comes.
A crazy picture of the love of God
For all people.

Reprieve

Sometime after the boys were abed,
Presumed asleep,
We heard a crash and investigated.

The ceiling fan light cover had smashed.
We heard rumor of a son kicking the fan….
This has never, of course, been allowed.

We cleaned up the glass.
Told said son he would pay for the damage.
And Phil told of his growing years,

When he, too, was long on intelligence
And short on common sense.
The disaster ended as well as could be hoped.

And when I went to order a replacement,
Beyond all hope, the glass is covered under warranty.
Free.

Jane Austen

Two novels I know well,
The most beloved Pride and Prejudice
And the ever delightful Emma.

The other four I have heard, read with a British accent,
As I worked in the kitchen these last two months.
They are not at all similar.

Northanger Abbey is a spoof on Gothic novels,
Beginning with the narrator’s good-natured surprise that
Catherine Morland could be a heroine, as she was never locked in a dungeon.

It is a frothy novel, a coming-of-age,
As the naïf falls in with some nasty social-climbers
And yet finds her way to an intelligent and cheerful young man.

Mansfield Park, lengthy, the only novel named for a house,
With a heroine a bit less likeable than most, weak and shy Fanny Price,
Who nevertheless shows more character than any other,

And avoids seduction by a coxcomb,
And, as with all of Jane Austen’s heroines,
Manages to marry far better than one might expect.

Persuasion, written the year of the author’s death,
Shows Anne Elliot, nearly thirty and unmarried,
Thrown together again with the man she was persuaded to reject

Eight years before. The weight of meaning
In a single glance; the constant dance of social convention:
What a drama around such meager interactions.

And Sense and Sensibility, one I heartily disliked
The one time I read it, with Eleanor Dashwood
Attempting always to act upright,

In a world of incredibly nasty people on all sides.
She seeks to be true to the one she loves,
Even if that means they will not marry.

I am astonished each day by the moral gravity,
The beauty of the language,
The incredible tension in the plots.

Marketing

Phil spent a week, crafting a brochure
To sell our beef.

It was well thought-out, with smaller boxes of meats,
Very competitively priced.

Out of our entire contact list,
We have orders for forty-five pounds.

We are gratified by the three friends
Who have expressed interest.

But we wanted to process six cows this year,
And we do not have freezer space until more moves.

We wonder again:
Just what is it that God is doing here?

Nate the Great

I remember reading these early reader
Detective stories when I was a girl,
And Abraham and I plug away at them,
Day by day,

As Nate the Great seeks for a lost weed
Or a missing birthday surprise
Or a stolen beach bag
Or a missing picture.

He asked me today if, perhaps,
When he has finished the series,
He could read a graphic novel
Or another early reader,

And I assured him that he could read them
Now, as he desires,
Indeed, could read as much as he might wish
For the rest of his life.

This is the blessing of being literate.

The Kitchen Sink

Within the first month of my new sink,
I inadvertently left some onion skins in
Overnight. Permanent stain.

For two years now, the stains have accumulated,
Until the bottom of the sink turned brown,
Even when wiped clean.

Buried in a drawer of warranties and instructions,
Today I came across the sink’s cleaning instructions:
Use a powdered cleanser and a scotch brite pad.

I would never have considered the scotch brite;
I assumed it would scratch.
So, expecting nothing, I put down the powder and scrubbed.

I wish now that I had before and after photos.
My sink has some scratches. Metal pans will do that, I suppose.
But the stains have vanished.

My sink is as white as it was the first month we had it.
Every time I walk by, I have a thrill of surprise.
My sink is no longer just a workhorse, but a showpiece.