Fifth Son

I have heard that parents get tired,
And so the youngest gets spoiled.

Perhaps.

But I wonder, as I watch my fifth son
Clamber onto a bench, an amazing feat of
Flexibility, strength, and determination,

Then hoist himself onto the table and
Toddle about, head almost level with mine,
Curiosity and happiness mixed on his face,

If maybe the fifth baby is simply more confident
Because of constant affirmation from parents
And doting siblings.

Not Ours to Save

The world is not yours, not to save or to damn. Only serve the one whose it is.

We did not create, and do not own, this broken world.
We serve the one who can restore,
Without pressure to make things right, since we cannot.

Ephesians tells us that the manifold wisdom of God
Might be made known through the church
To the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.

Even the smallest things we do in love play a cosmic role.
What a marvelous gift this is,
That our actions have significance without pressure.

Thanks be to God.

Modern Miracle

My son threw up recently, unexpectedly,
So that his pillowcase and sleeping bag were soaked,
And I had to use multiple towels to clean the floor.

I put all the articles in my washing machine, set to
Sterilize.

No cold stream with rocks.
No water to boil over an open fire;

I try not to take my mechanical servants for granted,
But this felt like nothing less than a miracle.

Pilgrimage

The congregation sang
As we filed around the gym
To take communion.

There is something fitting about
Walking and singing with the saints,

Those minutes a microcosm
Of life,

Which is, of course,
Pilgrimage and worship,
Together.

Beauty

Three weeks ago, the fall colors
Were gold and green.
The slant light made all glow.
I could not imagine such beauty
Could last another week.

It didn’t. And yet.

The next week, the weather
Was superb, and the green vanished,
As yellows and gold tones took over.
It was a week that was good to be alive.
I could not imagine such beauty
Could last another week.

It didn’t. And yet.

The next week, the reds came out,
And the leaves started to fall,
But there were more on the trees
Than on the ground.
I could not imagine such beauty
Could last another week.

It didn’t. And yet.

Today as I drove the ground was
An orange carpet, the trees
Orange and burnt sienna,
So that I felt a bit like
Peter Pumpkin Eater’s wife,
Living in a pumpkin shell.
A glowing world of beauty.
I cannot imagine such beauty
Will last another week.

It probably won’t. And yet.

When the trees lose their leaves,
The shape of the mountain appears.
The houses tucked away become visible.

The drab winter is not flashy like fall,
But can I not acknowledge its gifts,
Its beauty, as well?

Forty People

When forty people come to my house,
I find it hard to fall asleep afterwards.

I’m not sure that’s because I acquired energy
As an extrovert would,
Or if I am just amazed yet again

That one room held voices in worship,
That saints met each other,
That God was here.

That forty people came to my house.
My house.

Return

Wrestling through the message of the Good News,
A friend said that we could start in
Genesis 3, with what is wrong with us.

Or we could start in Genesis 1-2,
With all that was once right,
All the splendor and glory that we love yet today.

The message then is the Hebrew “repent,”
Which means “return,”

Not the Greek “repent,”
Which means “turn around.”

If you find yourself in darkness,
Return to love and peace.

Return to right relationship with
God,
Yourself,
Your fellow travelers,
The earth.