Pray I

Believers prayed and God answered,
Several score of specific requests a week,
Carefully charted and happily shared.

Then God stopped answering,
Or, perversely, answered the opposite.
The couples divorced. The people died.

“Does it pay to pray?” asked a man to the pastor,
Who was already feeling discouraged by the lack of results.

The pastor stopped. And thought.

Whether it pays to pray or not doesn’t really matter,
He realized. Does it pay to talk to your friends?

We don’t talk to our friends in order to get something.
We don’t chart the responses.
We talk because we like relationship.

And sometimes we speak of the gifts given,
Of the answers received,
Because we know they come from love, not transaction.

Game with Minutes

In high school I heard
Of Frank Laubach,
Who challenged believers
To think of God
Once a minute,
Every minute;
A “Game with Minutes.”

This always felt like death to me,
Trying and always, always failing
To keep Christ in mind.

I realize now that
I hate games.
I hate playing them
Because if I don’t lose,
Someone else will.

So while this game should have sounded
Enjoyable, delightful, encouraging,
To me it just said

Loser.

Book Review

I realized today
Why I have shelves and shelves
Of books to review
That I’m indifferent to.

I immediately go through all.
Whether because of quality of writing
Or subject matter,
Many I can discard in minutes.

Others offer enjoyment enough
To actually read (or at least skim).

But the ones that weren’t bad enough to toss,
Nor good enough to enticingly cry, “Read me!” …
Those ones get shuffled to the shelves
Of forgetfulness,
Silent sentinels of procrastination and indecision.

What Would That Be Like?

I overheard Phil reading a book about prayer
To the older boys today.
The author asked whether

A full-time worship leader
Or a full-time prayer warrior

Would be better for a church.
This was not something I had ever

Considered.

What do you think?

This Might Explain Some Things

Joe sleeps on a mat by our bed.
He falls asleep in minutes,
Once he settles in,
But if he sleeps in his room on his own mattress,
It takes him hours to settle in.

I am not sure if
Adjusting to a mattress has been hard,
Or if trying to sleep apart from us has been hard.

In either case, he stays nearby.

Tonight I was emailing, working,
Doing my normal computer thing after his bedtime,
And he was chatting away about Duplo creations,
And none of it really made much sense to me.

But for some reason I stopped and
Really looked at him.

“Do you think I’m listening to you?”
“Not really. But I don’t think Daddy usually does, either.”

Oh, my heart.

Let me resolve to set aside my work and petty tasks,
And look into the eyes of my son
And cherish these days
Where he still wants to tell me
About his Duplo creations.

Sobremesa

Loosely translating the
Untranslatable,
The time spent
After a meal
Talking with those
You shared the meal with.

Or, as my friend said,
Basically the majority
Of every Lykosh house party.

Hebron

When he was 85,
Caleb son of Jephunneh said
To Joshua son of Nun,
“Give me this mountain.”

And Caleb went and drove out the Anakim,
Giants dwelling in Hebron.

Hebron became his inheritance,
And the land had rest from war.

Seven chapters later,
The children of Israel set aside cities
For the Levites,
And cities of refuge for the man-slayers.

Some are clearly set aside by lot,
And some are not so clear,
Sounding more as if they were simply chosen
Arbitrarily.
One of these is Hebron.

“But the fields of the city,
And the villages thereof,
Gave they to Caleb the son of Jephunneh
For his possession.”

Translation: Caleb single-handedly drove out the giants
And they took his city but left him some fields.
Excellent.

And better yet, Hebron was given not only to the Levites
But, as a city of refuge,
It became the haven for the man slayers
And killers waiting for trial.

I had never noticed that before.
I had hoped that Caleb,
Rich in strength and filled with trust,
Lived happily ever after on his mountain,

Not subjected to some early form of eminent domain
And surrounded by unsavories
Who were too weak and unfaithful to join him in battle.

I’m just being honest.

But this initial reaction was a divine set-up.

Because, really, what would I want for godly Caleb?
A life of increasing wealth and private satisfaction,
A fairy-tale existence of blessing?

Or a life spent with the servants of God, ministering to them?
And a life spent in ministry to those in shock,
The refugees whose world unexpectedly went wrong?

Whether Hebron was given by lot by God,
Or seized by eminent domain by cowards,
No longer is my critical issue.

Rather, what does one do with the spoiling of one’s goods?
What does one do with a life that doesn’t go as expected?