The Dark Won’t Hold

All these words have already been used –

I can only hope not used up

Looking back on all this time

And all these mine-times

Is like looking painfully and unaware

At someone else’s life

That’s not so bad, I guess;

A long aching road’s

Being replaced by snatches of sunlight

That stretch and change

And quietly brighten all these inner rooms

Simple unexpected joys burn away

(What I thought were) too many shadows

The light dances

In all these unexpected ways

(But always yearned after)

And the dark can’t hold

Praise His Name

The dark won’t hold

Crumbs

Feed me, Word of life.
I don’t mean to sound demanding –

Just desperate.

So much to think about

Yet nothing too

All these little lives

Need filled right up

By You who has compassion

Who leads beside springs of water* Is. 49:10

Otherwise we’d be left alone

To salvage and scrabble

In all this wide world

For some semblance of satiation

To at least fill these bellies

(Never mind nourish)

From all the shiny garbage heap-

So utterly much on the surface

But stinking underneath

‘Cause that’s the thing about all

These many amusements:

Without Him

Nothing satisfies

All’s little more than a smoke screen distraction

Belying the true nature of life, of meaning, of real, of good.

So, Lord, please free the captives from all these many (false) warriors

Your plunder retrieved from the fierce.

Contend with all these many false gods

And please save these children.

May all mankind know that You, Lord,

Are THE Savior.

And in the meantime,

Thank You for (nourishing) crumbs

That constantly – consistently –

Keep the path blessedly illuminated

With constant promise of fullness and expectation.

Thank You.

Liberation (of motherhood and otherwise)

Sometimes I think I could stay here
All quiet and thoughtful up on this mountaintop
If only I could remain undisturbed

And left alone

THEN what a difference I’d make

And then I remember that I have you to thank

For all my best and worst rising to the surface

You help catalyze all my grandness and terribleness

And all this facing’s what makes a person whole

Without your love

Without you to love

I’d just be all face

And no facing

Void of depths

Too heavy on shallow heights

Thank you for all your yous

Meeting all my me.

And please, God, may my me (with You) liberate their mes as much as they’ve saved mine.

Expenditures of loving these all that fills right up:

Love’s liberation

This Balmy December

It’s December

But this walk’s anything but snowy

Face is up and out

Fully receiving the wind

Wind that sings full on past ears

Winter breeze as only it can sound through leave-less trees,

Then through hangers-on with their higher pitched tinkling

Then through the pines with their smooth, streamlined, softer wave sounds in turn

Past the trees to an all wide open field

The grass dances green in the sun filled atmosphere

As the symphony sounds

The at-first-glance brown and spent Queen Anne’s Lace

Deceives it’s winter death and

Jives surreptitiously

There is no contrivance here,

No carefully practiced instruments

No score needing followed just so or else discord

All’s at rest but fully enlivened too and ready and willing

To perform

With the tiniest suggestion of wind or warm or moment

No self indulgent performance here

No need of accolades

Just a fullness of light and sound and Presence

Quite without any human intervention

Save its enjoyment.

Thanksgiving

Hard things turned sweet

Lap around my edges

What’s true and good

Trumping the dark and the hard

Life is everything I feared

And everything I hoped

And more still

Coming into my own

Even more momentous than I thought

This little voice in the wilderness

Is louder and clearer than I expected

My mouse squeak carries through the noise

My fibers pulse with lion strains

Hope doesn’t just rise

It travels ahead

And should I follow

Should I meet this melody

And sing strong with this (His) voice all intact

Other noises will continue to quiet

And take lovelier shapes

No longer fit just for silencing mine

Will sweeten in deference to the love song

Written and sung by the most unexpected and perfect and dependable

Of lovers…

Jesus, Lover of my soul

my Lion

my Song

my Savior

Culmination and realization of all the hopes and dreams of

A world gone sour

– But that still longs to sing –

Can.

The evidence in a tiny voice finding its voice

Clear and strong and Found

Thank You.

Return

Leading a study on the book Devotional Classics for a number of weeks now, and we’ve reached Thomas Kelly. In the practice of returning more consistently to what he calls “the Divine Center,” everything changes. I knew this, I guess: knew that every single remembrance of God redeems, restores, affects everything it touches. But when it happens in my own life, it surprises me every time.

And this seems to me the very most important thing a person could possibly talk about… yet I worry that in communicating this experience that either I or the beautiful, life-changing reality of what I speak will be chalked up to what my husband would refer to as “flaky.” (Defined as “crazy or eccentric.”)

The thing is, remembering God in moments – more consistently, more wholly – is not only closer to the reality that I believed in as a kid (only to wake up as an adult a little bewildered and blinking in my present reality wondering where all the magic went), but on a practical level, really does change everything. Not to go all Brother Lawrence on you, but this morning the ironing and matching of socks had a very different feel. It wasn’t drudgery all of the sudden with God in the mix. It was sacred, peaceful, joyful, big and small and beautiful and simple all at once. Y’know, life without the ugly.

It didn’t take long for me to get prideful. To start taking credit for remembering Him in like two! consecutive! moments! So repentance is definitely a huge part of this practice. Not morbid self awareness, but more like a willingess to be honest. I’ve heard it said that confession of sin is really just being honest about ourselves.

So here’s to being honest today. Here’s to a God who knows my wretchedness and miraculously condescends to come down here and be with me, guide, comfort, and love me anyway. Jesus as the Divine Center isn’t flaky at all. He’s the best thing to get to happen to a person. (I know. I’ve been without Him.)

Praying for you today, dear one, and hoping that He will draw near to you and you to Him in increasing measure.

At the Playground

It still feels new:

This motherhood season of

Watching you from here.

You don’t need me

To pick you up

Prevent your falls

Protect you.

– Leastways not in the same ways.

This season brings

A new peace

(And a new tension).

When you were little

I hovered:

Conscious of so many potential dangers.

Ever present,

I could

Prevent your falls,

Soothe your fears,

Intercept your missteps.

Now I watch from afar –

As you capably, fearlessly

Climb

And dangle

And balance

And reach

And stretch.

I privately hold my breath

And silently root

For sure footedness

Instead of instructing you towards it.

There’s a little one here

All luscious and teetering

His daddy close behind.

I remember.

And I remember when I couldn’t wait to sit over here.

The waiting’s over

And it won’t be long now

‘Til I wish it was back…

The old dangers

Paling in light of the new.

Time

Pendulum swings

Talk of time as a precious commodity

Then fritter it away

With all this worry

Like I’ve an endless supply

Some people fill their spaces with everything, nothing

My only option (to stay sane)

S’to forsake all I see

(At least for a little: such violence is blessedly seasonal… in part)

Empty out,

-Heck, not fill up on anything –

Save Him.

Wait.

Ask.

Praise God

He doesn’t leave me to myself

And all this time.

fear, Light, and hope

‘Hallowed be Thy name.’ When all your strength ought to be focused into one pencil of light pointing up through the darkness, you allow it to be dissipated in a moss fire where nothing is consumed, but all life is suffocated.

Dag Hammarskjold Markings p. 15

A single speck of light –

I can afford that.

This day when sanctification looks like

Getting out of bed.

But for all the blackness

A tiny tendril of light

From Him to me

Is blessedly enough.

No, Doubt,

I won’t succumb.

That pencil of light

Will hold

After all.

He’s promised it

I believe it

Hallowed be His Name!

Let Me Be Amazing

Let me be amazing

– not for my own sake –

For goodness’ sake

That power’s potential’s

Realized

That the dust doesn’t have to be shaken off

In finding another receiver

Open wide

Those narrow eyes

And see

Don’t let doubt’s benefit

Err on the side

Of ignorance’s faulty view

Insist on the good

Pure, lovely

Let me be amazing

And I’ll let you be too

Just think of all the amazing

We’d be freed up to do!