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!

Of Feathers and Fur

More like these.

More like these

I need to be.

No agenda, nor calendar

No anticipation, expectation

No bracing – upon awaking – against the day ahead

No worries over appearance

Or of gettin’ soiled.

No agonizing, second guessing, tumult or guilt.

Eyes wide open

Alert to what may harm

But not fearfully paralyzed by it.

Play and work and fight and gather

Sometimes all at once

Resigned to weather,

Food gathering,

Woes.

Never held back by a self

Undeterred, unconcerned, unaffected

By dirt or bugs or drips of rain,

These furry feathered neighbors

Remind me of a better way

As they ornament this lawn

And orient these thoughts.

Noisy

Didn’t realize how noisy I was ’til I went outside.

How relevant I thought I was.

How ridiculous and small I am.

But outside

– In the wind and the green and the birdsong –

In beholding flora’s quantity, array

All my petty clamberings are silenced:

Within and without.

I am quieted.

Restored.

Perhaps it’s the absence of my own kind

Perhaps the silent roar of “wilder” things

Fulfilling their respective states of being

Remaining true to their natural functionings and purposes

None ill equipped or unsuited for their work

(so far as they know)

Naturally enlivens

(Even without a sense of one’s own diminishment)

Fresh air in my lungs

Hushed by the vast green of plants in my sight

I wonder why

Sometimes humanity seems more to eat up so much life

When ours is all potential to add to it.

Why creation’s forsaken in our forgetting –

How and why we die in our detachment from earth and sky and creatures.

If there’s to be death,

May it be of the worst parts of us:

– My sense of my own importance, to start, –

And let there be a remembering of the life that surrounds.

Burdens (and their proper carrier)

Swinging on this crazy pendulum

Between all right and all wrong

Is dizzying, wildly disorienting.

Atrabilious! This brainy black bile

And I feel to be held under by all this care.

Loving ought be liberating:

Come to find out that the world’s weight

Is anything but light.

Then I look up

(A common, but too uncommon theme)

And realize that You’ve been gentlemanly

Standing, waiting

For me to lay all this burden down.

I’ve been bent over with it,

Eyes to the ground

Impossibly straining neath all this weight,

Saturated with the sweat and the load.

I look up at You (finally)

And You smile at me:

All that impossible, tender, complete, understanding, compassionate love in a look.

With nary a word – it took but a second to see you there, to remember You there –

I hand over the load.

It’s not heavy for You:

I don’t know what or how You do with it,

But it’s gone

– or completely changed into something else –

And we walk, You and I.

And there is nothing superfluous or in question

(There is little to be said in true love’s companionship,

Once the repentance is over.)

No more swinging or straining

I find that I am standing upright

Eyes straight ahead

With You

Reconciled and whole and free of all those many burdens

Ready to tackle more

Now strong and courageous

Thanks to the nothing’s-impossible-for-God

God

The next step blessedly clear

And beyond it

A burden not mine to carry.

This moment, this quiet, His assurance

All I’m responsible for.

Hallelujah!

Good News

Worry over not giving Him enough airtime

Write-time, credit-time

And He reminds me that most things already have His look.

He doesn’t need my positive press:

He is already present

In all His glorious, perfect sufficiency.

With or without my attention.

With or without my drawing attention.

He reminds me

That I don’t need to worry about forgiven failings.

That noticing all this

And remembering the Him all round and herein

Is worship.

And true worship is naturally contagious.

Real, live, savoring gratitude and

Overflowing goodness

From a heart that knows Him, loves Him,

Believes Him, gives Him notice even a little

Is transformative

Because He’s transformed it.

He’s in it

And no tiny conjuring on my part enlarges or diminishes Him.

The Gospel – the Good News –

Can’t be manufactured,

Forced, faked.

Real, true, good news

Really, truly transforms everything.

He doesn’t need my help.

But between you and me,

I’m so glad He wants it…

Road Trip

Throwing off all this adulthood

Feels reckless

And who knew

Windows down

Radio up

A tank top on

And shoes off would allow

Summer to lick all this skin

Liberate all these senses

Back to

All wide open

Being here

Makes way

For remembering

And looking forward

Move

When? When’ll it get written ‘cept now?

When? When’ll it get planted and how?

‘Less someone like me cares a whole awful lot

Nothing is going to get done, it’s just not.

‘Cept what happens when caring’s not in the equation

When my mind is so full but so dull

What happens when I’m paralyzed with my self

And I just can’t distinguish my call?

What happens when my brain’s so full of turmoil?

(I’ve been stewing, despondent and down)

Feeling a victim all over the place

Smiles are scarce ’round this face: s’mostly frowns.

See nothing gets done – I just stop and I stare –

Then obsess more with all that’s not done

I am weak, Lord, You know it, wish I had more of a scapegoat

But my self is at fault – I’m the one

That is faulty and sinful and wretched and dumb

Full of Amy and all of her woes

I forget – least don’t act like – all Your goodness is here

That I could myself on Jesus throw

I’m sorry, I am, I’m so sorry ’bout these:

These leanings towards over and whelm

I don’t know what the cause is, the source or the problem

That threatens my place at the helm

‘Cause it’s that: it’s that feeling that I’m not in control

Of my destiny, life, or e’en hope

And it leaves me despondent (yes I know it’s redundant)

And I wonder how better to cope

I can’t figure it out (it’s only been 40 years)

So maybe the answer’s not there

Maybe the answer’s in just looking up

To the One Who assures me He’s here

See “what would Jesus do” is slightly off base

It’s “what’s Jesus doing” that’s now

It’s a matter of aligning myself with His Self

(And relaxing these lines on my brow)

I can trust Him (we can!) we can trust Him always

And forever to do what is best

I can trust that my angst, and my self, and these pains

Can be completely shored up in His rest

It’s not a naive sort of trust that I mean

Rather it’s hard and a battle for sure

But it’s all not for naught – there is good purpose here

Makes us loving, gentle, right, and pure

In order to separate the good from the dross

Some fire’s required: heat and light

The yuck must be skimmed from this soul that is His

That His presence is all that’s in sight

See there’s too much of me too much world and distraction

That it muddles one’s right view of Him

So these troubles I feel – though they seem very real –

Must be brought more to Him so to dim

So now on to remember – Lord, help me do better –

Remember Your presence always

Remember what You’ve done, are doing, begun

Fixed-on-Jesus-eyes are what must stay

Thank You, Father, for even now I realize

That You’re helping me this very minute

To remember Your goodness, faithful, gentle leading

Redeeming all that is amiss

That’s the God that You Are, the One who rights all the wrongs

Who brings healing and light to dark places

Turns all things inside out, turns all things upside down

Transforms shame into beautiful spaces

Thank You for help, and thank You for love

And thank You for helping to love

And thanks for redemption, freedom, and reminding

Me blessedly towards You to move.