A Soul’s Dawn

Those expansive desolate saturated monoculture February fields Might tempt me towards gray and soggy. That dissonant electric guitar wail  Could draw me closer to fear or discomfort or distrust. But I know what’s above the clouds and beneath the surface.  There’s plenty of evidence of what’s not seen too.  A smidgen of belief catalyzes right […]

Premeditated Posturing

  
Nothin’ like my wretched to bring out yours

And you may mind me saying,

But there’s nothin’ like your wretched to bring out mine.

I know you’re not trying to NOT know me

But you’re not trying TO either

It’s hard to hug so much premeditated posturing

And I’m sorry I walk away disappointed in you

I don’t know why

As your refusal to know me

Is just another reflection of my own ugliness

This isn’t all there is

Praise His Name

This isn’t all there is

Bear with me

I’ll bear with you

Shed this outgrown itchy skin

For a fresh one

That gleams and shines

‘Neath the light

Inviting, welcoming

Ready and new for receiving all you offer

Impermeable to stings and scratches

Forgive my absorption of your ugliness

– please disregard it – 

As if I didn’t have my own to be rid of

I’ve gone and lazily let yours ooze through

Like so much poison all our transgressions

May mingle and choke out the healthy parts

If we’re not careful

I know better

A better way

An excellent way

A less garment-like way

One that doesn’t have to be changed nor shed

One that is rooted in – Who is – love and righteousness

Who never tires, nor offends, nor spoils

Who extends love to a thousand generations

Make us so, Lord. 

Forgive these petty (though still dire) offenses

Be our love

Thank You for Yours.

Reclamation

The fullness and

Scope of this

Gulf Stream life

And I’m right saturated

Even bogged down while moved along

Regardless of my desire for calmer (stagnant?) waters
I’m the mom

For all practical purposes

But all I feel is to be like

“Butter spread over too much bread”*

*Bilbo Baggins

 

All these children’s questions

Charge the particles

In my like-an-old-school-tv’s

Snowy insides
Instead of jolting to life

Every audible word

Zaps already taut and sensitive fibers

And this tired old battery sparks only to grinding
Proof again

That mere machinations

Aren’t the source of life and

Just-function won’t sustain any of us
Without the proper mechanic’s lifeblood to

Recalibrate all these lifeless moving parts we’re all just

Bound for the junk heap
Overdue

I wheel myself in for inspection

Open the hood

Expose the innards

Wait for His assessment
It took me way longer to get here than it takes for Him to look

Surprisingly gentle, thorough, and quick

He fusses with something (I don’t see what) and
I expect the damage report – as ever –

To be that this time I’ve ridden too far, too long

Without this scrutiny, this help, this exposure
He bids me turn the ignition and

Expecting dead space

A deep resonant purr sounds instead.

Instead of more static misfires and sparks

A healthy hum of life and connection fires full and throaty.
Smiling

I shake my head in wonder and thanks and

Roll forward back into the stream

Anticipating a new horizon and steady current to

Carry me along
Thank You, Lord.