The Man I Miss

The Man I Miss

(“I will bring a gift, and offer a sacrifice to you, Lord. I will praise your name because you are good.” Psalm 54:6)

It was not a snowy wood I stopped by,
I knew little of countryside lanes or gravel roads;
but somewhere a thousand miles from here and
and barely ready to begin my journey
I made the fateful turn that, untested and unlearned,
landed me so far away
I now am uncertain of who I am who began.

Memorization was the skill I was glad to leave behind,
but I lost, too high a cost, the comrades of invention,
comedic improvisation, and jazz dabbling at hand-
writing
on napkins for the final scene’s soliloquy.

Tuition was high and funds were low,
I followed a whisper like God’s forecast of snow,
and turned on my heel to follow (I know, scholarships
could steal what I refused to borrow). I called
it
faith,
and still believe it was so,
but nearer last than beginning now,
I forgot who I might be and only know every
voice that knew I could have done it better or
spoken clearer or
believed cleaner or
chosen sooner or
stayed longer or
prayed better or
grayed later and memorized every line
I should have toed, every step that I was told
would keep me in good graces.

It isn’t the noises in my head left there from people I dreaded
senseless,
(I’m not the only one with an ill-brained acoustic loop)
I erected fences to guide me safe (I felt defenseless)
and found I lost the man I was happy with along the way.

I’m a solo thirsty for a choir,
a monologue craving a scene,
and I want to reacquaint myself with
the good boy who knew the world was
made for laughter, creation, experiments
and late night ice cream runs.

All that keeps me sane, even when the I’ve emptied the
fifth bucket of lonely boy tears,
is know You are good, so good, to love someone
who feels to be only half a human, me plus the
me I haven’t spoken to in two decades:

Maybe three.

The Strong Silent Type

“But when the accusations rained down hot and heavy from the high priests and religious leaders, he said nothing.” Matthew 27:12 (The Message)

Good Friday is a week away as I write this. One of the scenes from those fateful last hours that is tattooed in my mind is this moment, Jesus standing absolutely silent in response to the High Priests’ questions.

God is on His Way

“Our God comes and shall not keep silent: before Him a fire consumes and around Him a fierce tempest rages.” Psalm 50:3

God is on His way! The disheartened believer wonders when will God vindicate, how will God show Himself, what will He do to scatter the stone of sorrow into tiny pieces? When will He speak? How shall I know what He wants of me?

Put Down Your Sword!

“Jesus said, ‘Put your sword back where it belongs. All who use words are destroyed by swords.’” Matthew 26:53 (The Message)

What happens when we are face to face with an impossible situation? The values we hold dear are being threatened? I don’t mind agreeing with the folks who say that Christian values aren’t honored. But I do struggle with suggesting they were honored better at some other time in our history. Just a brief reminder of the past will show an amazing dichotomy between expressed commitment to Christian values and actions that didn’t add up. It doesn’t take long before the list which includes stealing Native American homelands, importing Africans as slaves and killing people accused (often falsely) as witches, to wonder what it means when we say our founders meant us to be a “Christian nation”.

My Excuse

My Excuse

(“When He came to the disciples, He found them fast asleep and said to Peter, ‘So you were not able to watch with Me for a single hour?’” Matthew 26:40)

Sunshine shone on the therapy I missed;
I was racing to catch another glimpse of the lazy seal
who followed me as far along the riverbank as possible.
This time it wasn’t fantasy, I swear it; though it was someone else’s
experience
and not my own.

The sun had come out after days hiding behind the rain,
and I needed to explain the reasons I missed
the dialogue hour that insurance won’t cover,
but was ordered by forces beyond my control.
They had my phone number, knew where I lived,
but only called to poke me sharper about my need
to talk with you at all.

So, when someone showed the video of a seal following
their walk, I knew it would suffice, and would only spice
a hair or two to make it about me.

As to your other question, about my frequent naps,
all I can say (I can’t think of a better way) is sleep comes upon me
like an invitation from a grade school friend to a birthday party
at Disneyland. You may not understand this, but these days
sleep is my leap backwards before pain, shame and ego’s
frame on the wall that faded before I was ready.

Asleep, I cannot hear the solitary walls that waking squeeze my ears;
Asleep, I still do not see the wrong turns that have dumped me here,
Asleep, I can smell the sweet, walk the street in bare summer feet,
Asleep, I can dance, I can smile, I can hug, live, speak and love without fear.

So, as to your question, I once loved to pray until pain (who knows
how many kinds) deducted the time I had to do most anything at all.
I will not beg or excuse, my spirit still is willing, flesh still deathly weak;
and I thought clearer, loved better…

I cannot recall, the pain and trauma, plus offstage drama,
have nearly erased the places where words fit their proper slots.
I hope my syllables, stops and spots, match the meter of my
heart’s beat
to Your own.

I Do Not Want to Write

I Do not Want to Write

(“I am God who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. Be holy because I am holy.” Leviticus 11:45 [The Message])

I do not want to write today; for several reasons.
I am weary, yes, droopy eyed, fall back asleep before lunch-time
tired.
I am hurting, yes, years of trying turned into to “no’s”, and 40 months
full
of headache pain that traps me underwater without breath.
I am atheist, yes, that is why I do not want to write today, I cannot
find Him whom I love, nor feel His “yeses” to sooth the “no’s”, to
remove the gravelly acne that has popped up around my adolescent hopes.

I do not want to write today; for I am sore afraid.
I am afraid of what I will write, putting down exactly what
wrestle matches and rashes that know complicate my thoughts.

I do not want to write today; for I am more afraid.
I am more afraid you will actually read it and believe my faith
is bone dry (why, you have every reason to, I wrote it plain, afraid
as I say I am atheist today.)

You have read me in the past and nearly choked me with your
display of personal pain, blaming what I wrote, claiming
pointblank aim from my loaded words. I shoot barns broadside,
not mere peers downroad from me, having crossed sunlight’s horizon.

I do not want to write today; I am no martyr, yet today I would
rather fry for the faith than face another day of empty space
just trying to catch my breath. I love You, invisible, and
love You still, today, I have no doubt;

You are not there.

I do not want to write today; I am atheist only because
my heart is emptied of every belief, void of hope,
and lost on the banks of a lonely island like
a lover left without a word or letter.

I do not want to write today.

Priceless

“How priceless is your unfailing love! Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings.” Psalm 36:7

There is a popular credit card commercial that flashes items across the screen with the price tag alongside. “New leather luggage: $200” And another. “Two Tickets to Tahiti: $1200” But the final scene would be something like “Time away from the kids: Priceless”. Then the commercial, admitting some things are indeed priceless, suggests we use their credit card for everything else.

My Hiding Place

My Hiding Place

(“You are my hiding-place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” Psalm 32:7)

Did you have a hiding place, somewhere no one knew about but you, when you were a young child? When I was in trouble, or when I was just fed up with the stress and strain of childhood, I usually wanted to run and hide. My place was in our garage.

Wait was Reward

Wait was Reward

(“Stay with God! Take heart. Don’t quit. I’ll say it again: Stay with God.” Psalm 27:14 [The Message])

I wandered down the marina path
to pondering street,
looking for the address that would
make my search complete.
But the numbers had been changed,
the houses rearranged,
and the sky laughed while I claimed
the neighborhood I remembered never looked like this.

I ambled up the hilly trail
to blackcrowing bluff,
seeking the scenery that would
stuff me full enough.
But the view was askew,
the shadows royal blue,
and the woods knew what I lost
after growing past childhood and daylight savings time.

I stood still, determined to find
the neighborhood park,
casting anticipation past
each beat of my heart.
And the wait was reward,
the face of the Lord
kissed me where I stayed. Recall
fades, but encircles, then, now and in-between.

Never in Need

Never in Need

(“You, Lord, are my shepherd. I will never be in need.” Psalm 23:1)

The moment I heard you were wandering the zoo
I had to remember wishing I was there,
hot days over the viaduct,
windy days chasing the stroller past the chimpanzees,
snowy days hoping the camels wouldn’t freeze.

Some days I hated to go,
having seen every creature,
eaten zoo-burgers for twice the price,
having turned down the mini-rail tour,
and grumped my way to the penguins;
but for the pint-size
faces that surprised my life…

I took them as many times to pet
the baby goats and sheep.

Now gone, now grown, my own have
the same reasons to hunt the gorilla house
or the lion’s shaded lair.

I rushed our time, in and out,
move it on, child, move it on.
The zebras won’t change their stripes
no matter how long we stay,
and we’ve run out of monkey-food
to feed them anyway.

Move it on, child, move it on
(I had to find a way to hide myself
behind a plexi-mirror, to relax, to stop the shake
that kept me awake all night every time
I knew the zoo was on the agenda.)

I don’t know what my hurry was,
I think I see what my worry was;
though never prey for the untamed inmates,
I feared the others and their strollers who
walked unlocked
with footsteps apace with mine.

Today I would take you with my all-day pass,
fill the water balloons, put on a tiger mask,
and last till late past closing. I would learn to laugh
at the teenager posing as an equine expert,
and change my mask to an ostrich, or peacock,
an orangutan or cockatoo to be sure
you were embarrassed before we left the zoo
this time.

God's Nearness in our Trials

“You protect me with your saving shield. You support me with your right hand. You have stooped to make me great.” Psalm 18:35

Life is full of adventure, wonder and surprises around nearly every bend. But adventure cannot exist without the possibility of misadventure. Wonder sometimes comes like a box full of question marks asking why when we have cleared a row of hurdles, a hundred more wait ahead. And for some, life has dropped bomb after bomb upon them so that bad news is no surprise at all.

All Radiant

“Now you’ve got my feet on the life path, all radiant from the shining of your face, ever since you took my hand. I’m on the right way.” Psalm 16:11 (The Message)

There are certain people we just can’t wait to hang around with. You come away invigorated by their own enthusiasm for life. Perhaps there is someone you count on to cheer you up when life is darker than a triple espresso. Or, when we are newly in love, we cannot think of what it would be like to be apart for more than a moment. Hours spent together fly by unnoticed.

Fashion

Fashion

(“On the hems of the robe they worked pomegranate designs of blue, purple, scarlet and fine twined linen.” Exodus 29:24)

Imagine my fashion stitched with sunshine,
catching each ray like a reflection of a full moon’s eye,
shadows form faces, dunes scribble delicious etchings
on the fabric alive with only summer’s smile.

Imagine the harvest-wear, a sort of off-the-rack
repertoire of salad and fruit. Style plucked fresh
from the vines and trees, spun and weaved
like fragrance within each strand.

Imagine the dress that must be reaped to please,
the shirt gleaned daily, attired like
Sunday on the back of a newly pressed day.

Imagine the taste required to offer a collection
of new-mint and plum-fresh scent
that said more than bells clanging metal to metal.

What if what we wore were the products of
the flower’s last petal, and the fruit’s final
full and ripe day upon the vine.

Spirit-Filled Work

“And (the Lord) has filled him (Bezalel) with the Spirit of God in skill, intelligence and knowledge to execute all craftwork.” Exodus 35:31

God called and enabled Bezalel, as well as others, to construct the Tabernacle which would represent God’s dwelling among His people as they wandered through the wilderness. I suspect, in God’s mind, this was the most important building project ever. The Tabernacle was not erected to honor a human king, as the pyramids, or a local deity. It was meant to be a meeting place for the Lord of All and His people. Everything about its construction, and every item in it all represented something about God’s character and how to approach Him.

The Little that is Left

The Little that is Left

(“At the resurrection…all our ecstasies and intimacies then will be with God.” Matthew 22:30 [The Message])

I must apologize to the inventor of today that
I seem to always greet the day (sun or stinging sleet)
with a bucket full of empty.

I know the impressive canvass I inhabit,
deeper than holography, more dimension than imagined,
pigments to the power of rainbow beads on spider strands,
music so deep it slips between the half and quarter tones,
music that, with a single note, calls tears unbidden,
joy once hidden to fill the heart with ribbons of
folk tunes everyone knows by heart.

I must apologize to the artist who made
me,
that I find nothing to fill this
little that
pain and shock, blame and awe
have left behind.

Bright sun or happy song,
the tears still flood the bucket
at my feet with the little that is
left of me.

Bit by bit, I must admit, I was not made stronger,
but each bite left holes in my flesh until
fissures outnumbered the safe and the sound.

I would go now, if You would take me,
the little that is less than the day You called me,
so I could smile in your presence where no one ever
ever
can bite or hurt or walk away from me
again.

Knowing God's Plans

“If I am so special to you, let me in on your plans. That way, I will continue being special to you. Don’t forget, this is your people, your responsibility.” Exodus 21:28

Every serious Christian can occasionally get bogged down with wondering if they are accomplishing God’s will. This can especially cause questions if we believe we are being obedient to Christ, but are seeing few results or experiencing much opposition. Add to that the simple human desire to have some certainty about what is coming next and we can understand Moses’ words to the Lord.

Fabric so Thin

Fabric so Thin

(“Truly I tell you, the tax-gatherers and the prostitutes shall enter the kingdom of heaven ahead of you.” Matthew 21:31b)

Next time let us know what rules you are referencing
before you throw someone out of the game. Meant for
safety,
you were too hasty
in using them for exclusion.

Here I am, scratching my head over
the notices sent, phone calls spent
setting fire to feet and repeating tales
20 years old and crinkled around the edges,
a number that alleges, a word that stretches
fabric so thin we see through the attempt
to fabricate a hobo-sin; exempt from your
own temptations.

Here I watch the triumph band, stomping
lighter boots front of the parade-ground procession;
the torn dresses dance the breeze restitched we play;
the red eyelids speak stone sober day-end’s grace;
the forgotten fly with the beatified,
the tortured cry, now beautified,
the lame skip upon the hilltops
while the blind twirl like toddlers unwatched
hearing better than grownup ears.

Where will I march, come the day that poor
and lonely meet to celebrate down homely street
the rainbow once mere blood-red
that finished the world’s catalogue and
turned it on its edge.

Quietly In

Quietly In

What stains keep happy from most likely,
and what past-times keep dance from poised feet?
Why is it harder to find what we long for the most,
harder to arrive closely the nights we repent our loss?

Why is weeping required, or bawling a badge awarded;
tears your certain detergent, wailing the proof of your bath?
Prayer is your way of proving, oh so holy, and louder than the rest.

I am at a loss, this time of year, this year of life,
and long to find a studied path, a quiet walk with a friend or two
whose tastes have changed. We’ve thrown away our pictures
of angels hovering over the shoulder of favorite evangelists;
tossed the tapes memorized like toast, and learned the silence

That a mere whimper defines
quietly in the forest with a friend or two
whose lives have changed: not cigarettes and tangos;
but lies and bravado burned in a pile just outside of town.

The sigh meant for no one but You,
the shy words half-spoken, the questions not yet answered,
the focus that hears the beloved’s footsteps

On sunny leaves of the mosaic floor, where we wait
quietly in the forest with a friend or two
who need our tastes changed once more.

Unfair

“Take what is yours and be gone. I choose to pay this last one the same as you. Have I no right to do with my belongings as I please? Or do you look resentful because I am generous?” Matthew 20:14,15

We all hate to feel cheated; one of the first cries of burgeoning youth is, “That’s not fair!” “Fair”, of course, depends on our definition. When I was a youth pastor we had monthly activities, often some sort of team sport given a wacky twist. It rings in my ears, just like it was yesterday, after giving, say, rule #3, a trio of more voices harmonize “That’s not fair!”