When Events Converge Upon a Week

When Events Converge Upon a Week

(“Fools will be punished for their proud words, but the words of the wise will protect them.” Proverbs 14:3)

Just a week ago I said goodbye to my
beloved raven-haired sister. Her, with the native
cheeks,
dark eyes,
and voice that commanded attention.
Oh youngest of us, why were you first to go?
She, with a love as large as the world.

This week I shall exit the tribe I’ve been allied with
for forty years. Early I believed nearly everything I read.
Early I danced in tongues and let visions capture my wrongs.
Early I sang the love songs, and maranatha songs, in circles we thought
the whole world understood.

But in the middle I stumbled mightily with few arms to catch me
and I fell right into the only hands that could hold me; the fingers of
grace. My tribe was divided. So, I took a drive with a decade friend
who cried with me over the hardship. And he never stopped the car
to make me walk back across the frozen landscape.
Another, four decades my senior, knew my worst, and called me first
and center and last, until his last breath escaped his jolly body that
that filled Oklahoma space like Santa Claus offering you a choice
at every altar call.
But others cross-examined me, accused me, used me, and now no more know
my name.

But I do not exit for these reasons, Indeed, they are reasons for my stubborn soul
to say. But that same soul has made a journey it began before I knew. And now,
seeing cheers for charlatans and few ears for discussion, I have become an
ally
to those who felt rallied against by muzzles trained upon their most sensitive
tears and tastes.

This week is nearly a year since I retired from shepherding people I love,
people loved, people imagined by God before the worlds began. A dozen
years I spent on the banks of the Columbia, leading with love, pouring out
grace
from a tap that never ran dry. And my health nearly died, but I tried; crawl,
sing or stutter, to utter new to the old; mercy to the sold; comfort to the unfolded
hearts that gushed when touched ever so carefully.

And now, pain is my only companions, save a few friends who step in an out
of this muddy river I’m isolated in. And I fear I’ve said too much, I’ve spoken too soon,
I’ve gone too far, I’ve laid open my wounds;

I fear I’ve frightened those I love the best. I fear I’ve heightened the anxiety
of friends I cared to calm. So, sometimes, ever so slowly,
I sink beneath the murky current, wishing I could hold my breath for
at least 20 minutes
and friends would forget my failures and just remember
affection is all this heart ever needed to heal.