It’s All So Complex

It’s All So Complex

(“The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord will receive my prayer.” Psalm 6:10)

She thinks you are indifferent and have sent no one to help.
She feels forgotten, she sees nothing on the horizon. She hopes
you govern in love
but learned little but coercion.
Hear her please. Hear her pleas. Receive her cry, respond to
her anguish, the residue of trauma.

It's all so complex. It’s jigsaw puzzles in four dimensions.
It’s air that feels too heavy to breathe. It’s earth that is blown dusty
by the northwest wind. It is every resume sent with
new hopes kindled. It is every rejection when you swore you
were the most qualified. It is your children feeling your anxiety
in their bones, but they keep on playing because it all seems
more mysterious than they can imagine.

Show her just for a moment that she is chosen. Let her
snatch the words from the air that speak of sparks of
divinity. Let her journey into the warmth that is
fashioned my mercy. Let her walk today unhindered
by loneliness and loss.

I know you haven’t rejected her. I know you have remembered her.
I know she is one of your own. I know she hasn’t chosen this land
of the unknown. I would remain silent if I thought that would
amplify your voice to her. I would speak only softly with warm
rain words like late summer afternoons. I know she belongs to you,
I know she’s crossed more bridges than she can count.

I know the day is coming when the horizon lifts like a curtain
and the mystery will no longer be inky night. I know the mystery,
the secret of the inner life, will one day be a place of peaceful reflection.
I know you are affected by her plight and may have sent help already.
I know the fear of the silence too. I know the dread of days when
there is no voice to muscle the heavy lifting. I know the loneliness
of silent friendships.

But I am learning the comfort of solitude between the flighty words
of new friends who happily buy me a beer.

I Have Waves Within

I Have Waves Within

(“My Father has life in himself. And so he has made his Son to have life in himself.” John 5:26)

And so I sat drinking a beer I’ve ordered twice before.
This time the server brought me a sample and said,
“some people don’t like this one.”
“I’ve had it before”, I said, and wondered what the complaint
could be.
I asked the proprietor and she said, “They say it’s too sweet.”
And I had never thought it sweet before.

Now as I sipped it, along with tortilla chips and salsa,
I decided it was sweet indeed. My tastes run toward the
citrus and sour. I don’t know why I never noticed it.
I don’t know why this time it was far too sweet for my tastes.

I have a brain susceptible to change. I have waves within
that gravity pulls in a constant ebb and flow. I live most of
my days
in the neap tide.

It does not matter, except I would rather be the influencer
than the influenced. I’ve developed a strange
attitude. I’ve had a change of heart. I see the students
of mediocrity hiding in the wings. I’ve often wished
I had majored in artful things.

You have convinced me, and I will never be the same.
Every chance I take I consider that tickling of leaves in
the early summer breeze. I contemplate things I
rarely understand. And understand things far beyond
contemplation.

So let’s share some wine before the afternoon wastes away.

Two Cheese Enchiladas

Two Cheese Enchiladas

(“And while they still disbelieved for joy and were marveling, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’” Luke 24:41)

So much depends on the weather (I hate
to admit that.) Too much depends on the
barometric pressure. I would have walked miles
to meet you but, forgive me, some days are like
graves my body digs to disguise the scenic route.

Did I disappoint you? I wanted to show up.
No. I wanted you to show up.
Sometimes I’m buried so deep I probably did not
hear you knocking. Or other times I can’t face meeting
another face that sees my pain and does not cry. My
apologies.
I am not strong. People lie about that. I just don’t wave
my doubt loudly in the sky. When I do hoist it on the flagpole
it is half-mast, not nearly as agonizing as I let on.
And here I go again, running letters together like they
mean something fascinating. All I’m saying is
I need something more than old songs on the radio.

Days like these, mangled up between joy and disbelief,
I would surely answer the door if you showed up with
two cheese enchiladas and a beer.