Never Sleeps

While a pastor on the Fort Berthold Reservation I was honored with the Indian name, "NeverSleeps". It was primarily because I was often responding to particular needs in the middle of the night.

Even more relevant, the Lord Himself, Maker of all, "Never Sleeps".

Surely you know.
Surely you have heard.
The Lord is the God who lives forever,
who created all the world.
He does not become tired or need to rest.
No one can understand how great his wisdom is.

Isaiah 40:28

Welcome to every reader. I am a simple follower of Jesus. He is perfect, I often fall short.

Showing posts with label ended. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ended. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 30, 2024

The Clouds Obscured the Sun


The Clouds Obscured the Sun

(“Meanwhile, friends, wait patiently for the Master’s Arrival.” James 5:7 [The Message])

It had been ages since he had seen the sun. Huddled
behind windows covered in gauze and duct tape,
he wondered how the world had turned while
he hid hoping for safety.
Occasionally peeking through the cracks in
the casements
he knew it was near noon. He knew-later than soon-
that lunch would resume around the kitchen table.
He opened the fridge for another beer and a second
boiled egg. The air conditioning purred while summer
lasted longer than expected.
The postman walked past his house again. It had been
weeks since he opened an envelope at all.

No one knew him, no one knew him at all.
They had met him leaving for the grocery store,
they had seen him mowing his lawn. Hellos were
exchanged,
but the exact nature of his arrangement with life
never came up. Conversations ended with nods and
a dozen steps beyond his front yard. No one knew
if he lived alone, although most people suspected it.

He wanted to know if the clouds had obscured the sun,
if the heat of the day had been sifted through the colander of
mist from off the coast. He wanted to see the waves
he waded in as a child one more time.

The teenager next door practiced jazz on the saxophone.
He listened like a robin pacing the ground.
The notes were embodied raindrops, they were
wordless like his soul. He knew the songs,
they were the standards: Ellington, Basie, and
Brubeck. He opened the window for the first time
in years
to hear the way the music made him feel like
the mornings he spent with the sun on his back
and the magic of a girl who took his hand one time
waiting in line after recess.

Saturday, August 26, 2023

Just Those Eyes

Just Those Eyes

(“But you, O Lord, are…the one who lifts up my head.” Psalm 3:3)

My chest is heavy,
tight like iron hoops around a barrel.
There is a pocketful of tears
pushing out of my lungs,
there is no humidity and they dry
before they exit my body.
The silence, the sitting alone,
the constant refractive tone of my thoughts;
the sundown, the waiting for sleep,
the instant envelope with forgotten letters lost.
I cannot rewrite them,
I cannot recall,
I cannot undo the brief fragrance that now
has joined the crows that fly midday.
(Someone told me they were afraid
that,
if they cried,
they would never stop.)

But there are eyes, whether we see them or not,
there are thoughts like the still after the storm,
that clear a space for a campfire, a final conflagration
of fragments, of shards, of last wills and first loves,
of discontent and fundamental answers that pit my mind
against theories set in stone.
I no longer own them and that keeps some of my
comrades, my sounding boards, my tear-catchers away.

But there are eyes (and I have not seen them in years)
that look through the imperceptions. There are sighs,
those sans words utterances that expand the air for
just enough time
for tears to escape,
for uncertainty to be the wine we drink
to celebrate
something more than casual assent to doctrines
misused to exempt me.

And those eyes, I speak it true, are more healing than
prayers and hymns,
than ritual and fasting.
They are the food that takes us forward, those eyes,
that see everything true
and dare to look again and again.
And we find a place, a country,
an ocean fuller than heaven when
just those eyes
have taken our hidden fears
and painted them like sunrises
we thought had surely ended.