I Will Sing of the Freedom

I Will Sing of the Freedom

(“Always give thanks for all things to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Ephesians 5:20)

It was sometimes the precise language that bothered me,

like indigestion after too many doughnuts. I cannot seriously
thank God
for detention camps and quarantined families.

And to offer gratitude in the name of the authorities who put them there;

who do not see the dark-haired mothers scorched upon the road of escape,
who refuse to hear the broken candles of prayers cut off before the answer

who defy the cries of wrinkled notes with grandparent's phone numbers scribble inside.

You tell me to give thanks, and I will, for families with such life that dare our borders
for refuge and asylum from the eardrum-splitting violence of their own homes,
their kindred villages, to seek a hand to help them across the border
to air with less smoke and more invitations to join the
purple majesties and and golden grains. No one told them

half-way through their journey

that families no longer matter in the land they heard was free.

I will give thanks for mother and fathers, for older brothers and sisters,
for baby girls and boys. I will utter praise for the progeny of the Father
who come to our borders and scale the wall if the must, to find just a speck
of justice on
the other side of the fences.

I will sing of the freedom seekers, I will write the songs that urge them on.
I will thank the Father who loves them forward, the Son, the refugee whose long
and ancient Days are full of families who sought a better home, a greater city,
a place where a woman could decide, right or wrong; and where a man could choose,
up or down; until the seeds took root or the boss cut the check

or until the new land of their sojourn
joined the song and thanked the Father of Life
for the spice, the dance, the song, and perchance,
the greater nation that opens its heart to families
like our families
that once upon a time

placed uncertain feet upon the shores of an experimental nation
that hard-pressed, learned the love of freedom as slowly as a toddler
following its mother home.

On His Way

"On His Way"

Genesis 32:1 says, "Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God met him." Poor guy. He had been employed by Laban, his father-in-law, for twenty years. During his first year, he fell in love with Laban's daughter Rachel. Laban says Jacob can marry Rachel if he works for him another seven years. So Jacob does. He shows up on time, does his work, even going beyond what Jacob desired, and finally, seven years later, It is time to marry his beloved.

"Let Go of Living"

“Jesus said to everyone, ‘All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross daily, and follow me.’” Luke 9:23

A young child asked a woman how old she was. She answered, “39 and holding.” The child thought for a moment, then said, “And how old would you be if you let go?”

Another Road

“Later they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, and they went back home by another road.” Matthew 2:12

Thirty-nine years ago, the summer between my junior and senior year in high school, my family took a camping vacation. This wasn’t unusual, we usually camped. Dad was a pastor, we had four kids, and we rarely stayed in motel rooms. Fortunately, living in Southern California, Disneyland, Hollywood and the beach were all day trips. We didn’t lose much by not sleeping at the most convenient C’mon Inn.

To Wait Until

To Wait Until

(“At once Jesus asked them to come with him. They left their father in the boat with the hired workers and went with him. Mark 1:20)

It does no good to wait until more favorable times
when following is freer from questions about
whether I will follow well or succeed at success at all.

I wish there were patterns for promised infatuations
(there were more than a dozen hobbies I never stayed with
for more than a year).
I wish there were recipes for baking a life just the right amount of time
(I’ve left out more ingredients than I’d like to confess).
I wish there were seminars for messiah-following
(oh…there are, I’ve attended dozens).

I could brag about all that I might have had; boats and extra cars,
dinner reservations and vacations anywhere I please.
I might boast about how quickly I ran after the Voice that
ran after me. But there is no credit in following
such compelling attraction, nor in giving away
what I never intended to have; beside regrets,
and those I would give away freely to the first asker
with no price, delivered promptly, to their front door,
postage paid, no handling charges. I’d even wrap them up
in Christmas paper I bought for next year’s holiday.

It takes me twice as long to name anything a success
as it did when I had people coming out of closets,
clients making payments, and invitations to digress
about current reservations. I used to run after You
and now my feet ache from bone-spurs. I used to
think so clearly about God and His country
and now my head aches with an incurable disease.

I had hoped by this time I followed You better,
but not nearly as well as my first week out of the cradle.
I could say I’m still working on this or that,
but I’ve worked longer than I should have for such
simply variations from the norm. I’d rather be silent
in my daylight, alone with my night-light, and
hope I’d followed well enough to come home

Tomorrow.