Between Silence and Shine

Between Silence and Shine

(“The wolf shall live with the lamb; the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the lion will feed together, and a little child shall lead them.” Isaiah 11:6)

I answered the phone like I always do,
a little catch in my throat, a tiny cough of hello.
I know your voice even before I look at the number
(although I do appreciate caller id.)
There are tones, colors, shades that wrap your voice
like a quilt on a rainy day. When you ask if we can talk
I cannot wait for the next moment we do.
I answered the phone like I always do and
knowing it was you
that led me outside to see the doves and robins
sharing the same tree, gathering everything they needed
for the chicks to eat back at the nest.
Your voice sends my heart to more peaceful days,
hours I have imagined but seldom seem to appear.

My mood has been flat for several weeks. No deep lows,
no bubbling highs, just a midpoint between silence and
shine. It has limited my palette and the wavelengths of my spectrum
stay dead center between green and indigo.
I used to walk through ultra-violet and speak in infrared.
Now a sliver of visible light shuts me down. It’s not wrong,
I haven’t changed a thing, but I’d love to walk with you somewhere
away from the constraints that have walled my heart in too easily.

I am not the only one who longs for a place so safe that we can
feed lions from the palm of our hand. I am not the only one that
dreams of kisses instead of running from wildlife who cannot even
speak my name.

I answered the phone again; it was you. 2000 miles away and still
you have words and pauses that without understanding the causes,
leave me hopeful for a more peaceable day, a more repeatable way
to walk through the world where arrogance and freeze-dried opinions
answer the phone before a word is said.

But come, let us wander together. Let us leave the violence of
speech and trouble and find a spacious bubble filled with
children who have not learned how to be so vain. I’m curious,
can you see that day, if only in the distance? And does your heart
ache as much as mine for a day of peace, a week of solace,
a month of joy, and a year of new songs we once were afraid to sing?

And, today, would you discover it all with me?

To See Your Eyes Afire

To See Your Eyes Afire

(“If your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be just as full of light as when a lamp shines its light on you.” Luke 11:36)

All I’m asking is enough air in my lungs to sing.
All I need is to swim like the dolphins swim.
All I want is for you to see me again in
the light.
All I hope for is to dance with slippery feet in the rain.

The stellar jays do not judge me,
they have not asked me my name.
The yearling does in the field only walk away
because they have not made my acquaintance.
The neighborhood dogs bark hello and beg me
to play.
The one friend so close I can taste it,
is so far away we may never see each other again.

All I’m asking is enough time to play more jazz.
All I need is to run into you downtown and see your
eyes afire like afternoon laughter.
All I want is a cookout where old men wear aprons,
women carry potato salad,
children run in gunny sacks,
and no one cares how long we stay.
All I hope is for a bonfire in the breeze that
sends the smoke in every direction.

Yesterday I thought of you,
I jotted down your name.
Your children have children now,
mine live close and far away.
People hold doors for us entering restaurants;
a kind gesture, I know, but it is our grey hair that
incites them to do it.

All I’m asking is enough sun on my skin to swim.
All I need is to sing silly harmonies again.
All I want is for my feet to dance lightly today.
All I hope for is to answer the phone and hear you
pronounce my name.

A Missed Phone Call

A Missed Phone Call

(“For I will pour water on the thirsty land and streams on the dry ground; I will pour my spirit upon your descendants and my blessing on your offspring.” Isaiah 44:3)

I heard you called while I was out,
that you had left a message for me. I fumbled
with the phone, misdialed the number and tried
again.
But my fingers slipped and,
too
tentative to re-call, I thought of
dropping by.

You know already how unsteady I am
when I do not know the subject at hand.

But I have not forgotten how to dream.

While others talked of visions, told in great
detail and
filled with colors like Van Gogh,
I was myopic. An ant carrying a leaf
was glorious to me.

I did not understand that until now. I did not
know how majesty invades a dial tone or
a grain of sand. Could it be,
scratching my head,
that becoming less is a better vantage point
than flying with the fireworks across the sky?

Anyway,
what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry I missed your call.

I hesitate to write much at all,
(you know my missteps, my wrong turns, my downfalls)
and you would be right to mention them, though
I carry them heavy. I carry them deadweight. I carry them
inside my body and outside my dreams.

But I will meet you. Give me a time and place. We can
sit by the river if you like; the seals swim by this time of year.

Just no place too crowded please; the noise compounds my
dis-
ease.

But I will meet you.
And exchange an hour of our time, and
let quiet talk replace the pathology of imagining
the worst. We can watch the streams tickle the
pebbled banks.

I Had to Apologize Today

I Had to Apologize Today

(“We trust in the living God who came to save all people. He makes a way for those who believe in him.” 1 Timothy 4:10b)

I had to apologize again today.
Sorry, more than once today.
I don’t mind making amends,
don’t mind much admitting I’m wrong.
What tires me is taking the barbs,
tiny snippets of arrowhead offense
and, backed into the corner again,
I admit I could have rephrased my comment.

But like storm clouds that crash without warning,
they want me to change my opinion too. Few are
triggered by the sunshine that warms their own garden plot.

But, I did have to apologize today. And then the silence.
Some who have never met me face to face,
or had an hour of music together,
or have forgotten the gentle frame that
borders our lifetime,
walk away burning and may leave the planet,
escape the gravity we both obey, and further from earth,
slung into outer space,
they are unreachable by phone, text or
a simple embrace.

Don’t we all have the same birthplace? Not the same
town or country, but the soil on which generations stirred
to drink the air from trees, breathe the one sun that bundles us all,
nurse from the fruit of earth, and sleep in the cradle of footprints
left by offspring who grew up before us.

So I offered another apology. And my chest is lead.
My fingers are shivering in the summer wind. My feet are chilled.
We kill each other, then kill back. And our hearts still beat,
but retreat more quickly the next time someone sends
a message in the mail. We used to like to open envelopes,
sneak the stationery slowly from its womb. But too soon
Some letters are just more darts spit toward the one
The author thought had broken him. And now no
safe place
exists between send and receive.

But I apologized again (I am a master of penance)
and I enter the space as I decelerate my engagements
with those I’ve offended, and hope their aim is off
just enough
to let quilt and rapture stitched by God
wrap us both inside.

Long After

Long After

(“Most of all, have a true love for each other. Love covers many sins.” 1 Peter 4:8)

Mostly I hear the printed word in tones full of objections;
a growl, a frown, a scowl, an upside-down offer to set me straight.
Lay aside your weapons and I’ll lay aside my wounds;

It’s fascinating the way the mind
inserts moods into the minuscule scribbles on
the back of a napkin or
the screen of a phone.

Happen upon our long history, friend,
not the two or three minutes that have fueled our silence.

What I would really like, you ask?

I would like to still smell the roses
long after you’ve left the room.

The Previous Phone Call

The Previous Phone Call

(“I pray that the Lord Jesus will be kind to you.” 1 Corinthians 16:23)

Now  the last phone call I received was well-intentioned,
but I have a view from another side of the mountain,
If I speak as I see, acknowledging the focus of the other’s scene,
everything can be disremembered and spread like stale smoke and perfume
until my observation is dissolved as completely as the last bubble
in old champagne.

If you looked at my heart carefully, microscopically, methodically,
a quarter century ago; you know before the first peek; you hear
it speak in healthy rhythm, and you would doubt any deficit of
love or
surrender,
sprint or
marathon,
though the breath may be heavy, and the mistakes plenty,
you would find only the few healed scars from crashing
friends and cars in laughter afterward.

Examine again the sautéed pathway, this
slow-cooked journey never running from self.
My fear has always been what men and friends would
do to me
if they could see
the banquet I serve myself. I smile when they
serve me all their best,
but my chief interests run counter to the daily special.

Grace is not a mask, it is the dialogue I would have with God
once every human eye had turned the other way.
It is the phone call I would have with you,
begging you to withdraw the names you gave me
and my best,
and join the dialogue we could have with God
once every human eye had learned the other way.