Sometimes a Note

 Sometimes a Note

(“Provide her with anything she may need, because she has provided help to many people, including me.” Romans 16:2b)

Sometimes it was a note on the windshield
one winter day that froze the ink and paper to the glass.
Sometimes it was the merest glance,
or a song shared with lyrics you both had memorized.
Sometimes it was silence when pain
shouted too loudly to overcome. 

I ache when I see others
who brag about their latest silkscreen
shirt:
“Let’s Go Brandon”
thinly coded to mean
“Fuck You Biden”,
and then teaches littles about the Bible
on weekday nights. 

No one recorded the phone calls
or archived the memos
but each word was an invitation to
relax and create space
for gnarled feet limping from the journey.
Sometimes it was dinner,
sometimes beer and wine,
sometimes a movie,
but always time, always
time. 

I ache when I hear others
who silence the voices
(and thus the heartache)
of the traumatized who cannot enter
the buildings of american worship because
the triggers are everywhere. You learn
who you can tell your stories to. 

Some homes were heated with wood,
some were trailers dangerously cold,
some were nomads, others sojourned longer.
They entered the friendships like doors to a cathedral
and breathed the air so ancient that you knew the origin
of every word. No one took anything for granted,
but most gave more than they had.

Only Vagabonds

 

Only Vagabonds

(“He answered, ‘The foxes have holes to live in. The birds have nests. But the Son of Man has no place where he can rest his head.’” Luke 9:58)

Is there a space in this world for my kind
--he sighed.
Adobe or stucco, bamboo or thatch; a place where
a heart can feel at ease, though the feet may obey every decree
that sends them homeless and walled.
--he cried.

Is there room for my story in a town this size--
she sang.
duplex or guestroom, fireplace or furnace; a simple cube
with a window where guests can visit one at a time and
I can watch the doves coo and chortle alone.
--she sank

Into the only offer that stilled the curses that made her nerves
shout like carpet bombs,
her thoughts grind like
catacombs of dead words that kept
living inside her mind.

--he lied
every time someone asked if he was happy, if he was content.
His house was warm, his family free of charge,
and his rent was paid. But blue sky or hardwood floors,
his shadows hung heaviest at midday summer. He
relied
on visits from the Homeless One
and others who offered only the comfort that
vagabonds provide.

Smile on Us

Smile on Us

“O God, restore us! Smile on us! Then we will be delivered!” Psalm 80:3

Whose smile are you missing today? Perhaps the brightness of a loved one who passed away? Perhaps a friend, still living, whom you have not seen for far too long? My mother had one of the biggest smiles in the world. It helped, I suppose, that her mouth spread across half her face. And, when she smiled…she smiled full throttle. Her eyes would sparkle, the corners of her mouth stretching nearly ear to ear revealed her teeth in unabashed display. If you caught her in one of those moments, you knew the world was right again.

Perhaps the reason my mother’s smile meant so much is that, as her child, I longed for her approval. You rarely needed to ask her what she was feeling; it was written across her face. All of us want esteem and support from the important people in our lives.

There are times when our hearts wane in our love for Christ. In one sense, that is to be expected. We are humans with normal emotions that can rise and fall with the events of the day or the current chemical makeup in our brains. But, when a long season sets in where we are complacent in our longings for Him, we need to pray as the Psalmist does here.

“O God, restore us!” There is an admission here that, left to ourselves, we would continue in the doldrums. The Psalmist does not say, “Here I come…running back to you,” as good as that impulse would be. He recognizes the need for the inner spark that only God Himself can provide.

Don’t misunderstand this. If you need someone’s help to ignite a burn pile, for instance, you don’t call on them to help, and then drench your pile of branches with water just before your friend arrives. You put yourself in the best position possible to respond to their promised help.

So it is when our interests in God’s good gift in Christ has waned. We do well to cry out, “Restore me!” But then we must awaken our own lagging passions. Even the slightest movement back toward God is received from Him as love itself. The Prodigal Son, after spending all his father’s inheritance on selfish pleasures, finally decides to go back home because he can at least get a good meal there.

We cannot judge how pure the son’s confession was. But, we do know that when the father saw his son coming up the driveway he rushed from the front porch and hugged him close, before the son ever confessed a thing.

God doesn’t want us cringing when we grow spiritually drowsy. Even if our life with Him has become completely lazy, His greatest desire is to welcome us back our home with Him. That is why the Psalmist asks for God’s smile.

When we are distant from Him life becomes frightening and full of danger in our minds. We pray, “How long will you remain angry at your people while they pray to you?” (verse 4) When we are not assured of God’s love and protection, then every difficulty seems like evidence that He no longer cares. When we should see His smile, we see His frown.

In some ways it may be true that God withdraws from us at times when we are in the doldrums. But, if He does, it is only to allow our hearts to long for Him anew. He is not punishing, but He is letting us know the hollowness of life without experiencing His constant presence. If His momentary “absence” causes us to arise and ask for Him to restore us again, then we delight in the reunion with our Beloved.

Don’t be afraid to acknowledge a bit of spiritual slumber. The disciples fell asleep at Jesus’ darkest hour, right? You’re in good company. Jesus asked them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you won’t be tested.” Get up, ask Him to restore you and seek His smile again.

The Psalmist knew the Lord was his only hope for being “delivered”. Believe me, I know the forces that can keep us from taking the first simple spiritual restoration. Chronic pain is a barrier that can dull not only physical and emotional senses, but spiritual ones as well. I have learned (or am learning) the necessity of the constant cry, “O God, restore me!” That is one prayer He always answers.

Find His smile again. Do what you did when you first knew His love. Begin again, you will find Him as gracious as ever. You will find Him strong enough to bear your weakness.

His Own Family

His Own Family

(“But if someone does not provide for his own, especially his own family, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” 1 Timothy 5:6)

My own are now gone, victims of genetics and illness.
My own are the ones who called me “their own”,
the ones who tied the first laces of our shoes;
my brother and my sisters, younger than I;
the ones who taught us to water trees at the roots
not at the trunk,
and who lived through us a degree too much and
too often; but less than most.

I read an article that angered me, that makes me wince
at being a Christian,
a writer who insisted this verse, so brimming with family
love,
and family provision,
made every parent suspect whose
children gleefully waited for the public school bus
every day.

Oh the comments that overflowed, the agreement from
Bible readers who do not read their Bibles.

They:

            Push your kids through. Hold them back a year. Give them 

            more opportunities than the next child. Make sure they memorize

            the words, excel at sports, take first chair flute, never a bit part

            in the musicals. “ Spend your time, climb faster so their

            lives are not the disaster that the children up the road have become.

Paul, to Timothy, paraphrased:

            Don’t let widows spend a day without your care. Honor the parents

            before you; save the sweetest moments for the parents before them.

            While some widows, silly and superstitious; the real widow is

            a source, a comforter and affectionate blanket of hope. Don’t

            let darkness darken her windows any day at all without

            the laughter of children at her learning and stories filling

            her moments and increasing God’s glory. Never let her

            slumber be preceded by alone. Care for your own!

My own are gone now; Mom decades before Dad, and, if they had
lived longer, they might be in our home; alongside our youngest one
learning Christ-like affection, and family, before hopping on the
school bus for the day.