Until I Reached Home

Until I Reached Home

(“Also the Spirit helps us because we are weak. We do not know how we should talk to God. But the Spirit himself talks to God for us, while we cry and cannot say any words.” Romans 8:26)

I keep my lips ready to voice the mysteries I
cannot
understand.
And so it looks like I am merely whistling as the
world turns
around.
Tears peek out underneath my eyes,
my diaphragm contracts like a cat on the roof.
Words are swallowed up before they ever
meet
the air.
With my mouth wide open I find I have
nothing
to say.
I cannot define the places or the pieces that
I always thought would be easy when the
tragedy
hit.
But words escaped me and God must have been
exasperated with my limited vocabulary. I had
very little left to
express
these
canned prayers I had heard from others so often.

There was a moan that started within me,
from my gut to my throat. It pushed all the
meager
words
out of the way as it escaped through my mouth.
There were tears that carried the entire alphabet
down
to
the bottom of my shirt. There were no more
poses,
no
bowing or standing with arms upraised. In fact,
I was walking when the spirit took
my feeble attempts and presented them to
God,
a bouquet of longing and song of redemption.
I uttered no words but was satisfied until I
reached
home.

The Water Kept on Flowing

The Water Kept on Flowing

(“For He has satisfied the thirsty and filled the hungry with good things.” Psalm 107:9)

He stood at the faucet in the bathroom
at the farmhouse
where his parents had dropped him off for
the evening. It was supper time
in the country
and he was washing his hands before going to
the table with ham and
fried okra.

He turned the faucet one way and the water flowed.
Warm and clear the soap slipped between his fingers
and bubbled on his knuckles. Four years old
or five
he knew the ritual well.

But the basin was unfamiliar. When he turned the
faucet again
the water kept on flowing. He turned it back
the other way
and the water
kept on flowing.
His face turned red, tears began to burn his eyes,
he turned it again and
the water
kept on flowing.
Confused between clockwise and counter,
baffled by left and then right,
his host, probably the mother,
wondered why he was not back to the table.

She wandered in, the door was open, and saw the
boy
so
anxious because the water
kept on flowing.

She took his hand; her fingers were warm.
His were numb.
She turned the faucet and the water
stopped flowing.

And all he could think was only adults know
how
to make the water flow.

Sit With Me a While

 

Sit With Me a While

(“For He has satisfied the thirsty soul, and He has filled the hungry soul with what is good.” Psalm 107:9)

Come sit with me a while,
I need an old friend with a new smile,
a soul who whispers deep when
the darkness creeps up on me.
I need a single scion of joy grafted
to my sighing roots.

I’d trade my troubles for an hour
sitting on a bench by the river
with an old friend who thinks I might
be crazy
but doesn’t care how murky I’ve become,
who only knows that once in a while
forest fires from faraway places can
smoke out the brightest longing for day.

I’ve cried to the God who
I’ve cried to
sooner, bluer, truer and slower,
and fasted days trying to replace the
unwieldy shivering that ran from heart
to brain
to feet
to deeds;
still I felt like dying after one falling star
of insight crash-landed in the atmosphere.

I just need someone here,
a hand I recognize,
a voice with suspended disbelief
to quiver like my own. I would have
arrived here quicker
but I staged my faith with memorized lines
waiting for the next cue to mark my entrance.

Now, no stage, no script, no audience, no
performance-ready music to wow anyone but
myself. And I am my harshest critic.

Come sit with me awhile,
I am thirsty for God but
the only spiritual experience I ever had
was joy with humans who remember that
laughing and crying
are tongues of fire that
can ignite a friendship deeper
than preaching or praying
all night.

Come sit with me a while;
and by

A while

I mean, as long as I need. Please,
do not leave until both our cups are
empty
and both our cups are filled.