I Think I Understand

 

I Think I Understand

([Jesus said] “Do you love me?” Peter said, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” John 21:17b)

I can’t help but wonder what you might
ask of me.
I’ve finally figured it out, though, that you
do not want to shame me. You meet me here in this moment,
ask me a question about where I live now. Not how I lost it
back then. Not how guilt forced me to forge my way to the one
thing I found comforting before you ever tapped me on the shoulder.

I barely understand you most of the time.
And when I do understand something inside starts off
dreamily
but ends up, quite frankly, wishing I had not heard.
What do you call a casual friend who knows every move
you’re about to make before you have even given a moment’s
thought?

One: I wasn’t ready for the question.

Two: I acted like I had no clue.

Three: I needed to warm my hands by the fire. I swore with
            the maiden who insisted she knew.

And then you had to walk by and look at me. I did not have
time to hide. You were already beaten to an inch of your life
but, that look, that gaze that was a blade to my heart, was a wavelength
that caught me unawares.

You have no reason to think I love you. But you knew my answer
buried deep under the rubble of my shame. You deftly pulled the words
from my tongue like
1,2,3,.
And I felt ready to cry again upon my confessions of love for you.

I turned away when you needed amity; I damned myself the moment
you saw my reddening face. But you never insisted,
never elicited an apology from me. I think you could see it
in how I shrunk back quietly to the previous comforts I practiced
before I knew you.

You told me to feed your sheep, and I felt I had nothing to give.
But I will care for them as if they are mine. Do you trust me so,
given all my stumbles in the dark?

You won’t let me wallow in the past,
you never held it against me at all. I think I
understand
this part.
Why heap shame on a man whose entire face
shows such deep wrinkles of self-administered guilt?
I think I understand.

I Think You Already Know

I Think You Already Know

I think you already know by now how
our hearts are entwined. I think it is easy so see
the secrets we have not hidden, the scars we have not
covered in shame. But I want you to know, if you did not
know by now
that my heart is healed because of your love.
My anxious thoughts do not invade like they once have,
my depression occasionally paints it dark, but then I
remember
the way you have taken me by the hand and walked me
back into the light.

You have let me cry when crying seemed unreasonable,
you have made me laugh on days I would rather pout,
you have touched my face with your hands and I cannot
draw back.
I would never draw back.
There is so much love in that touch, in the warmth of
your fingers on my face, that I breathe more slowly and
find the place of grace you have created for me.

I don’t know how all this works, I do not understand eternity.
But one thing I think I know, our hearts were born this way,
our souls were dancing together, interlaced and finding
infinite positions to touch each other with such joy,
such passion, such joy, and such love. We usually know it without
saying a word.

I would do anything for you. You have done everything for me.
I would end the nights of frightening thoughts, I would kiss your
lips with loving warmth, I would hold you close when the
words from outside your mind demean you in acrid proclamations.
I would heal every bruise, every heartache, every undeserved
lashing upon your heart that you never deserved.

Oh, my soul, I cannot describe how you have brought me to this
healing. I only hope you know, my dearest of dear, that I will never
stop loving you, never stop holding you, never stop hoping for your
hand in mind as our hearts wrap around each other even though miles apart.

I Think We Misunderstood

I Think We Misunderstood

(“Therefore, Hebron still belongs to Caleb son of Jephunneh the Kenizzite as an inheritance today because he followed the Lord, the God of Israel, completely.” Joshua 14:14)

There is no distance between hope and possession
though it may seem ages before it is accomplished.
There is no disconnect between faith and profession
though the definitions change as time rolls on.
I’ll read for an hour and a half if the day will allow me.
I’ll write for a day and a half if the weather will allow me.
I’ll stand atop a mountain and perceive the valley below me,
I’ll wander among the grape vines whose fruit is so full of sunshine.
I’ll assess the why we shouldn’t let the occupants of the valley
stay as long as they want. Maybe we forgot they had the land
before us. If it’s the Promised Land

Why should we have to kill anyone to enter it?
Oh, I’ll follow you Yahweh, but I won’t swing my sword.
If you can give them miraculously to us to slash and burn,
I think you could give them to us without death being such
a high priority.

The law you gave us forbade killing (Oh, I know the old trope
that it doesn’t apply to warfare death.) It forbade killing and yet,
the only way you have given us to take it is by taking every life
within the perimeter of what you call the holy land.

How can it be holy when we must slaughter people
made in your image? How can it be holy when we are not
instructed in the ways that produce shalom? How can it be
holy
when we alone are to possess the perimeters? Why don’t
we learn to offload our weapons and bring food and meat,
a true sacrificial meal, and invite them from the distance of
the sunup to the sundown to dine with us here in the land
we both desire. Let us offer our God thanksgiving without
killing anyone who lived here anciently before we did.

Teach us, we have the time. Instruct us, we will listen this time,
and Christ will repeat how it is not our bravery in taking lives
that represents the kingdom,
but the giving away of ourselves that opens the gates for
all who desire to come in or go out.

I think we got it wrong when we thought you wanted us to slaughter
or be slaughtered. I think we misunderstood when we though they
would lead us astray, as if you weren’t strong enough to guide us,
as if you weren’t kind enough to find us when we started to miss the path.

We will follow completely, speak it again and let us hear. We will
let the voice of Jesus give us the instructions this time and wait for
the proper time.

Better Than You Think

Better Than You Think

(“Restore all that was hers, together with all the revenue of the fields from the day that she left the land until now.” 2 Kings 8:6b)

Afternoon. The tunes were irresistible, the
thoughts coming sooner than expected. She
had learned how little changes when change is
all you want. Afternoon.

Midnight. The candles were extinguished,
the dreams came thinner than desired. She
went to bed later but was too weary to distinguish
reality and visions. All she wanted was a winter
moon to lure her to slumber. Midnight.

Morning. The warming was unreliable, the
thoughts from the night came swarming. She
had placed an order for peace. All she desired was
a space within where it could all begin. But storming
had taken her best thoughts hostage. Morning.

Annual. And ten times over the trip around the sun
tripped her up again. She prayed, she groaned, she
wrote it factual and substandard. There was nothing
left to do
that she hadn’t
done before. The shore kept receding from the sea.
Annually.

Infinite. And it all feels like it will never end. It was
once all innocence and expectations. Now it is
cold nights and restless days. Her mind stayed
ever vigilant while she wished for contentment.
Infinite.

Invitation. There was one place, one pleasant conversation,
that made a few moments easier. Together was a road
walked late in the day with nothing to say but
you
are
better
than
you
think. They always met at the same location.
Invitation.

Think What You Want to Think

 

Think What You Want to Think

(“Therefore, if you have been raised with the Messiah, keep focusing on the things that are above, where the Messiah is seated at the right hand of God.” Colossians 3:1)

I hope you don’t mind that I
write
between my tears again.
Maybe my questions are too personal,
maybe my heart is not hard enough.
Today I think I’ll hold it inside.
Today I think I’ll let you guess what is
happening inside me.

Think what you want to think,
sing what you want to sing.

But I can think of nothing to sing when
I recognize the path I’ve been down
time and again, still the gates are closed,
the doors are jammed, the windows barred, yet
there is still a welcome mat on the front porch.

I hope you don’t mind that I
wait
and do not knock this time.
My answers are too personal,
maybe my heart is leaking too much.
Today I think I’ll stand outside.
Today I think I’ll find the address of someone
who cares to share
what is happening inside of them.

Breathe what you want to breathe,
cry what you want to cry.

But my chest is tight, my tears sucked back
into my eyes.
I liked your house for too long, I guess. I
was comfortable there
until I was not.
Today I’ll wait because the weather might change.
Today I’ll shake in the cold because I don’t have
enough clothes
to invest in another friendship
fraught with impossibilities and silence. People
still frighten me.

And yet, even a shard of each star we gazed at
lies buried somewhere in my heart.

Eat what you want to eat,
drink what you want to drink.

And I will knock on your door once more,
a bottle of wine and two chairs on the front porch.
Perhaps after a glass or two
we can turn the first few pages of
the next chapter.