I've Seen Trouble

  

I’ve Seen Trouble

(“Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me.” John 14:1)

I’ve seen trouble and so have you,
we have lived on the outside while the pots boiled
within.

I’ve wondered who will pay attention and so have you,
we have felt the pinch of a thousand wordless letters
from friends.

Sanity seemed a cross-country dream,
we have held on by a thread.
Tears were our food and drink while
others just shook their heads

And told us we were not strong enough.
I believed them and so have you,
we have fought and lost against their vain
demands.
I’ve seen clear days and so have you,
we smelled the meadow aroma after yester-
day’s rain.

Clearly the sun dried petals and blooms,
we have walked in the margins.
With one foot in the storm and one in the sun
others doubted our battles

And told us we weren’t right in the head.

I’ve found solace and so have you,
we have answered the small voice that is bigger than
our fears.
I’ve wondered why God pays attention and so have you,
we have felt the gaze of a closeup love that never dis-
appears.

I Saw a Child Lead Them

 

I Saw a Child Lead Them

(“No one receives God’s approval by obeying the laws in Moses’ Teachings since, ‘The person who has God’s approval will live by faith.’” Galatians 3:11)

I saw a sister coming down the path towards me,
her pack shouldered mightily but her knees were faint.
She had authored stories,
and curated before many of us began.
She was mainly midstream
and now she was tinder dry
but still walked steadily toward the
life risen like the sun for everyone
to see.

She wept privately.

I saw a brother lying on the side of the road,
his life savings splintered and gravel piercing his knees.
He had locked away the stories
of the helpless who deposited them with trust
into his heart.
He was partly periphery
and now was flung further away.
But still he hoped mightily for the
Samaritan, the outcast to kneel beside him
and weep.

He bled internally.

I saw the myriads, the unchosen, the torn coats
and the ice floes of winter diminishing. Some
were gathered to drink the rain, others repeated
the same uniform codes again and again.
Some jumped at the chance to be embraced by
the elite clubs of separation.
Others kept traveling without navigation
but knew the destination would one day
come into view.
I saw some discarded, others ignored;
I heard that some were disbarred and others
abhorred. Some turned to greet the company
of friends they had loved all along
to see many with their backs turned
and silence alone filling the space between them.

I saw a child lead them all.

It Has Been a Slow Death

 
It Has Been a Slow Death

(“…as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.” 2 Corinthians 6:10)

It has been a slow death I know,

From

Circles on a carpeted floor,
sharing cups of 7up and
crumbs of sourdough in makeshift
remembrance

To

The names I have heard you call
good men and women
who were once the all
you proclaimed to love.

And now I feel the death all around me,
the demons of power arcing above the towers
that once called us to joy (the soul’s sorrow,
the spirit’s release),
that once called us to mercy (the word’s story,
the gospel’s free speech),
that once called us to believe (the child’s trust,
the riches unleashed).

And now I see the black figures swinging swords
and aiming nooses, surrendering the peace for
a withered podium of power. And now I hear
the funeral song and I cannot endure

The divorce

Of the ancient faith from its ineffable source,
the crucified one, the suffering Son,
the one acquainted with grief.

I have died today as well
and do not know which world to enter.
The worst abuse, like stripes on a weary body and mind
has found its endgame in the final clod of dirt
tossed upon the casket of my once
vibrant faith.

From the ground up, from deep within the earth,
poor again, having nothing but the me, the seed,
the pleading for life beneath it all,
something still breathes that was smothered.
Something still reaches that was buried.
Something still sees that was blinded
by the shuttered standstill of sight trained
in only one direction.

Something breathes…

But today is one gasp away from
diving beneath the mud and blankets
and never venturing out again.

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.

Traveling Companion

Traveling Companion

“While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and began walking with them.” Luke 24:15

We had started out early in the day. It was mid-summer and the three of us had been planning the backpacking trip well before Dale and I graduated high school that year. Dale and I graduated together, and Dave was a year older. We had known each other through our teens and attended the same church.

Now, leaving the San Francisco Bay Area behind, we were chugging along toward Yosemite in Dale’s ’69 VW bug. Our plan was to make a base camp on the high plateau of Tuolumne Meadows and follow the trail along the Tuolumne River to its “Grand Canyon”. The adventures of that nine-day trip would fill a small book.

Before we ever reached Yosemite we noticed white smoke and an acrid smell coming from the Bug’s floorboards. Our hearts sank, expecting the worst. Did the climb into the Sierras put too much strain on the small engine? Had the air-cooled system failed? We limped into a small town, found an auto mechanic and crossed our fingers. We did not have time for a major repair, let alone money to pay for it.

We ate a nervous lunch while waiting to hear from the mechanic. Walking back to his shop, we steeled ourselves for the bad news. “Well boys,” he said, “you’ve just got a couple burned-out wires.” Next question: How much? “$90, and I can get you back on the road in an hour.” We combined our finances, paid the man, and continued our adventure.

That evening we set up our tents, talked around the campfire and planned our first day on the trail. Having been told by the Park Ranger that bears were unusually aggressive that summer, we also strategized how to keep our food from their reach.

Rising the next morning, we made about four miles down the trail and set up camp in a semi-circle of Ponderosa pines on the bank of the Tuolumne River. We put our food in a drawstring bag and tied it off to a high branch about a quarter mile from our camp. After fishing for a while we set up for the night.

The sky was clear and it rarely rains in the summer in Central California, so we decided to sleep under the stars. All three of us lay awake, enchanted by the inky sky dotted with diamonds and pearls. We laughed, joked, and were glad we had made it this far.

About 2 a.m. Dave poked me in the side and said, “Mark, are you awake?” “I am now”, I mumbled.” “There’s a bear in our campsite!” I saw nothing, but I did not sleep the rest of the night, every sound a 500-pound bear walking on twigs. Five minutes after Dave gave me the frightening news, Dale sat straight up in his sleeping bag and said, “Bear? Where’s a bear?” Then laid right back down asleep again.

We didn’t complete our trip down the Tuolumne. Instead, we high-tailed it back to our base camp and came up with a plan B. We drove to nearby June Lake to camp and do some fishing. Unfortunately, the mosquitoes were worse than the bears! They were swarming everywhere. Plus, they were so large that every time they took a bite out of you they left a tip for the waiter. We made a quick “Plan C” decision to go visit some of Dave’s relatives in Reno. We swam, did some river rafting and had an incredible time.

Our adventure stays in my memory because of my traveling companions. The men described in Luke 24 were traveling together. Having witnessed Jesus’ crucifixion, these two of His followers were sad and distressed. Then Jesus joins them on the road. He joins them in their journey, asks about their sorrow, and reminds them that the Son of God was destined to suffer before He entered His glory.

It is not until they arrive home, invite Him in and break bread together that they realize who He is. “Weren’t our hearts burning within us while he talked with us?” they said.

My journey with Dale and Dave is one of my favorite memories, and I hope it is for them as well. But, far sweeter, and far more permanent, is the present Traveling Companion I have in the Risen Christ. He has never left me in this long journey; not through the difficulties, nor in my frailties.

We were not meant to journey alone. Be encouraged, invite Jesus to travel with you. Not only is He your companion, He is the Way itself. Rely on Him, put all your trust in Him. You were made for friendship with the God of all Creation through Jesus the Risen One.

But God Knows

But God Knows

“But He knows the way that I take. When He has tried me, I will come out as gold.” Job 23:11

I hate losing things, especially something valuable or irreplaceable. I have carried a picture of my wife in my wallet for over 40 years. It is her senior picture. The edges are well-worn, but the beauty in that photo never fades. Several years ago we made a road trip from North Dakota to New York State to visit our son and daughter-in-law who were attending university at Binghamton. Within a day of arriving I could not find my wallet anywhere. I won’t go into details, but we scoured the car, our clothes and everywhere we could think, and found nothing.

Short-Circuiting Truth

“Do not turn to mediums or spiritists; do not seek them out to be defiled by them. I am the Lord your God.” Leviticus 19:31

I admit, most people aren’t going to read something that begins with a quotation from the book of Leviticus. I hope some will read this. Let’s begin with what is clear. God is very specific in telling us to avoid turning to certain sources for spiritual information, help or comfort. Here he names those to be avoided as “mediums” and “spiritists”.

Eye-Level

Eye-Level

Listen when the words are full enough to
let you see your pain fully, in the light of day,
from every angle; listen when the words can
untangle the chains wrapped around the pole of
your existence. When pain stabs it is no more spiritual
to speak of joy
than it is to laugh at the sounds of a widow’s grief.

I’ve seen your eyes, dark in the shade, alive in the light,
brown as nature, deep as the pools that fill craters left
by meteorites taking a wrong turn home.

You speak your best when you speak the fewest,
you love the best unexplained. I remember the words
which hid the frightened past when the shivering past
was only a decade and a half barely old. I can still
see
the moments when, eye to eye, trust had won they
day,
and cry or rain, stay or pain, like a single raindrop
suspended midair (you saw it, I saw it, eye-level,
as if it had been there from the earth’s first mists)
and though severely separated by decades in time
the trust in love would live forever

Encased like rain, saved like a single tear
that held the pain and the remedy, and all
the songs we wait to hear. We sing them together
(having never heard them before) as if we had
written each and every line. So a tear,
a raindrop,
a lyric,
a diamond
are all collected at eye-level
by two at once who knew trust was
the pain’s best memory.

Hungry?

Hungry?

“’What sign then are You going to do so we may see and believe You?’ they asked. ‘What are You going to perform?’” John 6:30

If there was ever a time for Jesus to become frustrated in His earthly ministry, this was it! Consider this: between chapters two and six of the gospel of John, Jesus has performed five miraculous signs. He had turned water into wine, healed the son of a royal official, healed a man who had been lame for 38 years, fed 5,000 people with only five barley loaves and two fish, and had walked on the water, stilling the storm and calming the disciples, three miles from land.

Chosen

“The Lord your God has chosen you…to be His own. The Lord did not give you His love and choose you because you were more people than any of the nations. For the number of your people was less than all nations.” Deuteronomy 7:6,7

We have such a difficult time understanding grace because there are so few examples of it in everyday life. Nearly everything we enjoy has a price tag attached. We are chosen for the team because we have particular talents that match the squad’s needs. We get the lead in the community theater because someone liked our reading better than all others. Even things that seem “free” have qualifications. Because of a trust set aside before she was even born, a graduate may have their entire college tuition paid. She may not have deserved it, but she received it because she was part of a particular family.

Trusting in the Shadow

Trusting in the Shadow

“But I keep praying to you, Lord, hoping this time you will show me favor. In your unfailing love, O God, answer my prayer with your sure salvation.” Psalm 69:13

A university student was seen with a large "K" printed on his T- shirt. When someone asked him what the "K" stood for, he said, "Confused." "But," the questioner replied, "you don't spell "confused" with a "K." The student answered, "You don't know how confused I am."

Everything I Need

“Because the Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything I need!” Psalm 23:1

Our 20 year-old daughter called me in tears on her way home from work and college. Living 20 miles down a winding road that hugs the curves of the Columbia River, Washington Highway 4 sees its share of vehicle accidents. Sarah had hit a huge rock only about five miles from home and damaged her tire. Since I was sick in bed with the flu, her mom drove out to keep her company until AAA arrived.

Knowing God Well

“Those who know your name trust you, O Lord, because you have never deserted those who seek your help.” Psalm 9:10

“I can’t believe George did such a thing. Was he able to afford the money he gave to that family in need? He isn’t wealthy; probably barely in the lowest reaches of middle class. I hope he is cautious and is taking care of himself.”

No More Drama

“Now Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing with which his father had blessed him, and Esau said to himself, ‘The days of mourning for my father are approaching; then I will kill my brother Jacob.’” Genesis 27:41

Jealousy can mess with our attitude so badly that we forget the blessings we may already have. Our next door neighbor buys a brand new SUV and suddenly our well-running minivan looks like a piece of junk in the driveway. Our best buddy gets the newest Xbox 720 gaming system for Christmas and now our Nintendo Wii looks like something out of the Stone Age. A co-worker receives a promotion, we are overlooked for a raise, or someone accuses us of inappropriate behavior when we are innocent.

The Corner of the Desk

The Corner of the Desk

(“And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up. And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven.” James 5:15)

The cardboard box full of neatly folded tissues
is squarely arranged on top of the desk..though…

At its feet, tossed like carnations, the wadded few have
absorbed the tears of honesty, the stories of pain
we hear with uneasy skill.

Do you want to know the valleys, do you care
to listen with love; will you embrace the uncommon tale
baked on the days of withheld rain?

Will they offer you more than a mirror’s image,
will they speak in unknown tongues and await your
uncertain interpretation, will you return their entrusted heart
unharmed? Remember how they entered, completely unarmed;
sat in the corner chair, never broke eye contact with

The corner of the desk.

Will their dreams reset to innocence, or will the scars
we touched set off alarms when incidents of trust sounded
like the screech of eagles scanning prey.

When they hand us, on cold and sweaty palms, the heart traced
with anxieties unspoken countless alones, how will we return the trust
of confessed cracks they’ve kept turned from the sun? Dying is easier
that new incisions over aged scars.

When they hand us, on bent and broken wings, tiny faith
still alive with shallow breath and captured eyes, will we show
our own wounds now

A second Masterpiece;

Filled cracks the brush’s tracks where the Father’s hands
retraced creation’s plans. Day, light, night, sleep are sweet
where the wounds once ruled.

Should We Wait for Another?

Should We Wait for Another?

(“Go tell John what you have seen and heard. Blind people see. The lame people walk. People with leprosy are healed. People who could not hear can hear. Dead people are alive again. Poor people hear the good news.” Luke 7:22)

I have had my doubts, my u-turn possibilities;
I have wondered why the sky will not rain when
I am parched and need relief from my recent disabilities.
I wondered about each promise, just like you,
I have sought His solace, questioned his silence too.

Wondering why, at 3 am, someone won’t help me sleep,
or turn these dreams from lame and slipping to strong feet
and mental grip upon the faith I nodded aloud to follow.

I am no prophet, but a quiet shepherd, content to sit upon the hillocks,
the green and yellow moguls of spring or summer. I watch the sheep,
give them water, tend their weak, romp with the strong, and feed the
best fodder before night falls quietly and we gather in the fold.
I would be content to read my book, play pastoral on my mandolin,
and protect the loves, ewes and rams and lambs, upon the spreading
shadows of dawn.

I nodded yes to the Power I knew had every right to my existence,
and yet,
when I needed Authority to rid me of a certain incarceration, subsistence
was my ration.

I have asked the questions, the wonder about inability;
I have pulled God’s hair and turned His head around to see me,
to face me,
to embrace me,
and occasionally be startled by what I saw.

But the sheep have sometimes wondered where the lines were born
that were buried in my brow and cracked beside my eyes. And more
than twice a pair of eyes,
have met me from beneath uncombed wool that, sad before,
a half-dozen years or more,
brightly played like a happy lamb again; and I occasionally
was startled by what I saw.

Water that Runs

Water that Runs

(“But blessed are those who trust in the Lord and have made the Lord their hope and confidence.” Jeremiah 11:7)

Before I thought about the morning moving on

so quickly and afternoon racing toward the final turn

I could swear I had wasted another day. There is

a pillow on the couch where I lay my head, a case

washed twice a week, and a blanket with occasional shreds

where the quilt has dropped a thread or two. I sleep till

noon, I wish.

When I do not, on Monday most, I choose a movie near 10

and watch till noon. The pillow holds my thoughts, the blanket

my security and the cat, white and black, visits me prone,

nesting upon my chest and, face to face, insists she is queen

of the moment. Who is to say she isn’t.

It is impossible to tell now, lazy or pain. I would rather

putt a green or cycle the hills, the afternoon valve to release

the cooked-up schemes of my swarmed imagination.

See here, the way I trust. The way I used to. A drive to the ocean,

tennis with an ever-drooping forehand, or just hardcopy

and coffee

where the shards of afternoon are pieced on tables of conversation.

Why should I bow to electrons that strangle the proper music and dance?

Why should this phantom (there is neither mass nor matter) make each

thought chatter while outside rivers and sunshine are a chef’s perfect savor?

But the vise grinds and my brain whines at a ghost that hitchhikes my neurons.

The passenger is invisible, the itinerary a drumline from eyeball to eyeball,

cervical vertebra to dura mater; it does not matter that it will not kill me;

the unknown traveler has squeezed my arms past uncle.

Here are the pieces of my afternoon, a few forgotten invitations,

a commercial for shampoo and a movie about a speed jump-rope athlete;

it is all so fleeting, and yet I move through mud with the few thoughts

I can capture,

still (sometimes, some not) enraptured in this drought by

the streams of water that runs from (somewhere, always here)

throne to (all) His own.

The Letter: to honor Him

The Letter:
to honor Him

(“Call on Me in a day of trouble; I will rescue you, and you will honor Me.” Psalm 50:15)

If you receive a letter from me in the near future, please be sure to read it:

I fell asleep last night with a mighty sigh, a desperate breath meant
to reach as high the constant sky and around gravity’s belt. I would
send a letter to the few; confess, weep, reveal, trust, and sign it lengthwise.

Though I know there is more love in one drop of rain than exists in
my vainest imaginations
I am thirsty, more parched than ever. Afraid to share my symptoms
(every conversant writes me their own prescription; honey or vinegar,
medical or organic, physician or magician, prayer or hard work, wake up
or
sleep in)
few just sit and visit me.

Afraid to share my symptoms, I would clarify somewhere mid-letter
that I do not complain lightly and no longer am a novice at pain. It
is
simply that I want a trusted few to know it’s true; I have questions
that stick in my throat. Some have gloated at my uncertainty about
dust mites and universal origins. Some have quoted their favorite
passages to prove who’s banned and what brand of politics Jesus
would buy.

I am surprised. I am sad. I am certain that behind the curtain is
just as much grace
and more
than God has poured
on the heads of the wicked and just here on earth
like He said He would; and should I be asked I’ll swear
to that truth with a mighty Yes and never No.

But I’ll never know why I need to calculate carefully
how to open my own curtain to reveal the sun and fog,
faith and pain
without explaining all over again
that I am still truly assured of my Savior’s love;

But have questioned His methods at times that wind
like high spring streams then meander once I’ve learned His tempo.

Please, if you receive said letter, read it slowly, for I have trusted
only you, and another few with the contents of my dry eyes moist,
my sure faith misty and my vision annoyed by this pain
in my head.

As For God...

“As for God, his way is perfect: The Lord’s word is flawless; he shields all who take refuge in him.” Psalm 18:30

A friend stopped by the church today to work on some remodeling we are doing in the fellowship hall. He needed to access the crawlspace under our building and was looking for the key. A few days earlier he stopped by, looking for the key to the storage shed as well. It was not in our key “box” where we keep them as neat and labeled as possible. I called out to him, “Rodney, that key is on my desk.”

God's Credibility in Chaos

“I know that you can do anything. No one can keep you from doing what you plan to do.” Job 42:2

I suppose this is exactly the place where most followers of Jesus want to arrive. In fact, we give mental assent to the truth Job expresses: “Because God is God, I know that He can do anything. And, because He can do anything, nothing can stop His plans from going forward.” It all sounds so simple, so logical, so reasonable.