I Want to Take the Long Way Home

I Want to Take the Long Way Home

(“He will rejoice over you with gladness. He will bring you quietness with His love. He will delight in you with shouts of joy.” Zephaniah 3:17b)

I can’t help it,
these thoughts of dancing,
these images of your eyes flashing,
these songs with words only you will understand.
I can’t help it;
I want to take the long way home.

The moon loves to light your face,
the stars cannot wait to shine,
the sun has reserved you a place
where no one intrudes. I can’t help it;
I want to tell you everything.

We were plopped down on the water,
we learned to swim on the fly.
We were left here almost forgotten,
we found each other swimming for shore.
We had no one to tell us what all the excitement was for.
We thought the river would be deeper,
we thought the current might suck us under,
we thought we might not make it to the sandy beach,
we thought the night might come on us too soon.

But we were mistaken, weren’t we, even before we
knew each other’s names. Even before the morning
rose from the foothills we learned we were not meant
to be alone. We were not meant to fear the touch
of a newcomer’s hands. And the river hugged us
as we camped where the trees met the water in
a private circle enclosing us like love. Sleep
evaded us,
we were learning each other’s songs.

We were a kiss and breathless,
we were stories we only told each other.
We were laughter, we were hot tears,
we were puzzled, but we were not alone.

And that is why, this day and every day,
I wanted to take the long way home.

Final, First

 

Final, First

 

(“Jesus said to him, ‘I am the Way and the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father, except through me.’” John 14:6)

 

On the face of it some of creation is unrecognizable,
incognito, and hidden. On the face of it we rarely know
without closer inspection what is concealed behind the rind.

 

“One orange and you’ve seen them all,” is all wrong.
One day flips to another like a king to a deuce in a
deck of cards.
“One faith looks like all others.” is likely untrue.
One prayer turns on a wheel and another has lit candles.

 

One word learned is a new boundary to explore,
one lost friend is knocking at the door,
two ragged dogs wet from the cold
and three trees bearing fruit one hundredfold. 

 

Family seeks its own level,
the Father sent his own,
family loves the gentle and rebels,
the Father sent his Son.

 

I see you, Father, in the feet of your Son,
browned by the glare and scraped by the sand.
I see you, Father, in the hands of your Son,
calloused and strong, careful where the lonely people planned
to see a warrior, a king, an emperor, a lord. I see you, Father,
in every tear of your Son, weeping like waterfalls,
grateful like showers on a rose, seeking the dug-in
and the soaring
before morning gives way to dusk.

 

The mountains are refuge, the thunder your love,
the lightning your whisper, the sun the remnant of
primal light that fills you, fills all, fills shadows and
corners,
wedding and mourners awaiting the day
when all is in all; the Son, the Father, the Spirit
in heavenly dance
unite all creation in higher, deeper,
final, first, and eternal
song.