Reconciliation

“And the seven years of famine began, just as Joseph had said. There was not enough food in other countries, but all over Egypt there was plenty.” Genesis 41:54

Joseph had interpreted two dreams for Pharaoh. Both told of seven years of bumper crops followed by seven years of famine. God used Joseph to tell Pharaoh to save up the excess during the good years, store them, and use them during the years of famine.

Let the Glory Show

“Smoke from God’s glory and power poured out of the Temple. No one was permitted to enter the Temple until the seven disasters of the Seven Angels were finished.” Revelation 15:8 (The Message)

I am the first to admit that the book of Revelation can be like walking through a bog with a heavy mist falling. Beasts and dragons, flying horses and bowls full of judgment whirl through its pages like an Arthurian legend. One thing is sure, though; this book is about Jesus.

Look at Me!

“But now, if you’re willing, look at me. I won’t lie to your face.” Job 6:28

“Look at me,” Job cries out to his friends. “If you’re willing.” It is said the eyes are the windows to the soul. I wonder if his friends had actually avoided eye contact with Job as they tried to “comfort” him with their black-and-white theology that had an answer for every ailment. Their theology was sterile, without the human touch that fleshes out mere theories of the Eternal.

Short Sale

Short Sale

(“Judah said, ‘Brothers, what are we going to get out of killing our brother and concealing the evidence? Let’s sell him…’” Genesis 37:26, 27a)

Cash or credit,
credit or debit,
loan or purchase,
wallets and purses,
merchandise, to be
precise,
humans hanging by
shoe size along the
avenue.

Coats like tapestry,
swatches like elbow patches,
rainbow halos and
dad’s favorite boy.

How can we kill
flesh and blood?
We would rather sell
and get some good

Profit for our return.

Merchandise,
pay the price
for modern slaves
(far less graves)
sold for jealousy or
pleasure.

It does not matter,
haberdasher or tailor,
we market our brothers,
our sisters
like meat pies,
a thick slice of human dignity
lying in the pit waiting
another merchant with money to pay
our way; we pray we are not
misunderstood again.

II.

The sun sets across the bony landscape,
the fever of afternoon breaks with the sweaty evening breeze.
The tunes and wind-chimes whistle the sandstone
and we stand up to hear the next bid for our soul.

III.

You sold out too cheap as if the fashion had passed
and the next season’s garments could not fill the racks fast
enough. Blacks are in; relax, pay the tax and take it home.

Reds are passé, blues retrograde, with green in between
sawdust and the moon.

When the priceless are bought for an ad jingle’s song
the rest are marked down to sell before the doors close again.

IV.

Sizes vary, try them on to see. Colors fade, match in the mirror
before you lay the cash upon the table. Created with delicacy,
hand-made, hand-blown upon the morning sky, crowns replace fedoras,
rubies replace the replicas of dyed-in-the wool jewelry passed off as
one of a kind.

We are hand-made; may I remind you? We are the Master’s Mark,

Meant for celebrations on the meadows, not sale barns full of
auctioneers making a buck off another’s creation. We are poetry

Filling the aisles. We are portraits

Faced upon endgames. We are sonatas

Piped into the space-time-continuum. We are theater

Absurdly loved by the Author, Producer, Director;
wardrobe laid out by the Father

Who decreed His favorites must never be put up for sale.

Prayers are Echoing

"Prayers are Echoing"

The air hums like the rattle around
high voltage wires. Each cubic inch must be filled with
flights of angels passing through this protected space.

Deliveries and consolations, announcements like
fireweed unmistakably framed.

Lift me from this tiny occupation, my linoleum tile
upon which I dwell. I am not well, though I am
painfully in love with everything You say.

Friends want to heal me, doctors ignore my calls

Sometimes

And prayers are echoing off the angels’ wings
like flowers in a toddler’s grasp.

I know He has answered; I know it though pain
wraps my head and rings it like a tornado siren.

I can live with the pain, but can I perform my obligations,
fulfill my occupation, earn an honest dollar?

I long to step back into the darkness alone,
or at the coast somehow for a week out of every 7 days

And cry myself to sleep, and awake to the ocean breeze,
and cry myself to sleep again before lunch is served.
I cannot think for more than 2 hours at a time,
and do not know if it is a crime to take pay for so
little return; pennies on the dollar, a seedling from
an entire orchard’s produce.

The air is humming, the angels watch and attend,
sent by my Master’s hand. How then, can I complain

At the end of the day when friends want to pray

Away the pain

That remains after they have said “Amen”.

"I'll Catch Up With You Later"

“And said, ‘Let us break camp and travel on together; I will accompany you.’” Genesis 33:12

Jacob and Esau are the classical portrait of the consequences of deceit and one-upmanship in a family. Esau is the older of the two twins and should have received the birthright due the first born. But, in the famously told story, he sells it off for a “pottage of lentils”; bean soup.

"Of Birthrights and Homemade Soup"

“Jacob gave him bread and the stew of lentils. He ate and drank, got up and left. That’s how Esau shrugged off his rights as the firstborn.” Genesis 25:14 (The Message)


My mother was really a pretty good cook, even though my dad used to joke that she didn’t even know how to boil water when they met. I would always look forward to the day after we had mashed potatoes for supper. She would whip up the best potato pancakes from the leftovers; fit for gravy or maple syrup. And her chili always made you think of a mountain cabin on a frosty night with a fire roaring in the fireplace.


But her homemade soup was another story! We had a huge chest freezer that sat in our garage. Every leftover from every meal that could not be immediately recycled was stored there. Containers waited out the freezing conditions filled with peas, carrots, extra ground beef, roast or pork. Frozen corn; canned, fresh or creamed joined the ranks. It didn’t matter if there was only enough for a mouse-size serving, it went into a plastic container and off to the cavernous freezer.

Then, when enough cartons had accumulated, Mom would decide it was time to make homemade soup. I usually found a friend’s house for supper on those occasions. She took everything that had been frozen out of the freezer and into the kitchen. I don’t think she ever labeled anything, either, so it was truly pot “luck”.

Into the pot they would go; the frozen veggies, from month-old lima beans to something that looked like spinach. It didn’t matter what animal it came from, every meat product from previous meals was thawed and thrown into the pot as well. It might have made a bit of difference in the flavor if Mom had used stock, but she started with water right out of the tap and boiled it all together. And it was horrid!

It always had little circles of oil collecting on the surface and no flavor was immediately distinct. It tasted like, well, what your whole meal would taste like if you just mashed it all together, poured hot water on it and spooned it up. It really was not fit for human consumption. But, Mom and Dad were raised to save everything, and they did just that. It taught me a bit of gastronomical discrimination!

That is the sort of meal that Esau gave his birthright away for. He was the elder of two twins and legally was heir to their father’s entire estate. But he was hungry. Instead of waiting, or at least trying to find a more palatable meal, he gave away his entire future for homemade soup.

It occurred to me that we often do the same. We are each born with a “birthright”. By birth, God has fitted each of us with talents, abilities and potential. Sometimes we must wait, and sometimes we must pass up lesser opportunities, but, given time and focus, we can develop our God-given birthright into something significant.

But we are often much too hungry now to develop the good thing God has for us. And, furthermore, we are also willing to accept the “lesser value” others put on us. “You aren’t worth any more than this bit of lentil soup”, we hear from others, and we begin to believe it.

Instead of listening to Father God and believing that we do, indeed, possess the birthright, we believe the “little lie” and give in to negative thinking about ourselves. We settle for unhappiness when we could have the joy of knowing we have an inheritance given us by God. We settle for momentary pleasure when we could have the fulfillment of knowing we are being used for something greater than ourselves.

Even apart from being born again, every single human being has a birthright. Every person born on this planet is heir to the gifts granted by God. For those who follow Christ, this birthright extends to eternity.

We are heirs to something greater than mere talents or human accomplishments. When we are “born the second time”, as Jesus describes it, we are invested with a birthright that takes us into the very heart of God. We are given a treasure chest of God’s best, a veritable inheritance of love, joy, peace and the rest of the outcome of being part of God’s family.

But, like Esau, we sometimes are hungry and let that hunger dictate our destiny. Esau must have thought his birthright had very little value at all to trade it for homemade soup. Perhaps he didn’t value himself at all.

If we would only learn to take upon ourselves the value with which God has measured us, we would live boldly and proudly for Him. Knowing the birthright we have as sons and daughters of God, why wouldn’t we let the gifts He has given us leap out and affect a world that is so often devalued?

We are the ones who can stand up and say, “You are not useless. Your life does have meaning. Don’t listen to those who call you stupid, puny or incapable. Turn a deaf ear to those who say your failure penalizes your future. You have a future, You have a birthright. Go, in the name of the One who gave His life and make a difference with His gifts working within you.”

Me, I still won’t touch Mom’s homemade soup, but I’m grateful to be raised by someone who knew the value of a person. What I found in Christ I saw exhibited in my mother first. God has made you for something. Your worth is proven by the price God paid for you. Stop undervaluing your place in God’s plan and get busy with the birthright promised by Your Heavenly Father.