Stretched like Fog

Stretched like Fog

When the inches are stretched beyond their means,
the wavelengths a flat-line,
the sound waves staccato notes without echo,
we strain to find the definitions,
look up words we have heard over and over
but now, perhaps accented by new meter or
high Britain,
muddle like fog our what we once apprehended.

The syllable remain the same number,
vowels and consonants all the right order,
strung along, nouns and verbs, heard from
birth until this moment,
but now sound foreign because the

World has changed.

I used to be a pain in the neck when
I whined too often for money or records
or new shoes or another teen magazine
(my mom seemed to take more aspirin
the same day she pointed her laughing finger).
I knew what she meant, she knew what I wanted,
she knew I knew the migraine came from somewhere

Far beyond the family.

Pain is a needle word, a squeeze between the eyes,
a diesel truck growling up the highway grade.
Pain is a dying word that will not die,
a shield raised, a wall erected between your
simple request
and my final syllable of the day.

See it this way:
Pain is now my quartermaster, doling out
the ration of words my brain is allowed to hide
away. One day 5,000, another thirty-five-hundred,
but once the rations are depleted, the words you say,
even repeated,
are hollow sounds until my allotted supply can
be repleted.

"He Knows Me"

“He had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people.” Hebrews 2:17

I had an interesting discussion with my therapist yesterday. (Oh no, there I went and said it. Yes, I happen to see a therapist. Actually, I believe it’s a necessity for pastors, or any in the people-helping professions…back to my story.) He was new. I have seen the same person for the last five years and I have developed a trust in her, and she knows my background very well. But, because of a traffic accident, she is out of commission for a while.

No Secrets

“But in these final days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom he also created the material universe.” Hebrews 1:2

It is said that we all remember where we were when President Kennedy was shot. For the generation that followed his assassination, perhaps the same can be said about the day the New York Twin Towers fell, perhaps always to be known as “9/11”. I was in second grade when the news hit the country that the President had been shot in Dallas while riding in now infamous black Cadillac convertible. Strangely enough, what I remember most is that school was canceled for at least one day, maybe two, and I spent much of that day off coloring.

Streaks Across

Streaks Across

(“Then turning towards the woman (Jesus) said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.” Luke 7:44)

What have you heard, from friend or electrons sent
along the insulated wires that ride the same rhythm
as rails across the open plains?

What have you observed, from informed or insinuations
pinging off one closed mind to the other?

Where do we ignore, and what do we redeem;
what brings daylight or smiles, delights or miles
of memory that can wind from the windy peaks above
the bay upriver before morning opens for the day.

Who do we notice; the eyes that have seen more
sadness than the oceans rushing in the backdoor porch?

What can we watch; the wave of hair uncut catching
sun like rain, as it cascades across the cheeks of
the hopeful, streaks across the feet of the forgiver
that turns tears to joyful.

What can we say; the judgments that began that day,
or the tolerance that breathes the perfume of love given

By one who, unloved, had more to give, unbidden,
than all the basins filled with the scent of water
that has remained unmoved for far too long.

May the perfume spiral around our conspiracy theories,
soak and cleanse our acrid memories,
remind of us the exact moment we perceived

The fragrance which forgiveness filled each and every
sense.

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.

Oops, Sorry I Said That

“Likewise urge the younger men to control themselves. Show yourself in all respects a model of good deeds, and in your teaching show integrity, gravity, and sound speech that cannot be censured, so that an opponent may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say of us.” Titus 2:6-8

It has always been a source of humor and some puzzlement to me when, in the middle of conversation, someone uses an off-color word, looks at me, and says, “Sorry.” I have been in the ministry for many years, but worked in the secular world off and on as well. When I was a sales manager, no one apologized for colorful language, unless they knew I was a Christian.

Don't Judge

Don’t judge others, and you will not be judged. Don’t accuse others of being guilty, and you will not be accused of being guilty. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” Luke 6:37

I have heard preachers quote this verse more than once as the “favorite Bible verse of this generation”, implying they use it as a cloak to keep people from pointing out their sinful behavior. Of course, the sermon continues with a long list of “contemporary sins”, condemning each one along the way.