Knocking Down Hurdles

“You must be willing to wait without giving up. After you have done what God wants you to do, God will give you what He promised you.” Hebrews 10:36

I had one significant misunderstanding about track and field until late into my teens; I thought that a runner had to jump the hurdles without touching even one. Imagine my surprise to see runners actually kick a hurdle or two over, yet continue in the race. I thought there must be some sort of penalty. But no, you could kick every hurdle down as long as you went over them all. Of course, it slowed your whole race down quite a bit, so it made sense to leap across without touching them.

The Weight is Gone

“The Weight is Gone”

“Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.” Hebrews 9:28

I was a paperboy. If you have a mental picture of the archetype 12 year-old boy carefully balancing two bags of newspapers on his ten year-old bicycle, your imagination would come close to my youth from sixth grade through the first half of high school. I delivered the Oakland Herald Examiner for three years and the Contra Costa Times through a good part of high school.

Face the Silence

Face the Silence

(“Only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen what is best, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:42)

I want to face the silence,
embrace the quiet alone where
my tears are understood,
and Jesus untangles the thoughts that
have short-circuited where the fabric is worn
and the bare wires touch; memory affecting future,
misfiring every emotion, stalling every venture
I might have begun if I had won the battle,
slain the monsters of the abyss who insist
the kinks are all impossible to unknot.

Tell me, in my silence, once I am able to hear,
teach me in my place seated at your feet
what I need to hear, why I still tear up after
ages of knowing there is no need for exploding prayers
that leave the atmosphere bitter with gunpowder’s tang.

Let the waters flow deep, seeping through the handful
off burrows I’ve left open following the tilt of the shale
to the heart’s well waiting its fill.

I am quick off my knees, hard to please, and sensitive to
these
thoughts that loop endlessly. I am ill at ease after
five minutes of silently; and seek my books to
capture my mind, disguise my inclined plane that
leads from stillness to the uneasy patter of doing nothing
with all my neurons firing. Busy, I accomplish little.

Quiet, I sit and twiddle my thumbs.

And yet I still long for the best part that comes
while I sit, even fidgety, at your feet.

County Fair

County Fair

You caught me when I wasn’t looking,
spilling grease all over may favorite blue jeans,
working back of the house again,
emptying the grease pan again,
and remembering when I used to do it as a living.

But county fairs are different, with concessions
and confections
sold by county commissioners and the little
church uptown.

Across from the main food booth where
two teen girls, a shiny ginger and a braided brown,
wait on the ageless same ones who sit on the benches
year after year; across the asphalt are two
black and white calves that could pass for
overgrown kittens. Most think they are cute,
although one freshman says she hates cows.

French fries and apple pie, milk shakes and blue ribbon cakes,
the County Fair Queen, dressed in silver, sells raffle tickets
for a dollar. I think she is happy to be there, but would
prefer another wardrobe, rather than wearing the only prom dress
on the midway.

We don’t call it the midway, though, at this tiny fair,
there is one way, up and down, front and back,
and you only have to mention you work at the food booth;
the ticket takers nod and smile, you work your shift and
spend a half hour at exhibits. No one showed pigs this year.

I go for food and music. There is always music. Yesterday,
a single man with a blond ukulele sat onstage singing children’s
tunes,
and did not run out for most of the afternoon.
Today it was blues by a quartet, with great lead licks
behind, ahead, and between each lyric. And I sat
on four or five different benches chatting while
I chewed pancakes for lunch, with more people than
I have talked to in a month of days.

It was cloudy today, the last day, and no one needed
to shade their eyes. We met face to face and smiled
the weekend when we invite the world over
to our county’s little home.

UnDivisions

“’Do not stop him,’ Jesus said. ‘Anyone who is not against you is for you.’” Luke 9:50

“Can you be a Christian if…” I don’t know how many different ways I have heard that sentence completed. Some of them are sincere, some are trying to find a way to justify personal habits and others want to exclude someone from the Christian club. A mom tells a youth pastor to keep her daughter away from the black boy who is attending the church. October 31 is called the Devil’s Day. Women wear dresses, men wear what they want. True believers vote Republican and liberal is an synonym for atheist.

The Art of Patience

“And so, after waiting patiently, Abraham obtained the promise.” Hebrews 6:15

I am not one of those who gripe about how terrible “this generation” is. You will rarely hear me grouse about today’s society and pine for the good old days. I am not unaware of the deep ungodliness of our own times, but, any student of history will be quick to acknowledge that all eras have had their atrocities.

Knocking Again

Knocking Again

(“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16)

I’m knocking again, knuckles glancing off
the hardwood door. I was never a fan of doorbells,
never knew if they worked our not. I could push the button,
sometimes glowing, and listen closely without knowing
who heard what didn’t ring.

I’m knocking again, three strong raps. My knuckles
know the tempo, the rhythm that explains someone is waiting.
Not four or more, as if I owned the door and you were a servant
called to duty by impatient pounding, the rap of a gavel restoring
order.

But neither one or two; pets bark at those background taps
while we turn the volume up to drown their announcement.Humans hate to rise without knowing visitor, phone call

or just a stalled car started up the hill.

I’m knocking again, three strong raps. I will not repeat
the pattern. I do not fear you will not hear; I wait prepared
to meet the strongest acquaintance who never hurries,
forth or back, fro or to; but strides like time is an
invention; the intersection of elementary and divine.

I’m knocking again, not counting slowness at all,
(though I used to measure the seconds, and measured,
they were endless improvisations, impatience grew
at each repetition).

Now not counting slowness, my mind famished
and concave,
I repeat the music (a collaborative playlist)
and time no longer passes or flashes;
its pace is the easy stride of hand-delivered grace.

I am knocking again…three strong raps.