tonight: well worn

Once upon a time I used to blog. Regularly. It’s been months, though, but I feel pressed to get back to writing.

well worn and cross legged on the floor
borderline despairing the TO DOs
they masquerade and manipulate the importance of the task
sorting piles of well worn stuff
needed or not tossed in a box or a bag
to move or to goodwill
steps onward, upward, down the lane
to move on towards goodwill
i hope. oh yes, i hope.

tonight: horizon

“Bravery is leaning into love.”
-Emily Wierenga (her exquisite blog, here)

This image, from summer? Sigh. Love.

wide horizon,
and sitting, chilled so pulling a sweater tighter
broad expanse,
and dreaming, filled so opening arms up wider
deep wonder
and believing, still so soaring ever higher
grateful dancing
and God, here, so I’m alive-r
grateful dancing
and God, here, so I’m alive-r

tonight: twenty. love matters.

we’ll wish along the Milky Way that time will never fly…
–Brand New Day, Orba Squara (listen here)

last night his knees pressed against the bathroom cabinets,
and I stood behind him and cut his hair
that wavy mop that first caught my eye in the prelude to our story fell to the floor
and I’d resisted this role, not wanting responsibility of destroying
the wild mess atop, but it needed doing
love in the shape of hands holding scissors,
our story yesterday

Saturday he raced his bike down South, but he drove home
so that Sunday he could wake up early and go with me
Sunday when I ran my own race, and he brought a bike and a map
he cheered me along the course
and he did this gladly, yielding sleep to cheer-leading, and he chose freely
love in the shape of feet peddling to chase a girl chasing a finish line,
our story Sunday

here I see we keep choosing each other
just two days that could have been any two days of us
we keep waking up to get-to-dos in this story, ours
and I keep finding myself wide-eyed in the midst of this truth
here we are, twenty months in with days and weeks of stories

learning love.
learning trust.
becoming, little by little, more us.

Maybe someday I’ll get back to regular blogging.

tonight: mud

“I love a God who makes mud on the Sabbath.”
-Trent Sheppard

I’ll wear this mud on my face from here to eternity
if it means sight for these blind eyes
because in wearing this mud, a reminder of this
God reaching down, reaching in, holding on
God making mud, setting free
hands letting go
feet running home
depth coaxing soul
life taking hold
this is the process of broken pieces
made whole
God reaching down, reaching in, holding on
God making mud, setting free

I do believe; help my unbelief.

tonight: oh this? itislife.

“It is not length of life, but depth of life.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

oh this? it is life
with turns unexpected and twists dramatic
with soft-spoken hopes and bone-jarring fears
with a yieldedness (or not) to grace
and a drifted-ness from doubt to faith
with a quiet, quiet, quiet way that stops my stumbling

bread, cup
broken, bought
death, life
redemption (always)
aware or not
incarnation and oh,
resurrection

and oh, this? it is life
and oh, here? here I am
alive

tonight: sunday morning and coffee…

“Each morning when I awake, I experience again a supreme pleasure-that of being Salvador Dali”
-Salvador Dali

Sunday morning and coffee and prayers
a walk with the dog canopied under cool and blue
quiet is the early
grateful is the heart
awakening, awakening, awakening
this: grace
Sunday morning and hope and wonder
a recognition of new mercies this morning
steady is the faithfulness
grateful is the heart
awakened, awakened, awakened
life: gift

This I know: God is near.

tonight: we memorize places

“The beckoning counts, and not the clicking of the latch behind you.”
-Freya Stark

we memorize places
letting them smooth rough contours and ragged edges
breathing newness in the shift from city to skyline of sky
longing for more
we retrace faces
yearning for years of moments, sacred and precious
lingering on pages of everyday, passage of time
hungry for more
we leave behind traces
of hope and of glory
of this better story
of new every morning
we live; this is more

tonight: the end. is not the end.

Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.
-C.S. Lewis

it’s the not yet part of now that catches up
yanking hard breath out of lungs
if feet don’t ever recommit to finding way to ground(edness)
on days unexpected or hard
it’s the not yet part of now that
infuriates and frustrates and vacates wonder
if left to it’s own or allowed a full stop
on days when harsh words slip and kindness slumbers
when disease destroys and healing falters
when brokenness shatters that which seemed to be getting better
it’s the not yet part of now that wearies
but
now, hope
now, faith
now, love
now, grace
now, circumstances do not define
now, heart, please constantly realign
because this dim glass is not all
this now holds the reality of this whisper, this call
we hold hope open-handed now, a kingdom we stand in, full
and enthralled, this promise: now and not yet
the end. is not the end.

tonight: these stars in my eyes

“The solution of the problem of life is life itself. Life is not attained by reason and analysis but first of all by living.”
-Thomas Merton

Well, I’ll not claim perfection, thank you very much, but I will claim life.
Oft pushing through the shadows, determined chasing down the light looks like
in the midst of the spills and messes, letting go without defeating
then ever, ever, ever strengthened stride.
With the sun tomorrow rising I’ve got these stars in my eyes-
this anticipation is not the slightest bit hyped-
It’s the wonder of a child, loved, forehead kissed and whispers, quiet, “good night.”
It’s deep roots and wide wings and solid ground and far flight.
It’s slumber rested and enemy ignored and wonder flaming from inside.
It’s hope and redemption coupled, dancing, and I will claim life.

tonight: early morning run

“Running is real and relatively simple…but it ain’t easy.”
-Mark Will-Weber

the morning, quiet
the stillness, settling
the work, habitual or maybe compulsive or somehow necessary
the work, wanted
though the heat attempts to suffocate delight
only momentarily success then a turning
thoughts wander to resurrection
and the more-ness of it all
settling there hopeful, hopeful
and the sureness stirs anticipation
sweat glistens in the light
trickles down testifying
the body’s effort:
this daily work, a one-two rhythm,
ground pounded and life strengthened,
pushing back death with every step
this choosing of life alive
cooling a soul
the morning, quiet
the movement, awakening
the work, believing

I love N.T. Wright and how he makes me camp out on resurrection. If you haven’t you should read him. Start with Simply Christian.