Tag Archives: tonight

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.
Image

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.

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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