Showing posts from June, 2012

The least is me

It seems a secret sin to think the words, but I am weak today as they move past my lips.  He is next to me in bed; the glow of blue screen our only illumination.  He hears and falls silent.
"Did you hear me?"
He looks at me all eyes, and I hide in the shadow.  "Yes."
The insides squirm in the discomfort of being known.  "Why aren't you saying anything?"
His gaze remains while I grow small, "I'm thinking."
Yes, no doubt he ponders disturbing words straight shot from lips he loves.  I worry now that it was too much to share, but isn't that what being One is all about?  Sharing it all?
It was true after all, my words the work of poison building up in my system.  I am tired.  Weary of giving my all to the thankless.  Week after week I swallowed the bitterness down whole until it choked me right to the point of spiritual death.  Here I lay gasping for breath, for life.
But he is not my Savior!
Spoken words fail him this night, but I know h…

Burning heart

Oh how it wishes, one heart in steady beat pounding out this burning desire to be made new.  I know how it must move through tested fire and come out dripping sparks of pain, and it hurts to touch that blackened part of me with nerves exposed.

And I am waiting. . .to become pure gold.
I will bring that group through the fire and make them pure. I will refine them like silver and purify them like gold. They will call on my name, and I will answer them. I will say, 'These are my people,' and they will say, 'The LORD is our God.'" Zechariah 13:9

In all this waiting and burning and testing, I cry.  I cry out in whispered breath to be saved from all of this. From myself!  No tear-filled ocean can power wave over flames and extinguish all that must burn right down to nothingness.I pray that barren Hannah prayer with silent lips moving, and only God can interpret the groans.

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new perso…

Daddy's home

(Daddy's home!)  I welcome rain. Great, groaning tree bats window pane And lightning out there sparking wild Can't light a fear within the child. Hushed quiet now; that moon outshines illuminates on profile line. A face invites with wide-eyed sight As glowing beam breaks up the night Grown shadows on the painted wall Won't steal one wink, no not at all Nor creaking all about the room No thief or monster be assumed. Ears peaking up while floorboards groan Can't be all bad when Daddy's home.

common day

Passing through one common day With never eye to see How small the moments seeming once Would settle down in me And had I know its air would haunt This spirit down to core I'd stopped to savor plain the day Not wishing once for more


Children have never been very good at listening to their elders,  but they have never failed to imitate them. James Baldwin

I've known it truth, the way they pattern themselves.  The little girls wearing their mama's shoes, wholly too big for their still tender feet.  The young boy patting evergreen foam to soft face and grinning wide as he swipes it smooth again.

It happens here.  They, wide-eyed, see me writing and erasing.  Typing, adding photos, publishing posts about our lives.  They read them too, the little ones who can.  Soaking it in, the stories I've come to tell in my own way about them all.  The poem has also found a home here, printed well in uneven strokes with shrubs of pink eraser worming up the page.

And I smile when I see their efforts, as it settles into me.  This pattern of life holds me still with child imitating parent, and I feel heavy with the responsibility of it all.  It's clear, like glass and just as fragile, the power I hold to shape their…