May 7th, Leschi
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Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
Vashon Hardware, Vashon Island, WA Rudyard Kipling begins his classic “If” poem, urging me to keep my head when all about me are losing theirs, and I’m certain my head–and its grey matter contents– will soon explode for the sums and ciphers impinging on the brain space I. do. not. have. This is a necessary…
Writing comes from listening, so I’ve taken quiet steps outside away from the loud to hear better. Eyes open this time to see AND hear–this– the delicate drops of fuchsia, ballerinas fluttering like so many upside-down firecrackers, fragile, full of beauty dropping feathery tendrils to the silent air.
Frequency There was always a tune in the heart of God A song that He sang over us. The melody came with a note from above A chorus from the Father of love. But the tune met resistance-titanium, stone Even water that blocked all the notes. Was everyone drowning, message nullified, absorbed? Perhaps the enchantment…
Overcome by the quaking power of God’s sweet presence Around the shoulders of friend-draped worshippers Across the room to the children raising, praising, lifting small hands Surrounded by incarnations of God in these multi-colored people Next to sweet-voiced sisters and deep-throated men, I’m looking~~eyes up and over and through the windows, past the summer-waving trees…
Well, it seems that wayanyway. Clean and all.Open, blank, unwritten on. And the smashing white/bluesky is limitless today.How unlike our skies to be thatway this day. But it is (a gift!Thank you, God.) SO, making the mostof a Beautiful Good ThingI will do what anyordinary human ought to do. Start well by cleaning the bathrooms…
I was thinking, Father, yesterday in worship, with my hands upraised in prayer and thanks, how like a container I’ve been this week. Empty, needing to be filled, a hollowed out space hollering for help. I’ve been stuck, stagnant, stewing by myself drowning in unmoving water. And you showed me, Lord, how like a…