Monthly Archives: May 2020

Hallelujah, Great Physician

Here as my flesh
Wrings my sleeping hours
I breathe in peace,
Considering the flowers
Of grace bloomed
Through my many years,
Pushing through topsoil,
In the sweat and struggle and fears,
You cultivated an orchid
In a landfill.
I turn to the sun,
And You warm me still.
You are so very good.
Who could compare?
With simple words
You dredged despair,
And transformed the slime,
The loss, the rubble
Into a home
Free from the troubles
Inherent in the origins-
You made a sum
Greater than the parts,
Because of our plus One.
Who could have seen
In those days of unfolding
The whole, intact beauty
You continued molding

From our broken pieces-

Hallelujah, God of Kindness,
And may You always be celebrated!

Closed Doors and Open Prayers

I don’t want to take anything from anyone,
Except their idols,
And the years wasted
Tending abandoned temples
In a darkened land,
The shadow proves the sunshine.
I lay in the sensate awareness
As a frangible child
And supine in a puddle
You drown.
Addicts bite
When you touch their stash
Of chemical responses
As graven images
But You led me out,
And taught me to stand.
Men prescribe the wrong medicine;
The true remedy of which
I’m living proof
Is hidden in plain sight:
Bold faith in Your word,
Untethered to the weights
Of human compensations.
Life’s too brief
To preach to gnashing teeth
And hands clasped
Over ears that refuse to hear,
And You lead me out again-
I will not forget
Where I began, why I am here,
All these years after my death
Redeemed by Your kind intention-
Grace as a burning coal
Forcing motion
Enabling no sins, but
Crippled legs learn to stand
Inside their infirmities;
I run to eternity,
And on the way to Jerusalem
I do not pack the household gods.
I strip the altars I find
In the lofty places
Right under Your nose,
Because You’ve tenderly shown
They are foul death to us all.
There’s an organic soil
Cultivating health,
And overlooked by the self-wise,
The self-absorbed, the self-made men
Whose structures pave the soil
They grew out of,
And I don’t fault them all;
I hand them over to their desires,
And Your wisdom.
I strip away these layers…

And what remains?
Fish on a beach.
Sweating alone in a garden.
Sandals road-worn.
A family found.
Moments planted, not hoarded.
Life abundant in micro-units,
And may I follow You-
Lay down my own nets,
Take up my cross,
And pound the earth
With willing feet
Bearing out the gospel
As You did.

If You are willing,
Make us well.
Lead us.
Defend us.
Teach us to resist assault,
Temptation, and inertia,
Stepping forward in intimacy:
A second language
Far from fluent, but framed in affection-
Teach us, Teacher.
We strive to bow the knee
To You alone,

God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Leaving Room

I don’t need goodbyes.
They stay crisp, preserved,
Since some folks can’t handle them,
And some don’t deserve ’em.
Separations lined up like shots,
Fast and silent, down the hatch,
A lightning round
Awaiting stealthy dispatch
And the silence killed
The little bit left alive
That tiny new thing
That might have survived
If selfish sins
Weren’t treated as holy relics:
Velvet ropes protecting idols
Eternally derelict
Self-consumed and consuming
And those they claim to seek
Cannot fill their hungry guts
Pouring the blood of the meek
In deceitful rage
On the idol’s throne
A scene so revolting
They must be left alone
With the gods they chose
To repent someday, or die-
So I pick up my pack, slip out the back,
And whisper no goodbyes.


They put me on hold
And jazz
Swirled me away to brighter days
Soaking up the sunbaked sadness
Of broken living
so many generations in
It happens after the funerals
that moment you decide to begin again
And the world continues
Like it isn’t some strange new thing
Like it hasn’t noticed
All the black you’ve been wearing
In the summer sun
While the jazz plays on
They left me on hold
The days
That aged me.

Broken Teacups and Chipped Shields

Magnificent complexities!
This body that sprawls and flexes,
Breathes deep, bawls for necessities,
Excavates the keep and climbs the vertices,
And each piece fits into another
In set order, foot to knee to hip,
Mother and Daughter, Father and Brother,
But placement is less than kinship

Though one piece may not fit into another,
It need not imply other.

I am picking up the pieces out of the heap,
And they start clicking together
It might have to do with the company I keep,
And the storms I have weathered
If one member can employ what they are
and wound another, then placement matters
And for my design, to defer
Is to yield courage, to shatter

The hope indwelling immediate obedience, in meaningful connection
In the wilds of trust and His leading in the moment-

My moment has come; it’s time for me to trust
In the design He gave me,

And I trust Him.