the clearing

let us go
and prepare a place
nestled in nature
an outpost of grace
a haven of rest
a sacred space:
a clearing

let’s abandon our storehouse
for a three-legged stool
and devote our life’s best
to better uses
we who have received much
who are we
to hoard this manna?

let’s build something that breathes
with acoustics
perfect for music,
laughter, stirring conversation,
and lifegiving silence
where a body can recompose
and a soul find comfort

let’s fashion a simple retreat
safe, sheltering, serene
impervious to worry
oblivious of time
near deep waters
always in view
and always inviting

let it be a place
to behold the endless heavens
far from city glares
where we’ll remember
just how many and how bright
are the stars of night
and take solace in our smallness

let it be a spring of peace
where all the senses
reboot, repair, recalibrate
where we relearn to celebrate
a thoughtful, loving Father
who commands rest
and encourages play

when tired from toil
ragged from running
exhausted by expectations
when the breathless cacophony
of life has emptied us
we will refill here
and bring others along, saying,

“let us go now, friends,
we’ve prepared a place
nestled in nature
an outpost of grace
a haven of rest
a sacred space:
The Clearing.”

February 2009

willpower

I get to decide
not what happens next
but how I respond
not the music
but whether to dance
not if tragedy strikes
but whether it will destroy me
not the words of others
but their power over me
not if love will last
but whether I will give my life for it
not the hour of my passing
but the joy with which I pass time

I did not choose
to enter life—
initially—
but it’s been mine to choose
every day since
and I am far
from finished

December 2008

fool’s errand

results
of my “I” exam
are in:
I’ve been 3 prescriptions off
for years
which explains
the blurred vision,
occasional running into walls
and the damnedest headaches
now I am hyper-aware
of the newness of these lenses
I’m editing all the texts
scrubbing all the data
I thought amounted
to stable premises
they seemed sturdy enough
close enough
but this ain’t horseshoes
hand grenades
or H-bombs
and it sure ain’t government work
this is much more dire
far more vital
nailing this
is no less crucial
than the fact of
4 well placed nails
that hold fast all of history
past present future
nails we all know
and don’t know
too well

all my realizations
every hint of satisfaction
at my understanding
of grace
the drumbeat of volunteerism
the gleeful giving
the increasingly rote nature
of worship
study
community
was just another work

until the premise
the grand unifying theme
is death
until I can be
perfectly at home
with the concept
the reality
that I have nothing to give
nothing to add
to either side
of the Divine Equation
that my greatest efforts
at sin and atonement
are inconsequential
only so much dust
until then
I will get the headaches
I will bump and beat
my head against walls
I will unnecessarily suffer
and cause
heartache
and I will be
not there
but just here
so achingly close

there is a quaint joke
that in a children’s Bible class
the right answer
to every question
is Jesus
until I master that
until I can digest
that grain of truth
until that seed
finds its purchase
until I realize
that becoming like a child
and acting like one
aren’t the same thing
I will keep saddling my camel
looking for a needle’s eye
to try to pass through–
truly a fool’s errand–
yet I am not yet
foolish
or childish
enough

January 2009

year end

year end
one last internal audit
before closing the books
on 52 weeks of work and play
(and that combination
we call vacation)
on tearful goodbyes
snapshots of joy
hilarious soundbytes
silent worshipful wonderment
and unexpected betrayals
on dubious victories
and questionable defeats
on close calls
missed calls
and persistent head-scratchers

one last longing look
at things I’d change
things I’d let go
and things I’d repeat
for greater emphasis
at lessons unlearned
principles that dug in, reseeded
and now germinate
in the heart’s winter soil
waiting to explode
in surprising shoots
in months to come
as strange hybrid plants
more resistant
to my attempts
at resistance

one squinting gaze
at what I hope
lies ahead
that I’ll learn
to tell the difference
between my better angels
and the darker ones
and recognize
which ones to dance with
and which ones to wrestle
which ones to ignore
and which to outright
show the door

one moment of wonder
whether next year
I’ll settle
a little deeper in
to my skin
not clenching my eyes
shut to the darkness
while I insist on sleep
nor fearing the light in me
that might peek out
not looking so hard
for my lover’s expression
to guide my own

tend, now
to the inevitable write-downs
write-offs
over-budgets
and missed projections
accept exceptions
expect more to come
the year is over
close the books
and be done

December 2008

intuition

whenever I stray
or walk purposefully toward
what I think to be
the boundary
between orthodoxy
and heresy
I find stark sameness
on either side
nothing overtly perilous
no terror in the landscape
just plain ordinary
hallowed ground
and divine dust
I see footprints
and a narrow path
that is unmistakeably paved
and stretches far
over the horizon’s arc
into tomorrows I’ve yet to tread
and, invariably, I shake my head
smile
wonder who drew this map anyway
and move onward
treading lightly
eyes wide open
tomorrow, another apparent boundary,
another map discarded
and joy in the journey

December 2008