Friday, September 28, 2012

It was death let chaos in, to seethe within my soul,
a roiling, writhing darkness threatening loss of all control.
And though my faith is grounded on unmoving solid stone
when I now look within me faith is a pebble, and stands alone.
Not nearly enough to anchor me, I drift and toss about,
and can only trust the pebble will stay though I fill with pain and doubt.
The One who has created all, whose image lies upon us,
has mercy more than we can know, and there I leave my trust.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

(On vacation, enjoying myself far from home, I wept one morning when I remembered the sadness, and these thoughts came.)

I believe that God will forgive me
as I am one of God's idiot children,
thinking God cruel in my moments of sadness,
thinking God should be honest and tell me
when my prayer is wasted,
not knowing how a good end would even be built,
but still I smile and gasp speechless
at the flame of a flower.
As good as blind when I try to see God
I seek past the pain for the warm embrace
but the idiot child cannot fathom.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Before it is time for me to leave there are people I want to see
for one last look, a hold of the hand, to carry in memory.
It’s autumn now, with leaves ablaze, they’re all busy night and day
preparing for winter. But I am not, for I am going away.
Departure is near, the road in sight, and I’m not sure where it will lead.
This place is home, and it’s all I’ve known; the future I cannot read.
So I’ll step out, with a certain doubt, and with curiosity.
But no regret; let fate be met. My spirit will be free.
-inspired by a text conversation with my oldest sister (“I’d like to visit with you before you fly to Vikingland.”)

Monday, September 3, 2012

The world does not care how much we miss you.
The world does not care
     that the pain is too much to live with.
But as long as the heart of a mother beats
     it will be true that somewhere
     it matters that sorrow is endlessly deep,
     it matters that we cannot stop thinking of you,
     it counts that you lived, and lived well.
(God's is the heart of a mother.)

Having passed through the furnace
we look at each other
with opened eyes.
Afraid to discover a permanent wound,
uncertain of what burned away and what's left,
but helpless to heal,
with our zeroful hearts.
To our tender ears how the words grated,
of God's perfect plan, God's miraculous rescues.
For some, the waters never part;
to some, the waters come rushing back over top of.
And we, we are changed, we are changed,
and do not discuss it,
still fragile, unsure of our standing position.