Psalm 23:4 Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I'm not afraid when you walk at my side. Your trusty shepherd's crook makes me feel secure. -The Message translation

Is it because there are others
Held fast by fleece-gripping thorns
In this dark accursed valley,
That he hasn't come to me yet?
I know he will find me as promised.
(In the distance I hear all the flock.)
But alone here I cannot stop calling,
All my struggles availing me not.
Unable to see through the darkness,
I can find of my shepherd no sign.
Or can it be he, unknown, is near me,
My bleatings out-sounding his steps?
Though I listen my hardest, I hear nothing,
But I will not surrender the wait.
Much too soon to say he's never coming,
To wonder, did he forget?
I continue to call, sometimes loudly,
When thorns press more sharp and more deep,
All I know of the time of his coming
Is that it is only not yet.

I walked in the dusty pasture,
near drought, yet I hoped for refreshment.
Dry underfoot grasses crackled,
but a reddened leaf blazed with glory.
Stiff thistle pins threatened to stick me,
but their mauve thready blossoms were scented.
And in a patch milkweed called common,
a new-minted monarch began life.

Lament for a Son by Nicholas Wolterstorff
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A most painful book to read, resonating with the pain of everyone who has lost someone. P. 89: "Suffering is for the loving...In commanding us to love, God invites us to suffer." Something I also have come to realize.

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unfading and unfailing

the love past all loves

unknown to the unknowing

for whom we pray

for we may be they

we, worshiping in whispers,

while hearts shout out within us

from our own selves please save us

or hope have we none

forever dreaming of returning

to true home, weeping, yearning,

recognizing unseen parent

The Cradler of us all

Head: stone
Heart: ache
Your loss: too much to take
Life: long
We: left behind
You: always on our mind

Yesterday
And here I sit calmly reading the hours away,
While the pit of pain in me shouts, "It's wrong
that all goes on and he is gone!"
Today
I crack my ribcage open
before the eyes of God,
lay bare the burning embers.
the smoldering red hot fog,
expose the hidden torture,
the deep volcanic pain,
as all I have to offer.
Here waiting I remain.
I hold the two together,
can hardly stand the heat,
the God I call all-knowing,
my writhing roaring grief.

While walking back to the place where I am staying,
I was heckled by a raven hidden in a leafy treetop.
First she made a rattling sound,
like when I used to clothespin cardboard onto my bicycle spokes,
but I don't do that anymore.
Then she made a clucking sound,
like when I used to prod my horse into a gallop,
but I don't do that anymore.
Then she flew away, but I don't...

 Photo: A leak window at Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Gardens, Vancouver BC. For light to leak in.

Hidden Grief
I'm in that dingy part behind the building,
between the chain link and the concrete wall,
where the pebbles and the weeds are scattered,
where the wind-blown bits of small trash fall.
And I walk in my secluded passage,
rough and narrow though it may be,
passing open doors and open windows
and I see them there. But they can't see me.

Because the shine!
If we could look at everyone as us, and not the other,
what kindness we would feel for all, what wonder we'd discover!
If we could let go of the wall between the lost and the pardoned
and lift forgiveness heavenward and soften hearts long hardened,
what love would flow, what tidal waves of joy would sweep among us,
and there could be enough to share, they wouldn't keep it from us.
If we could let go of the need for having all the answers
and for knowing we held all the truth in our exclusive dances,
how our hearts would open wide in welcome as we traveled,
a weaving pattern as we go, bright threads together raveled.
If we could raise our eyes and hearts and see God's arms are open,
accept forgiveness and extend the love for which we're hoping
to all the people in the world, and so become united,
be one close family in the wholeness for which we were created.
Because the shine.
There is the way that chooses sides, accepted and rejected.
It may be time for another way: God's love for all, reflected.
Because the shine!

The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A young man becomes an old man. In the course of his life he experiences joy, sorrow, pride, shame, productivity and wastefulness, but he is always most fully himself when he is in contact with his land.
Halfway through this book I was inspired to go outside one evening and till a neglected part of my garden, and as my tiller broke the ground and the weeds and grass turned over and the rich aroma of the moist soil reached me, I thought, "Thank you, Pearl S. Buck, for inspiring me, and expressing that connection with the soil that is a part of so many of us."

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