Quilting Bee

In a small town in the Central Valley of California careful hands piece together beautiful quilts. Many are sewn on machines but the art of piecing and sewing by hand is still alive and well. Hours and hours of intricate, patient work produce unique masterpieces of colors. Having not the patience nor skill I marvel at such creations yet find myself looking for a different quilt among the showroom treasures. No such quilt exists, though I've heard stories of how it's made. Piece by piece, old clothing--worn from years of loving use--is woven into a tapestry. The maker points to each square and tells a story: "this is from Granpa's old jacket. I still remember how it smelled of wood smoke as he pulled me up on his knee to show me the latest figuring he had whittled as he waited for the trash to burn." "This is from a baby blanket we had for my sister who only lived a few days." "This is from my favorite trousers that I wore hiking through the Andes mountains." As the owner of the quilt lies down to sleep each night, he wraps himself in memories, pieces of a life lived well. Though I have not such skill to lay down the squares that tell my stories, I ponder as I walk the small street of this quilting town how I too am piecing together memories to make a tapestry, a desire to have a life that is well done, good and faithful. 

at the end of nowhere

the rain is steady as my pulse
i'm here again out of step
even though my feet keep moving
laying my head on the rock
at the end of a weary day of running
from the mess i made myself
leaving friends i cannot face
pushing everyone else on ahead
while i lay down one last night
before i face my fears
loneliness a comfortable pain
in light of being known
hoping against hope it's not over
will this night hold glory
will i wrestle until He blesses
or see a ladder into heaven
or is it just another night
with another day of deception
that rolls one after the other
until it overwhelms me
why was i given two?
longing for a new story
for a new name
for a new hope
longing for rest from memories
what might have been
it's still raining
my heart's still beating
give me strength to lay down
at the end of nowhere
maybe find joy someday

hope chest

i have a treasure chest
gets bigger every year
so full of odds and ends
and things i once held dear

the times He bid me stay
the times He told me go
all that i've left behind
all those i used to know

i rarely lift the lid
afraid of what i'll find
the moth and rust's effect
what's buried in my mind

sometimes i stop to think
beyond my selfish woes
that something greater waits
if i trust the One who knows

and so i wrap with care
each loss, each gain, each scar
and turn my face towards morning
He's brought me safe thus far

after golden hour

i love the world
after the rain
vibrant hues refreshed
the setting sun renewed
keeping his tryst with night
all will be well
disfiguring dirt
washed away
like pretense in the face of truth
i love the look of joy
on the face of a child
seeing a friend walk in
such clean innocence
before the build-up
distrust obscures honest love
before they learn to hide
behind the fine
what if i laid down my mask
would you still choose to love
such high marks we set
for fellow souls at Calvary
when all i got was free
the price was paid
so i can forgive these scars
as He forgave His
and find each step
goes higher
unto glory

2016: tomorrow comes

there's those moments
cool water to thirsty lips
summiting on weary legs
embracing love at journey's end
when the world goes right side up
feeling with knees bent and arms high
maybe, just maybe, i will make it
my lungs still fill with praise
my heart still knows His whisper
all i have to do is trust
if He's not good i'm done
though the night grows long
i'm grateful for these stars
pinpricks of brilliance
moments i'm reminded to press on
i don't have to know my story
the Author knows my name
so thankful that He chose me
so joyful that He holds me
my face is set toward morning
as this new year is dawning
i am not who i was yesterday
by His grace glory's coming