grey eventide

the light has changed as the grey sky almost 

imperceptibly takes on a shimmer as if the sun 

no one saw is yet gleaming a farewell to the day 

without rain and a haunting angst steals through 

the air as the road bends and the trees shiver 

almost as if one could reach beyond this moment 

and capture something lost or maybe forgotten 

though it seems that i can always remember what 

he said when i least expect it like a grey day with 

barely a hint of blue it still takes me by surprise 

with a pang like the unexpected twinge of a scar 

long-healed the remembering while painful reminds 

me that i am alive and i survive in spite of the pieces 

i've left behind and while his words might whisper 

through the air at such a twilight moment when i'd 

rather think about tomorrow and the coming spring 

i can lay each word back down and turn my face to 

catch the last rays of a day that was new and one i did 

my best to live well and find the hope to keep heart in 

a life that has grey days with the hint of glorious hues 

rest

to and fro

the hammock swings

long shadows tell

summer sunlight

ending soft

harsh rays tempered

by dying light

as cooling night

greets the sun

i feel the weave

each thread unique

gently cradled

where work ceased

the creak of pins

like distant strings

tell of a world

where hope reigns

i'm lying still

this summer eve

with eyes half closed

in thoughts of peace

beyond the gate

a world awaits

a clamouring throng

held at bay

i only hear

the distant roar

like waves of foam

crashing on sand

i rock and rock

each movement sweet

i'm staying here

alone at rest

my true heartbeat

be still and know

thoughts on borrowed time

 excerpt from an old journal entry

what does it mean this idea of borrowed time? of living on borrowed time? the premise being that the thing that kills you has already been set in motion; that your days were numbered and they ran out but you're still living. but borrowed from who or where?

a search yields little fruit as to the historical footprints of the two words now joined, but it strikes me that in this mad game we call life every breath of every being is borrowed time. grace. borrowed from His blood. from our first gasp we exist under a death sentence and every moment is an opportunity lent us to plead the blood. 

to recognise that our life is not our own. to breathe in grace and breathe out gratitude. we can never repay the loan but we can make good use of it. if I truly understood or saw the remaining grains of sand what would I do differently? how would I spend such a debt? what words would I say or leave unsaid?

borrowed from His blood. or could I see each moment as a heartbeat closer to time never ending? life borrowed from life everlasting--the chance to choose to never die or spend borrowed time until it runs out. what incredible mercy is mine.

Retail Therapy

The shopkeeper's glad it's raining

the folks straggle in from the wet

buy trinkets and things

from places unseen

in hopes they might travel there yet.

The shoppers are dreaming of sunshine

of gold coast and blue coast and west

throw coins in the till 

like a deep wishing well

and pray for a chance just to rest.

The days go around like a circus

the same show for different eyes

each new little thing

that comes into the ring

they greet with authentic surprise.

The shopkeeper closes up tight

he thinks of a day without rain

when sorrow and sighs

and customer whys

no longer are his to maintain.

Tomorrows dance away in his mind

he wonders how far he could go

if all he had saved

from yesterday's rain

was more than just melted snow.

Sticking Points and Straws

Rich sang "we are not as strong as we think we are" and the adage rings true. Sure, stories of heroism and fidelity abound but in reality we give up quite easily. Superficially commitments may seem cast-iron yet even the most dedicated are probably avoiding working on things that grate one against the other. Many would relish a trip to the dentist rather than tell their boss or their dear friend how much the way they talk to them bothers them. The rugs in the living rooms of our houses are becoming couches with all the avoided issues we sweep under them.

One might ask why when we're all in the same boat, all imperfect, all growing, all deep down wanting to learn how to love better, do we run away from the very thing that would help draw us closer to each other and give us the very thing we desire. The nuanced answer looks different to each wounded heart but I suspect that it's tied to the facet of mistrust: we doubt that when push comes to shove the other person would still choose to press in, to love, to stay with us no matter what.

Those sticking points and straws that break the camel's back are not just spectres that haunt the faces of our loved ones. We all have the metaphorical lines we've drawn in the sand, the things we promise ourselves we would never tolerate. We hide, run, fight, the very ones trying to find common ground because they come packaged in their own imperfections and relational quirks. What if we were the people we desired to know across the table? What if we chose to take a deep breath and not run, not fight, not hide our broken hearts but say in spite of the disappointment, in spite of the aches I will love and I will stay? 

OtR sings, "I will listen long as I am able/There's no place I'd rather be." We were born to love. This world and our brokenness fights the capacity until we give up all too quickly. It's not just fireworks and moonbeams. It's staying the course, holding each other when it's easier to let go. That's who I want to entwine my life with. Daily the temptation comes to just skip it but that's also who I want to be. Past the point of giving up let's find the Reason to stay.

nevertheless

the wind at her back

a storm in her sails

half-drowning she presses on

the blood on his lips

a bruise on his chest

he swings a desperate fist

time running out

the doctor's grim word

yet the lungs keep filling with air

declined yet again

the wallet is bare

but hope for provision comes

leg crushed beneath

fire everywhere

and still he crawls along

nevertheless

all hope seems lost

something is rising strong

nevertheless

lift up your eyes

the day is about to dawn

nevertheless

against all odds

tomorrow becomes today