peaceful sentinel

noise and hurry like a distant hum
disturbs the peaceful grove
traffic below on busy streets
echoes of jet engines above
insistent carnival music winds up
ice cream truck peddling its wares
yet the tree is unmoved
except by the wind

over the months and years vandals came
leaving their mark in hieroglyphic paint
human attempts to cheat anonymity
scribbling something that can last
beyond their futile breath
ironic mortal strokes on living bark
yet the tree is unmoved
respecting only Immortal Hands

for a moment the world goes still
turning right-side up in peace
the tree reminding frantic creatures
that grasping and striving come to naught
eternity is close at hand, available
through no mere human effort
see the tree unmoved
honouring simply its Maker

poems for the board...at preschool...

February:
LOVE

what is this feeling
happy crazy churning
hoping I'm not alone
finding you on my mind
all the time...

March:
in the puddle

i am upside down
for the sky is at my feet
clouds drift by my toes
a bird flies up high in the depths
what new world i see
rippling with unfelt breezes
and unheard dreams
i decide to jump
find adventure in the other
but to my surprise
my feet just get wet

on extending grace

again my thoughts are percolating with the idea of extending grace and how as weak little humans we continually exert our limited control to refuse grace to one another, the shadowy grace (some picky theologians want to strictly use the word “mercy”) that echos true Grace--unmerited favor. 

two characters in my life have somewhat recently reminded me, in the negative, how i long to receive grace (there are probably more but those have glaringly demonstrated it). both choose often not to extend grace, instead insisting that i live up to an unrealistic standard of behaviour--often inexpressible as well--and when i fail, as i am wont to do in such an inevitable situation, they strike with all the self-righteous justification of one who sees that, yet again, i can never measure up. 

even as i feel the sting of their criticism, i realize that if they are truly self-aware it must be very hard inside their hearts. for them to refuse grace to others, they must live in some fear that the same will happen to them. living beneath the axe, as i know all too well (perfectionist that i am), is a dangerous and frightening place to dwell.

dwelling is just what i long to do. dwell in peace, security, and above all Grace. and while i cannot control what others think of me nor change them i can extend them grace and in doing so become better myself, more like the One who has given me Grace beyond anything i could ever hope to deserve.

what if we, immortally fallible as we are, stop keeping score. stop insisting that others build up a reserve of good deeds that we know never would manage to cancel out the wrongs inflicted? 

what if we, condemned ones set free, begin forgiving, begin loving beyond our limitations, beyond our human grasping?  

what if we, beggars befriended by the King, welcome and encourage, find hope and understand that “they know not what they do” and if they do, there but for the Grace of God go we as well?

what a world this would be if we shone this way...extending grace...

rain in july

in memory of Bill Daniel

sometimes things seem out of place
like a coat that no longer fits
or a rainbow on a hot day
the world still is turning
but the axis has shifted
it's July
it's hot
but there's rain pouring down my face
not a cloud in the sky but i'm blind
all this water in my eyes
your hand's not here to fix it
you can't turn this sprinkler off
June's gone
you're gone
and i find the world a bit smaller
the largeness of your affection gone
leaving me less secure
alone in this rainy sunny day
without your smile

traveling thoughts.

i enjoy flying, as you may know, and one reason is that once i'm through security a kind of peace sets in--i have no control over whether the plane will make it or not and in letting go there is freedom. does that make sense? and i do choose to put myself there--by buying the ticket--but i don't have a choice once i'm there. i can't switch flights very easily and i can't actually fly the plane.
this leads me to think on unconditional love, with my first thought being that we resist unconditional love because it reduces us to a place of helplessness, a place we were born into but spend our lives trying to forget. in that place we are held and cared for NOT on the basis of anything we do, simply on the merit of the One who loves us. and yet in that humble, vulnerable place we find a place of supreme joy as we are taken care of much better than we could ever do for ourselves. it is paradoxically humbling and uplifting.
it's akin to the joy i feel as i look at the ocean--fearful of it's terrifying depths yet dazzled by it's beauty. we do live in a world of paradoxes, yet therein lies the opportunity for faith. trusting the God who loves us unconditionally we can walk through life as Suhard says:
To be a witness
 does not consist 
in engaging in propaganda,
 nor even in stirring people up,
 but in being a living mystery. It means to live 
in such a way 
that one’s life 
would not make sense if God did not exist.

restless

i've got to get going
there's no air here
it's all gone stale
like yesterday's bread
i need something fresh
inexhaustible supply
a new day
a new way
sunrise

this road is familiar
though i've never walked it
i know each pothole
under my wandering feet
around each bend i keep hoping
You will appear
a new vision
a new horizon
dawning

i shoulder my pack again
say each goodbye
wondering if this time
it will be different
if somehow i'll find it
that illusive dream
a new love
a new peace
glory

oil or latex

these past few days i have helped paint and thought of some metaphorical similarities between painting and life, especially relationships. as i approached painting, i got things prepped--putting tape along lines, finding a bucket to work out of but not planning. i don’t think <>. my skills are basic, so i don’t really think ahead as far as all the possible taping, cutting, drop cloth placement, types of paint, surface prep, etc. so i think i’m prepared and i jump in. everything is going fine (to my mind) and then i hit a snag. usually this involves spilling paint, getting it on something that shouldn’t be painted, or conferring with an expert who gives me insight into how i did things wrong.

then, of course, there’s clean up. i do my best to get the paint out of the brushes, but many messes that occur during painting are not fixable. i smudge the paint on the rug and call it good, or with my finger attempt to wipe off the smear outside the line. with more practice, i know i could improve, yet i also know i lack both the desire to perfect my skills as well as the inherent talent. often, i then feel dissatisfaction with the finished product because i know it could be better and i see my failure glaring me in the face.

relationships are similar. i apprehend people fairly quickly, and am, i like to think, generally correct. then i jump accordingly. yet, i lack some skills to really relate and people, unlike paint, are not predictable. so when the inevitable happens--a mess--i hastily clean up--apologize, take responsibility--and then, alone, vow to avoid the imbroglio next time (which, of course, is impossible).