The air —
Laden with care —
With guilts, not graces,
With long-gone places,
With regrets, what-ifs,
With laundry lists.
And then —
A gust of wind —
The Spirit comes
And speaks in tongues,
Slamming doors,
Awakening snores.
The lightning strikes —
And thunder rumbles —
The tension crumbles.
Then sweet release
Of pent-up rain —
God comes again.
His tender care
Dispels all fear.
All will be well,
All will be well.
Ah, the shade, on sultry day,
And wisp of wind against your skin.
Thank you, magnolia.
Thank you, styraciflua,
For braving winter wind and cold
‘Til summer — leafy arms unfold.
And water from faucet,
With ice cubes, too,
Or lemonade, or brown iced tea,
Down the throat, deliciously.
Without the heat, ‘twould be no pleasure,
Without the heat, we could not measure,
Blessed relief, after the heat.
What are memories for?
To haunt, to taunt, and still harass?
To calm, to heal, forgive at last?
What are memories for?
Connecting us to times long past,
Is memory true, or false, we ask?
To weave a story, to give God glory,
To dream a dream, or nightmare gory?
What are memories for?
To be a human, safe from danger,
Or so afraid — beware that stranger!
What are memories for?
Without memory, we cannot learn —
Life’s long lessons grow strong and stern,
And yet, through hardship, we are stronger,
In trials and tempests, fear we conquer.
Cottony clouds and lullabies,
Seagulls wings and loud crow cries,
Blustery winds and rustling leaves —
Wondrous — and a joy are these.
Birds a-flockin’, squirrels a mockin’,
Kitten cries and puppy sighs,
People, ‘spite their sins and lies —
Glory, though appearance belies.
Storm and calm, a laugh and tear,
Worry, confidence, faith and fear.
Things aren’t always as they appear.
Through it all, God must be near.
Lord, you made every human being in Your image.
Each person, no matter their color, economic status, or anything else,
Is precious in Your eyes.
Each person contains within them a spark of the divine.
Yet, we fail to see this. We fail miserably.
Many of those in power do not share their power,
Sometimes the rich do not share their wealth.
Or, even “good people” are unaware of the suffering of others.
The poor and the weak often despise themselves,
Not realizing their great value and worth.
Our nation is deeply wounded.
The wound is hundreds of years old.
Anger and frustration boil beneath the surface.
And yet, and yet,
When You change hearts, something new can happen.
Give us new eyes, new hearts.
If we have material wealth, let us share it with others.
If we have gifts of encouragement, of education,
Let us use them to lift others up.
If we are poor, weak, or feel powerless,
Let us not succumb to fear, discouragement, or despair.
Let us see others with Your eyes,
Not the eyes of corrupted man,
Who looks only at ways to bolster his weak ego.
Not the eyes that look only at the surface,
At outward appearance, possessions, or achievements,
But eyes that see Your beauty and goodness in each person.
Give us the courage to reach out to those who seem different from us,
And to accept their friendly overtures.
Heal our fears, worries, anxieties.
Challenge our prejudices, faulty beliefs, and hatreds.
Let those who stir up hatred of people be thwarted.
Let those who have been injured find the grace to eventually forgive,
For an unforgiving heart injures only itself.
Let justice be done for them.
We thank you for Your mercy to fallen mankind.
For without Your mercy, there is no hope.
Amen.
In wounded places, I sometimes dwell;
But yet, in a garden, I find all is well.
A man and a woman, a long time ago,
With God there beside them, in a garden did stroll.
Much later, our Savior, in deep agony,
Prayed — sweating blood — under a garden’s tree.
But, wonder of wonders, from death, did He not
Appear to a maiden? — “A gardener!” she thought.
Is heaven a garden? My heart seems to tell,
Such sweet heaven for me, in a garden to dwell.
I wear a mask
For your protection.
Simultaneously,
I escape detection.
But the lady
At the pharmacy
Still recognized me.
Oh joy, another face to see!
Written during the pandemic quarantine.
——————————————–
We cannot wander, as we were wont,
Nor visit with our brother,
Nor sisters far, embrace in arms,
For fear of causing them much harm.
Some journeys far, we cannot take,
And many meetings must forsake,
Just through a screen we sometimes meet,
When togetherness we seek.
Or walking in our neighborhood,
Six feet apart; we’re told we should.
Some friend of ours, perchance we meet,
With joy afar, we then do greet.
But what a gift we still do have,
Imagination is at hand,
All o’er the earth, and far beyond,
Imagination is our bond.
By rushing streams, we still can wander,
And mountain vales, both near and yonder,
And air so clear, takes breath away;
Still smell a wildflower bouquet.
Those friends and family that we miss,
For them we offer prayer, and kiss.
We think of them and offer prayers,
And hope that well go their affairs.
Let memory of all that’s good,
Bring us some joy, as so it should.
And bring to mind those happy times
That will return in sunnier climes.
