Open Invitation

You rose from waters not yet formed
in the wind you had in mind.
Greeting all you created with cries
of deliverance and songs of gladness.
Giving love like a dog-- loyal to the end.

Evil you never thought of,
nor did it enter your mind.
But like a child planting
a garden you walked the fields
throwing seeds of life without reserve.

Your dance turns the earth upside down and
breaks it in two; a stumbling block
to all men: frustrating plans and
dinner reservations.
For we all must decide
to join the dance or leave angry.

Salsa Tourette's

My Salsa teacher tells me
I need to facilitate two brains at the
same time in order to be a good follower:

My logical brain that has memorized
the technical steps and practiced them
in discipline;

And a following brain whose sole
mission is to sense the slightest suggestion:
a lift of the hand, a shift of the weight to
signal a new direction and move there instead.

I think this is rather confusing. Won’t
the two brains always be at war
—the disciplined brain and the listening brain--
resulting in something akin to Salsa Tourette syndrome?

My dance partner laughs, “at least Tourette’s
would stop you from trying to lead.”

I ask for Death

Here is another poem about dying. haha. The next poem will be FUNNY....I promise...I need a little balance :) But first, here is one about death....death in Christ that is:

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I ask For Death

I ask for death-- you deliver.
It’s not like I thought it would be: friends
weeping, a thousand roses, poetry read.
It’s much harder: eating bricks of pride,
throwing up selfishness,
swallowing the fear of the God of Jacob
who promises to touch and revive
each of my bones.

When I’m dying I say stupid things:
"I don’t really like you, I don’t really believe
you, I don’t, really; really—
I don’t." Don’t listen to the strained
lies of a frightened woman facing
the unknown. My heart has never
strayed from your side—my hands
from your arm.

The Decision I Must Make Every Day Upon Waking

I lift the covers—rise.
set my feet on warm carpet;
For two minutes I stand—still
as a rock by the river—listening
to my mind as it starts up ten-thousand
trains at it's international railway station;

The old man is lying in bed—staring at
me, implying, “don’t leave me here, friend.”
Christ is in the closet—he’s a furry coat—with no
holes or tears yet--he looks brand new (although
He bought me years ago).

Still—one minute left—I stand between
the bed and closet door: The trains are
steering toward the one I left in bed but I know
the decision is mine--I am the conductor.

Still—thirty seconds—why is this
decision always so hard? I need the
coat, but the other guy is my best friend.
He seems to know me better—or at least I know him.

Still—done. No time left for thinking or train hopping.
I walk to the closet, put on Christ, leave the old man in bed.



Ephesians 4:
22that, in reference to your former manner of life, you lay aside the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the lusts of deceit, 23and that you be renewed in the spirit of your mind, 24and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth.

Galatians 7:
26You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, 27for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.

Romans 13:
14Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature.

Untitled

I stumbled on God and found a poem;
goes something like this:

leap leap leap!

*Referenced from “Writing the Australian Crawl” by William Stafford

A Waste

You didn’t make a scene
but made a waste instead;
A waste of gloriousness--
a glorious waste?
No crown, no court,
no jewels or robes.

God on earth was a waste:
a carpenter riding donkeys
and laughing with fishermen.
You didn’t make babies to
crown in your name--
you have no blood line to follow;
what a waste of power,
position and beauty.

Let me be a waste too then!
Let me be the best example of poor “planning,”
lower than every expectation—
a great disappointment.

Pour out my life unto death
if necessary.
Out of our anguish
light will blind.

Prosper our will
in your
my
hands.

Giving to others what
I do not have.

Forget my ministry, my
impact, my attempts
at leadership and fruit—
oh just let me be a despised root
of
like
you.

…and then Easter.

Your only chance...

Sometimes I write a poem that absolutely scares me. This is one of those. It puts fear in my every bone that I could speak such words-- and yet his lovingkindness entices me to.

This is Your Only Chance to Suffer

This is your only chance to suffer--don’t miss out!
When Christ returns there will only be rejoicing.
Your time of aching with him will be no more—
so do it now before it’s too late and there is no
more suffering ever again!

This is your only time to leave—soon they’ll only be returning home!
Hurry, before he comes back! There isn’t much time—
let’s go! Pack all your belongings and then leave them in
cardboard boxes on your front porch. Kiss your loved ones
and leave them too if necessary. This is the time
to leave! There will be no other chance.

This is the only moment you’ll ever have to pray—pray now!
Before you know it you’ll be speaking face to face—hand
in hand, inside-out, and you’ll no longer need to pray,
so pray while you still can! Jump into the uncertainty and thank
God for the mixed messages—of course their mixed! You’re mixed!
of flesh and spirit, of earth and heaven, royal child and seed
of adam—you are a confusing prayer—so be what you are and
pray with certainty that the uncertainty will end but it will end
because prayer ends-- so pray while you can!

This is your only chance to cry—weep now!
When Christ comes back-- when my husband returns--
there will be no more opportunity to shed tears, because
he will be in the business of wiping them away.
The time is short! Wail for yourself and others while you still can!
There will be no tears on your face when it is new—
this is your only chance to cry with Christ!
Soon, they’ll only be joy and extravagance and laughter!

This is your only chance to fast—fast now!
In just a moment, they’ll only be feasting!
This is a golden opportunity to deny food for a day
and say “I want to eat you instead.” – soon
you’ll be eating with him! So fast now, before
there is never again a lack of fullness or food!

This is your only chance to die! Die now! Run into
a spear if necessary—let your heart be pierced for Love,
for him who was pierced to be alone with you. Hold
a gun to your “plans” and play Russian roulette!
This is your only chance to join your husband in death,
for when he comes back, there will only be Life—so go die!

The Best Part

What I long to do most is theoretically impossible. I feel like
God is intentionally leading me down two opposite paths while
yelling into my mind contradicting words. But the pressure of
making a decision while wading in a pool of uncertainty and fear,
…is the Best Part!

The angels show up with lawn chairs to watch the cross section of the
second we live in before falling off the world--one way or the other.
The moment’s high request of faith shakes their heels like an earthquake.
Do they long to feel such uncertainty like us and yet wager all on a
man we’ve never seen who begs to wash our worries with our feet?
They are jealous of the secret that tried saints treasure most: the
anguish and fear of failing gurgling inside the bones,
…is the Best Part!

How could I be like Christ if I have never prayed, “Not my will,
but yours”? How could Christ be like me if he never made his mother
cry at what he knew he had to do? He tells me in the garden, “Regardless of
what you decide, I will stay up with you all night.” And when Peter,
like me, tried to stop the coming pain, Jesus said, “Put your sword
away! Shall I not drink the cup?” Perhaps He added softly: “This,
…is the Best Part!”

The power that comes with failing comes like an unexpected tornado;
when God shows up because we’ve said: “Nothing can be shown
without you showing-- I am a mole trying to dig a tunnel to the stars.”
That’s when all the power in the entire universe has your back because
you’ve acknowledged it doesn’t have a bone. And that moment, birthed
in the embarrassing weakness of Adam and the ability and love of Christ,
…is the Best Part!

Sometimes I think the only part of Earth I’ll miss in Heaven
is this failing flesh of mine, because the closest I can get to seeing
his face is remembering I am faceless. But the Joy of
Eternity will be better than all my glorious failures, because
He has promised on that day “we shall see face to face.” And He,
…is the Best Part!

Ephraim

When I was a child you
loved me.

Calling me out of my depression
over and over.

The more I heard my name, the
more I ran (away).

I forgot it was you who taught me to walk. I forgot
how gently you took me up in your arms and healed me
over and over.

Leading me on cords of kindness
in bands of love we walked.

Like a father, you lifted me to your cheek.
You even bent down to feed me.

I didn’t know it was you
I forgot.

And now I’ve been captured by depression (again).

I can faintly see the land
you promised me long ago—are you still calling?



*Hosea 11:3-5:
³ It was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
taking them by the arms;
but they did not realize
it was I who healed them.

⁴ I led them with cords of human kindness,
with ties of love;
I lifted the yoke from their neck
and bent down to feed them.

⁵ "Will they not return to Egypt
and will not Assyria rule over them
because they refuse to repent?

Childbearing

I try to give birth alone often.
Without sperm, without child, without
God. I push hard and like dry heaving
my womb gasps and thrusts, delivering
all I’ve been having sex with: “good” works,
law keeping, fear, guilt and condemnation;
conceiving chaff, begetting stubble--
giving birth to wind.

But God waits patiently to flood
my belly with living water, birth
Spirit conceived on Spirit, and
plant within my womb new seed.

“And she who was called barren is in her sixth month…”


*Luke 1:36
"And behold, even your relative Elizabeth has also conceived a son in her old age; and she who was called barren is now in her sixth month.

*Isaiah 26:18
“We were with child, we writhed in pain, but we gave birth to wind. We have not brought salvation to the earth; we have not given birth to people of the world.”

*Isaiah 33:11
“You conceive chaff, you bring forth stubble;”