By faith

Stretch the reach of my heart
beyond where my arms touch.
Open the eyes of my heart
to what my sight misses each day.
Make me sigh, long, yearn
for the things unknown to stomach or tongue.

This world is less real than You,
but too many times I choose the lesser things.

So many counterfeit paintings
are hung in the gallery of life,
pleasing to the sight...
Let me see beyond the surface.
Be the Light who shines
to reveal Your fingerprints.

Itching ears only need something
to scratch them. Anything will do.
May my ears incline to hear the best things,
the songs that echo from You.

Keep me hemmed in.
Please do not let me choose
to walk away,
to stray,
or to wander.
The boundaries of Your wings
are sufficent for me,
for Your embrace shows Your care.

A poem-psalm

Help me eat my daily portion.
Let it taste good upon my lips.
Let me savor its sweet flavor.
Help me know it’s just enough.

Your grace is made perfect
in my every weakness.
But this weakness lasts beyond today.
And I fear I will not be strong enough
to chew the portion You have assigned.

But You said
I can do all things—
even let my hands drop
and stop striving,
even be still and know You’re God,
even depend on this day’s grace,
even keep from worrying about tomorrow,
even find the strength that is Your joy—
through Christ who strengthens me.

So I will rejoice in this day
that the Lord has made.
So I will sing and praise His name…
for He has never forsaken me,
never left me lost in shame.

I will say that He is great,
that His ways are always right,
that He knows the way I take,
And when I come out on the other side,
this face will shine with radiance.
I will be like refined silver,
reflecting His holy light.

~~ 11.1.05 ~~

Before building an eben ezer

Looking up from the pit
dug by guilty hands,
the tired prisoner sees
a ladder extend down
and then rest on the muddy bottom.
Does he dare
to climb out
of this hole
into a sky-blue-covered world
of unknown?
Should the days become hazy,
will the once-imprisoned
wish himself back
down here?
Are there dangers worse
than this stifling air
that steals
every hopeful breath?
El-Shaddai, You wait,
silently cheering him on
to put one foot
on that first rung,
just to start
going
somewhere.
El-Roi, You want him
to choose
the light.
Too long he's choked on
imagined disappointments.
It's time to climb to the future,
to get on with moving on.

written 12.1.03;
revised 8.29.05

Jehovah-Nissi

Already the story unfurls itself
like a banner proclaiming victory
before the war is over,
before the last battle is engaged.
Already the counting of the healed
is sung as heroes' ballads,
before the shots have fired,
before the blood starts flowing.
Time is of no matter;
matter bends to eternity's will.
In the heavens the battle rages ever,
and the enemy's defeat is ever close.
Here in this shell, this burned-out shelter,
a candle glows, a promise flickers.
Already the rebuilding begins
like a people's returning joy,
before all is destroyed in firestorm,
before the walls are crumbled by Love.

written 12.1.03;
revised 8.29.05

The beginning of a Love story

From across miles
of dry dusty desert
I came to find Your power,
expecting You to return with me;
but You spoke a word
and at that hour
healing arrived...
When I ask for food,
You give me Bread,
more hearty than any I could bake.
You lay a feast at a stop in the road.


Again, another poem in progress. Thoughts? Recommendations for how to continue and finish it?

Muy cansada hoy

a stack of pancakes sopped
soggy with maple syrup and a dollop
of butter that melts a well,
a gooshy pancake center...

too much sugary thinking...
deliciousness that isn't so nutritious.
too much fatty thinking...
too much of an excess,
too much coating...
though the wheels of grey matter
needed some greasing.
some oil, some is just enough...



Author's note: I've given myself permission to put poetry drafts here, especially in the hopes that comments will help spur me forward or in another direction. My writing is often a response to things others say or to what is happening around me. It's my interior monologue of sorts, sometimes with a "soundtrack." I don't purport to be Homer or Shakespeare. This stuff is what it is...and is what it becomes.

Whenever I have Harvest Grain 'n' Nut pancakes at IHOP, the stack arrives with a huge dollop of butter in the middle that creates this soggy well. (I love the mushy part of not-quite-cooked bread products, so this sogginess is delightful to me!) Put maple syrup on top...and augh! augh! That's some good stuff! But I know that as tasty as this dish is, it's not good for me, for anyone for that matter. And that's what I think my thinking has been lately.....not as "healthily" productive as it could be. It's hard to explain---that's why I like to use the metaphor.

Thoughts on how to get this poem closer to what I'm trying to say?

Door Quotes

At my alma mater, a favorite professor posted on the outside of her office door funny or insightful quotes from her students. Pink Kitty and I know these as "Door Quotes." Over the years since college, we've experienced some more linguistic gems that deserve a home, so from time to time, I'll post them on this blog.

Here are some from August 2003:

JRMama: "I'm just speakin' out the side of my head."

Unknown: "Picture the craption."


Yes, folks, I'm not spur-uh-chul all the time. ;o)

Love to all!

Magnetic Poetry

Bits o' things composed on JRMama's fridge one evening:

ferocious desire

could this be ... caramel coffee?

squirming child

salt of the earth

remember this night of stars

voices pierce the night

poetry devours

your secret smile melts me here & there

a woman who wakes her man with lingering looks {ahem...Bridget?}

soft blue-green summer dreams

moon bleeds transluscent eternity {OK, feel free to retch}

perhaps she always blushes next to him

when will eyes embrace

vast velvet universe {no, not Elvis}

delicious dirt {ever have a dirt cup for dessert?}

candy cloud castle

A soft place to fall

when David was in the cave
when Daniel was in the lions' den
when Jeremiah was in the mucky cistern
when Elijah lost heart
when Anna lost her husband
when Nabal was an idiot
when Bathsheba lost her child
when Hannah was barren for years
when Jonah was in the big fish
when Moses and Aaron were blamed
when Joshua and Caleb were the believing minority
when Sarah was desired by Abimelech
when Leah went unloved
when Rachel was barren
when Gideon was skeptical
when Saul was troubled
when Adam and Eve lost Abel
when Jacob brought on his brother's hatred
when Joseph was in jail
when Paul was afflicted
when Peter denied You
when Mary Magdalene couldn't find You
when Rahab waited for the walls to fall
when Naomi lost her men
when Ruth gleaned in the fields
when Mary was with child
when Joseph was contemplating a quiet divorce
when Zechariah burned the incense
when Peter was in jail
when Paul and Silas were in jail
when John was alone on the island
when Noah was mocked
when Abraham set out for the promised land

You were there.
You were their soft place to fall,
when everything around them
was too quiet,
too loud,
too dry,
too mucky,
too chaotic,
too lonely,
too uncertain,
too painful,
too unfaithful,
too real.

when the rent is due
when the baby has a rare disease
when the brother has died
when the mother doesn't know anyone anymore
when the father loses his job
when the cousin turns to drugs
when the aunt has a heart attack
when the tsunami, the hurricane, the earthquake destroys
when the storm wakes us in the night
when the doctors are baffled
when the cure is still in the distant future
when the money is tight
when the spouse doesn't understand
when the date went sour
when the job gets boring
when the sock goes missing
when someone forgot to use fabric softener
when the toilet overflows
when the fridge goes kaput
when the car won't start
when traffic is horrendous
when the milk is curdled
when the toast burns
when no one wants to sign the cast
when the kids are taunting
when the inspiration is lacking
when the energy peters out
when the decision is difficult
when there are too many options
when someone was unfair
when a reputation is tarnished
when lies reign in the world
when evil seems to be running rampant

You say...

"Do not be afraid."
"Peace, be still."
"Receive."
"Keep on going."
"Don't worry. These things will be provided."
"I will come."
"I will return."
"I have been there."
"I know how that feels."
"I am with you."
"I know you."
"I love you."
"I AM THAT I AM."

And that is all we need to know.

An old hymn

I found an old hymn in The Baptist Hymnal (1991) whose text resonated with me. Since it's in the public domain, I think it's OK for me to post the lyrics here.

Hymn 270: No, Not Despairingly

No, not despairingly
Come I to Thee,
No, not distrustingly
Bend I the knee:
Sin hath gone over me
Yet this is still my plea:
Jesus hath died.

Ah! mine iniquity
Crimson hath been,
Infinite, infinite
Sin upon sin:
Sin of not loving Thee
Sin of not trusting Thee,
Infinite sin.

Lord, I confess to Thee
Sadly my sin;
All I am tell I Thee,
All I have been:
Purge Thou my sin away,
Wash Thou my soul this day:
Lord, make me clean.

Faithful and just art Thou,
Forgiving all;
Loving and kind art Thou
When poor ones call:
Lord, let the cleansing blood,
Blood of the Lamb of God,
Pass o'er my soul.

Then all is peace and light
This soul within;
Thus shall I walk with Thee,
The loved Unseen;
Leaning on Thee, my God,
Guided along the road,
Nothing between.

Words: Horatius Bonar


"Not distrustingly bend I the knee"---wow, that we might bend the knee yet be distrusting. Let that not be! Oh, break my heart...not shattered into pieces...but break the stiff-necked pride...that I bend the knee...and may I know that You are not hateful to me but are disciplining me in love, as the perfect father would.

"let the cleansing blood...pass o'er my soul"---spiritual Tide with color-safe bleach! When I read "cleansing," I often think of a scrub brush rubbing painfully into my skin. But it isn't that. No! Remember the painting on the lintels of the Hebrews' doors the lamb's blood? The pain was carried by the lamb. It might have pained the person slaughtering the lamb to kill a dear animal, but we don't know. We do know that our Savior suffered agony, and those watching Him suffer pain and death must have suffered much emotional pain...perhaps to the point of some physical pain. But look! The cleansing blood does not scrub into our skin, and the hurt of change occurs when we do not cooperate with God. (Yes, life events can be painful, but that's not the same as spiritual cleansing.) Hmm...something to ponder further.

My favorite part: "Leaning on Thee, guided along the road, nothing between." I have this image of having my arm in the crook of His arm, like lovers do, and leaning on His shoulder and on His chest. No tension between us. No distrust. No coldness. No distance. Unblocked communication. It's a beautiful thing.

Mystery of Presence

How You affect us, Father!
How You change us with just one glance
filled with pleasure in Your children!

You fill Your people with joy
and they are glad.
You are bright with holy light.
Those who have learned to acclaim You,
who walk in the light of Your presence, O LORD,
are blessed
because their hearts are at rest,
loving with actions and in truth,
creating more joy among the family of God
and increasing the gladness when in Your presence.

Teach us this truth, Father.
May we taste and see that You are good.

(adapted from Psalm 16:11; 18:12; 21:6; 89:15; 1 John 3:19; and 1 Thessalonians 3:9)

Unfailing Love

"What a [person] desires is unfailing love."
"Many a [person] claims to have unfailing love,
but a faithful [person] who can find?"
---Proverbs

*

How can You satisfy
when I have been Gomer,
running to other lovers
whose cries seemed louder
than Yours?

*

Chesed:
O this word
that sums up
love that smiles on us,
comforts us,
causes us to rejoice
because it lights our way,
redeems us not partially
but fully—
love that is
priceless beyond measure,
never absent,
that governs God's mercy,
surrounds us like a city's walls,
keeps us from being shaken.
When we trust in Him,
in His unfailing love,
we have His full attention,
and He delights in us.
Because of Him,
who is unfailing, covenant love,
we are soothed, cherished,
loved deeply by the perfect Father
who holds us tightly
yet tenderly.

ej 2003; revised 2005

More on "Take Time to Be Holy"

This text comes from the final draft of the devotion I shared during choir rehearsal in October 2003.

Come away, My beloved, to our meeting place
beside the cool waters.
I delight in your hand clasped trustingly in Mine.
Your face shining with hope in Me
is beautiful, My child.
You have been seeking Me
wholeheartedly, desiring to learn
My ways so that My thoughts, words, and actions become yours.
I long to tell you great and deep things
you've never known before.
Yield to Me and your springtime will be now.
The blossoming of holiness can begin
even in this season when dry leaves fall to cool, moist ground.
Do not fold up the petals of your living
and determine not to open up till a different spring appears.
The sun is here and shines on every part;
the well flows up and will water a thirsty heart.
So then may songs burst forth and dances may celebrate to a joyful tune.
Spring in you is here and life can be green under an autumn moon.

Pictures of Prayer

This text comes from a draft of a devotion I wrote on 10/8/03 to share before our church's adult choir rehearsed the approaching Sunday's anthem, "Take Time to Be Holy."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It is early evening. The sun is slowly slipping down to the horizon in the west. You tug on the lamb's lead to persuade him away from some dry scrub brush. He follows you, the little bell clunking as he walks.

You enter the courtyard, passing through the fabric gate. The priests stand near the altar of burnt offerings and the laver, carrying out their duties. One of their helpers takes the lamb from you, and you bow. The sweet smell of incense lingers in the airafter a breeze blows from the tabernacle through the courts.

You pray as you watch the helpers and the priests perform the rituals given years ago, repeated day after day through generations of God-fearers. You marvel at these things God has instructed you and your people to do and sometimes wonder why and wonder if it would be OK to ask Him.

Now you smell the aroma of your lamb burning on the altar. You continue praying. May it atone. May it atone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It is evening. The sun has slipped down to the horizon on the west. You and your friends are following the Master through the Kidron Valley.

You hear the shofar trumpets blare. You smell the fragrance of incense, the aroma of burnt offerings, and the stench of blood running from the temple. You know that the city of Jerusalem is crowded with Passover worshipers.

You look at the Master walking up ahead. He is singing with you, sometimes with a faraway look you cannot describe. You think about all the events you have experienced with Him and try to compress them all into a single thought, but you cannot grasp the meaning of them.

Then you remember something one of John's followers told you once. John had said, "Look, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world." What did it mean? And what does the Master mean when He keeps saying He will destroy the temple and in three days build it again?

One of the followers comes to clasp your hand, and you put aside your musings as together you raise your voices in song: "This is the day that the LORD has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Looking back on a life well spent in Your presence,
what will I see? The moments others saw as sacrifice
were times I chose to be silent before you,
times I did not listen to the white-noise hum of postmodern mechanics
but to the stretching-into-eternity vastness of the Truth
that has no harmonic on this human scale.
I set You at my right hand and You became my strength
as my weaknesses grew and covered my pride in rags of shame.
You stood in my place, revealed Yourself through the holes,
and washed away every stain.

Poem in progress

A statue stands in the center of the garden.
Moss grows over her feet,
and ivy curls over her shoulder.
Hands barely outstretched,
held near the heart,
she waits to catch the rain.

Once...those palms held candles:
a vigil of questions and cries
continued through foggy midnight
to a morning of cold shadows.

These days fog and shadow
are her constant companions.
But no rain.

If sun should pierce through covering cloud,
she might stretch and yawn,
wiggle a toe,
brush the moss and ivy away,
and walk the twisted, forking paths
to the field of wildflowers
and play.

But not even the rain comes,
though pregnant air weighs heavy
with its moisture.
The mists water the trailing vines
and mossy corners.
It is enough for them.
But not for her.
Not for one who hopes
beyond boundaries of what is,
though she herself
is naught but stone.