The Wooing

I have been a fortress,

Strong and nearly impenetrable.

Very few interlopers

Have scaled my walls

To gain access to the courtyard.

Even then, the doors

To my inner sanctum

Have stayed securely fastened.

The lock is broken

By no one.

Even God.

I am safe within my walls,

That little one 

Who was so wounded.

The little furry creatures

And my beautiful plants

Keep me company.  

They cannot speak

And that is good.

Human words often

Frighten, anger me.

I don’t miss my kind.

Many projects

Keep my mind and hands

Busy in the silence.

They give me satisfaction

While humans only angst.

Yet, I must say lately

A puzzling presence

With no body

Seems to have invaded

My inner sanctum.

I did not lift the latch,

And I cannot keep it out.

Nor would I want to.

It comes and goes as it wants,

And, against my will, I am

Drawn into its comforting,

Kind and peaceful folds.

It assures me that

All will be well

All will be well

Without uttering a sound.

And, lo, I believe it.

I catch myself

Waiting, waiting

For its return

And ruing its departure.

I first was sure

Some angelic being

Had lost its way

Traversing the skies

Back to heaven.

Now I think, against all reason,

My Creator has come to call,

Beckoning me sweetly

To set aside 

My lonely projects

My fearful hermitry

My refusal to connect, to feel

And work with Him

On my soul.

Not a pleasant thought,

For I fear there is much pain to face.

But I cannot refuse

This gentle, kind Spirit. 

He woos me

And I say yes.

The Prophet

I am His prophet

Truth-teller

Never forgetting

Whose I am,

Eschewing all

That keeps me from

The joy

Of that knowing.

For all my days

I never knew

Such cauldrons burned below

In me.

Or that I had a mind so sharp

That I could make

Truth known.

I lived in fear

Peering out

From my self-made prison.

Doubting any talent

Any ken

And waiting to be damned.

Now, I know

I am a channel sure

For others of His blessing,

Changing every second

With His mind and bidding.

Born upon the flowing,

Effortless, at ease.

No need to row against a current

Or even steer.

Peace

Sadness

Alarm

Guilt

The day's first rays peek over the horizon

Soon the trees won't be able to hide the orb's scorching missiles.

Autumn in Mississippi.

Yet,  I can't enjoy the coolness, the stillness, the beauty, the waiting

For God to speak.

The other voices, the ones inside me, clamor too much for attention --

Reminding me of all I have not done and all I need to do, including write this poem.

For time, they tell me, is racing by at a shocking rate

And there is so much to accomplish.

Restless,

My heart beats faster, I am slightly panicked.

I have asked God in the past why He will not give me a steady supply of that peace that comes sometimes, 

The peace that none of those voices can reach.

That renders them mute and helpless, that obliterates them.

All is lost except the KNOWING that all is well, all is well, and all manner of things are well.

No longer do I beg God. I know that the peace-- God--  resides right next to the voices-- within me.

It is always ready for access, if I choose.

But I must be quiet and enter His world.

It is a mystery.

I will feel better having written this, having DONE something.

But it would be better had I done nothing.....and found that elusive peace.

Found God, in me.

God’s Measure

How fragile

Really

This diamond 

In the dust.

How easily broken

When tortured to fit

The tiny confines

Of expectations.

We struggle

Don’t we

Pitifully

To measure up

To succeed,

Using anyone’s 

Measuring stick

Except God’s.

He has erased

All the numbers 

On his.

Truly sad

To see

The shimmering

Bits of ourselves

In pieces

On the floor.

It need not be so.

Dawn

My favorite time of day

The first blushes of dawn

Peek over the horizon.

At times the fingers of

Yellow, azure, and rose

Intertwine so riotously

That the whole sky fairly shouts,

"God is great and greatly to be praised!"

Other times, like today,

Their voices blend quietly

Into one, whispering,

"Jesus loves you, you know."

In this quiet hour, just a space away

From my night of dreams,

Of escape

From the rigors of life,

My heart can breathe

Can still beat slowly.

The spectres of the day's demons

Have yet to materialize.

I can rest in the knowledge

That God has my back

That He delights in me

And I can even count some ways.

I wait and listen in the stillness

In the beauty

For His voice to come,

Ever painting lovely pictures

Of the endless opportunities

For life in Him

To unfold

Even in the often bleakness

Of this world.

And I pray yet again,

As the dawn's shy colors

Give way to the sun's

Bright march upward in the morning sky,

And the day's challenges approach,

"Lord, give me courage

For what comes today.

Help my heart not skitter

In fright at even simple things

That threaten to undo my peace of mind.

Cover me, protect me

From fearful perceptions

That cause me not to enjoy your

Creation and your people.

Cause me to see you in everything."

Now I go, centered

At least for now,

Watching, listening

In my heart

To see the lighted path

To hear the lighted path

Until I sit in this place tomorrow

Co-Creators

I co create with God in every second,

His power, His mind 

Somehow meshing with my own.

I wait for the knowing

For the certainty that, yes, this is what we want.

Breaking Out

I’m breaking out --

Taking You at your word.

You asked, 

“Why do you sit

In this prison cell,

When I’ve unlocked the door

And cut your bonds?

In an instant I awoke

Spied the bars

Felt the shackles chafe

Against my wrists

And knew for the first time

The lies that had kept me prisoner.

The Light proved all

To be illusions, imposters,

Cruelly promising a full heart

But bringing only joyless sorrow--

When I had felt hopeless 

Because I could not have

What I wanted.

When I had felt useless

Because I could not accomplish

What I wanted.

When I had felt powerless

Because I could not control 

What I wanted.

Now the door

Indeed stands ajar,

And the chains lay lifeless

On the floor, no longer attached

To me.

All I have to do 

Is move.

But my feet are so heavy,

It is too hard!

Suddenly a hand 

Appears before my face

And I grab hold.

Joyful energy courses

Through my veins

Giving my feet 

Courage to move.

Here I come!

Into your Love, your Light!!!

A Safe Prison

It's really safe in here.

I can understand the warp and woof

Of what's out there.

The pattern is familiar

I've seen its shape

And have sung its song

Have worn its despair

Many times.

But it's safe in here --

Maybe not right

But easy and familiar.

Over and over I see

That the tremulous beauty

The heavenly warmth

The breath-stopping ecstasy

Last only hours

Before the voices come

To make havoc of my dreams.

They twist and tangle

And maul and destroy

The truth

And leave me with lies

Which I believe.

Yet, it's safe in here.

How else could things make sense?

A Penlight in the Darkness

When I was very sick,

My mind had seized,

My heart was frozen,

My spirit had taken flight 

Like a winged bird.

How would I survive?

How would I know the way? 

I had dropped my penlight

In the deep, deep grass;

Or perhaps it had gone

Careening off the cliff 

Just millimeters away.

In a fog I panicked 

And just stopped.

Would I remain here forever?

Or misstep

And risk the abyss?

Gradually, I realized someone 

Had picked up my penlight, 

And its soft gleam 

Still illuminated my feet

And the next step.

Emboldened, I stepped forward 

And took courage to look ahead.

There a hazy form took shape 

Who must hold the light.

We continued on,

And strength returned

With each step.

Gaining on the figure,

I hoped to say thanks 

And retrieve my light.

Reaching out, 

As I came abreast the humble form,

I made to grasp my light

And touched the outstretched hand

Handing the light off.

It was then 

That the thanks died on my lips

When I saw 

The ugly, ragged hole 

In that hand,

And my penlight 

Smeared with blood.

I expected the figure to leave

Now its job was done.

But on it strove,

Ever present, 

Ever loving, 

Ever vigilant

For trouble.

Somehow I knew

This Help had been there all along,

Watching, waiting

For me to acknowledge

I needed help.

By all that’s holy,

How had I never noticed

My Friend before?

She

Stacy Wills @stacywillsart

I immediately loved this when Stacy Wills painted it in 2012. It hangs on my healing room wall to remind me who I really am.

Late of heaven

Her being still glistens

With the pulsing golden dust

Of that holy place.

She skips up one side 

Of rainbow’s arc

In cloudless sky,

And slides down

Its other side

Laughing in sheer delight

At its beauty and its grace.

She is a warrior, brave and noble

Her spear of truth

She heaves

To hit the mark

In both friend and foe.

Yet, it does not harm or kill—

Only melts in healing balm

Within those hearts

To cause growth.

Her soul reaches to her Maker,

Another brave and true.

Forms a channel for His goodness, love, and power

Grows daily ever larger

As He fills her.

She marvels at newfound power,

Aware that change has come

Is here

Has been here for a long age.

She welcomes the adventure.

Looking back, upon the dewy ground,

There lies a dried up shell,

A crumpled, molted sheath

That she recognizes as herself

Of old.

No longer needed and outgrown.

She gazes at it long and lovingly

With forgiveness and thanks

For its protection all those years.

Then, turning her beautiful face

To the glorious sunrise

She strides boldly off

To life.

Transformation

Once the path seemed so clear

Through all the brambles

And dense undergrowth.

But I noticed as I hacked

My way through it,

Making judgments,

Giving ultimatums

About the truth as I saw it,

I left angry welts on those

I encountered on the way—

Sometimes ugly gashes,

Watering the earth with crimson.

Even the vegetation seemed to cry out

At my harshness.

Mystery has now settled over the path;

Unknowing often reigns.

And I consider much

Before my machete

Comes down.

The briars now do indeed

Draw my own blood.

I cry countless tears.

But, oddly, joy

Even compassion

Wells up in me

For those I meet along the path.

I cut carefully, mindfully

Around them as I go.

No longer do I hurt them.

We move along together

Toward that Brightness

Only the soul can see.

The Cicadas Know A Secret

Well, I have been thinking about the cicadas for days now and knowing that they are speaking a message to me from God.  I haven't known what exactly... just bits and pieces that make sense, but then hit a dead end.  But today I will put something down for your consideration since, as Maya Angelou so aptly put it, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."

The periodical cicada is a fascinating creature.  What you are hearing now is the call of countless males intent on finding mates. The females then lay eggs on branches.  A few weeks later, both adults die.  When the eggs hatch, the nymphs fall to the ground, enter the soil, and feed on roots-- for either 13 or 17 years (13 in our region).  Then they climb out of the earth and back up a tree (or some tall object), shed their skins, and emerge as adults to begin the cycle all over again.

I don't know about you, but that 13 years in the ground gives me real pause.  I mean, that's got to be pretty confining and boring, not to mention DARK.  How does anything live without the sun? I know all you scientists out there are dying to tell me, but that's really not my burning question.  As with all things in nature, I wonder what it has to teach me about God and my relationship to Him, for the lessons are ALWAYS there in nature.

I guess first I have been thinking about the boredom and monotony of waking up every morning to eat the same roots in the same darkness -- no traveling around for these guys. Yet, God has made them to be content with this because this is how they will mature and complete their life cycle, such as it is.  The encyclopedia (no, I didn't Google this stuff) says nothing about the cicadas' benefit to nature in those 13 years; in fact, when the female lays the eggs, she saws into the twig bark and kills the tip of the twig.

So, here we have a creature who spends 13 years in the ground eating, emerges to reproduce, and then almost instantly dies.  What's the use of it? Then I thought about how often I am bored, straining at the bit to make my life more exciting, discontent when things are moving slowly -- or not at all.  Living in the present moment is so very difficult, isn't it? Thanking God for what is here and now, accepting it, enjoying it fully, without regretting what could have been or anticipating what might be.  To be satisfied with what comes down to us from the Father of Light.  To be content not being productive, not having to validate our existence.  Just simply living.  Very, very few of us have even the faintest clue how to do that.

And the darkness.  I don't like to think about it, but it's evident something good is going on down there in the dark with those cicadas; they are munching away and staying alive. As I said, not exciting, but we have no idea what else they are doing down there to have fun.  Jesus said the rocks would cry out to praise Him if we don't; I guess that means the cicadas have that capability also.  Reckon they are doing that in their cicada-way down there?  My takeaway from this is that good things can happen in the darkness; God can teach us things while we are icing cakes, but He seems to keep His deepest answers to mysteries hidden in the dark and pain that come to us.  St. John of the Cross tells us that God does some of His best work in us during the dark night of the soul.  That's when we think everything is going to hell-- literally.  It doesn't have to be life-shattering stuff; it could simply be a time when we feel rudderless, purposeless, alone, or just stuck.  Could it be there where WE learn how to praise Jesus?

The scary part is that we don't know how long that darkness is going to hang around -- one hour can feel like 13 years, right?  A tip from the cicadas -- stay busy living, no matter how mundane, praising and trusting Jesus, because the light eventually comes. Isaiah said it best: "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned" (9:2) 

And then we realize a stupendous fact: that Christ essence has been in us, available to us, all the time in the darkness, just like it is in the cicadas that came into being through His Word.

See, I bet those cicadas already knew that and have been talking about it down there this whole time.

The Frustrated Little Bird

Almost ten years ago, I was having a quiet devotion while attending a Journey Partners spiritual direction training retreat.  The early morning sun peeked through the large picture windows on the east side of my cottage, and for some ten minutes I watched this little bird try desperately to fly through those windows.  He sat on a deck chair just a foot from the window and, every few seconds, flung himself at the window, only to be met by solid glass.  His beak bounced off the glass, throwing him backwards.  In frustrated surprise, he settled back onto the chair and stared at the glass, not really seeing the glass, but the open space beyond which he hoped to reach.  So close, and yet so far, he seemed to say!  Time after time he attempted to break through, each one with the same force—I suppose thinking that “this time” he will break down the barrier.

He finally took one long look at the window, then turned his back on it.  Ah, he has gotten the message, I thought, that the obstacle is impenetrable.  But no, turning back to the window after a couple of minutes, he was at it again.  Finally, some five minutes later he apparently gave up and flew off.  Is it over?  No!! Incredibly, some fifteen minutes later, he flew back to the chair and began his attack on the window again!  He repeated this entire process two more times before I had to leave.  I believe I could have sat there all morning and witnessed the same scenario over and over.  The next day this bird was back at it again!!  What perseverance!!

As usual, such shenanigans put me in mind of us in all of our futile searching.  How many things in our lives are as fruitless as that little bird’s venture?  Be it relationship, vocation, faith, hobby, you name it, are we trying to fit a square peg in a round hole and simply refusing to recognize God’s will in our lives?  I am sure you know the popular definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.  I posit that men and women, all of us, are insane when it comes to understanding who we are before our Creator and what that means for how we conduct our lives.

Unlike the bird, we don’t have to continue beating our heads against a brick wall.  We have an excellent brain that can tell us when we are fruitless.  But the mind will not take us all the way to God.  For that we need to move into a totally different space, into the silence where God lives within us.  To our soul.  We need to listen to the truth that the soul can teach us.  But that will not get us all the way either.  We then need to act upon the truth we hear and come to embrace.  This might take a while.  Only then will we turn away from trying unsuccessfully to grab the enticing fruit we see before us. Only then will we move away from the obstacle and go where God wants us to go, perhaps far away from that particular enticement.  When we do that, we come upon what God has for us, exactly where we are supposed to be for maximum joy.  Belatedly, we realize that we would never have chosen this path ourselves, but we know it is where we were bound all the while.