You Are

God's hands, when you hold mine.
His fingers when you wipe away
The tears of our children.

God's feet, when you walk the road
Of a peacemaker, and when you stand
In the gap for the weak and the hurting.

God's voice, when you speak with patience
In the midst of a storm
Of frustration and fear.

God's heart, when you love me
And tell me again that you
Will never leave me while you have breath.

Through you, God reveals his love for me,
And for all those who know you.
I am blessed to be your wife,
And my prayer is to be half of what you are
Someday.

Terrestrial Trial

My mantra has no words.
It has no sound.
It rises from within me
As it rises from the ground.

I cannot help but cry,
With all the earth.
As with creation groaning
In the pangs of giving birth.

One day I'll have my words
Not just the burn.
For now I only cry to Him
And plead for His return.

Passing Through

In childhood the door was brown
And strong.
It saw many children run outside
And inside
And outside again without ever
Remembering
To close it.

And then I was older and watched
For a boy.
I waited and peered out the grate
Until finally
He came, in his beat-up truck
I opened the door
With a smile.

When all of the family were coming
From near and far
My Mother and I painted it blue.
Welcoming, new
To celebrate the day that I changed my name
The door wore a smile
And stood open.

Now I own the door, and it's still blue.
My children, My Love
All enter through it, and I watch for them.
It is strong
It celebrates with all of us, As it opens
The door is mine
And it rarely closes.

The Dragon that Lives Here

My dragon sits in unexpected places.
He waits for me
He watches
And he comes,
When he comes,
With a hundred different faces.

In the darkness of the night he breathes his flame
To scorch my mind,
Grab my thoughts
With his claw,
Beastly claw
Calling me by nature and by name.

In his twisted eye, one deadly bitter tear,
Distorts my love,
Pulls my heart,
Steals my joy,
Precious joy,
Turns my peace to dust. His name is Fear.

Hushed

The haze of heat rises from the baking fields.
It pushes and rushes up, up -
Lifting the clouds into towers.
A massive, white anvil fills the western sky,
And in the silent, portentous hush,
Before the Smith lowers his hammer,
A hawk hangs,
Perched between heat waves
And rushing storm,
Floating.

Dimensions

We dread the immortal unknown,
Because we cannot grasp its reality.
God does not seek to pacify us,
Or destroy who we are,
But to clarify, purify and intensify
All that we were meant to be.

Pro Patria

A scrap of dead pride
In patriotic colors
Trembles in the dust.

Rural Recipe

Out here in Oklahoma
We have learned to improvise.
The recipes of fancy chefs
We serve in slight disguise.

I've never seen tamari
In my local grocery store.
(And even if I found some,
I don't know what it is for.)

When they want capers, goat cheese
Watercress and coarse-ground wheat,
I just buy bacon, cheddar, flour
Lettuce...and I cheat.

I come up with a meal
That tastes...almost, but
Oh, not quite...
Just like the recipe I found
And thought I'd make tonight.

Love's Dominion

She is a princess
So he is her king. They reign
One o'er the other.



Sorry. I pulled one off the sappy rack.

The Pilgrimage: Part 1

Dr. Grimble walked down the lake path, grumbling and sniffling, and wishing he had remembered his handkerchief.
“Winter always makes me sniffle. Where is that handkerchief? I know I had it this morning.”
Dr. Grimble often spoke to himself just this way, because he was the only person who listened just the way he liked.
“And really,” he continued, in the same grumbly voice, “I wouldn't be sneezing and dripping at all if the clouds would go away.” He glared out at the lake, and saw some geese leading their young goslings out for snack time. “Oh, and if horrible, little children wouldn't keep coming to my office with their horrible colds and making me catch them.”
Which was quite unfair of Dr. Grimble, after all, because he was a doctor, and where else should little children go when they have horrible colds?
And then something amazing and important happened, only Dr. Grimble never knew it, because he never really paid attention. A breeze lifted off the field nearby, tumbled over and over through the trees until it was quite dizzy, and then pelted right on down the lake path, and into Dr. Grimble's big, white umbrella.
And since Dr. Grimble was being very naughty, and wiping his big doctor's nose on his overcoat sleeve (just like your mommy says you shouldn't, and she is right) he was not holding tightly to his umbrella, and the wind stole it right away from him, and tossed it out onto the lake.
Now, if Dr. Grimble had been a big ,strong fellow, like your daddy, he would have kicked off his shoes, and splashed out after it, because it hadn't gone very far, and the water was clear as glass, and the rocks were very smooth and round.
But Dr. Grimble was not a big, strong fellow, or at least he didn't think he was, which is the same thing. Do you know what he did? He grumbled again.
He said to himself, “Typical. Typical. It's just that kind of day. The whole universe has it in for me, that's what. I forgot my handkerchief, and now my umbrella is gone forever.”
And he left the umbrella, and walked on home. And that is all we need to know about him, because now is when the real story starts.

This is a story about ants.

This is obviously not the whole story. It just couldn't be, and that's all there is to it. I will finish it when given another appropriate picture. The picture here is by Nilgunkara and is our Thursday Tales prompt from Leo.

The Yoke

In this moment
The sun shines on my face.
I lose what I was:
Fear
Pain
Anger
Hate
Ignoring the crowds and the clamor,
I trade my burden for yours,
And I am weightless.

Courage

He stares at empty fields, and waits for rain.
The earth below him cracked, and iron strong.
The dry wind whistles, moans, a sound profane,
As desolation sings its mournful song.

A child that cowers hopes for peace, for rest.
She huddles, soul and body, bathed in tears.
The anger swirls around her, and the rest
Is hidden, just a future wrapped in fears.

And two hands, borne by desperation, rise.
Two souls lift their pain and sorrow higher.
One strong, one weak, but both shorn of disguise,
Are held, redeemed and strengthened in the fire.

For in this world we work, we cry, we strive
And sometimes courage only means...survive!

The Time Between Times

The thick, black bowl of heaven presses down,

To hold, preserve, suspend the earth below

The shuttered, secret faces; field and town

Hide mystery, expectancy and hope.

The arms of lovers, captured, intertwined,

The sundered, barren heart strains, aches to hear

The soul who sits and seeks to never find

Find, in the black, eternity draw near.

And unaware each soundless voice they raise

In answer to the enigmatic night,

In curses, desperate penitence or praise,

In consecrated fear of just and right.

Then all the world, dissatisfied, sin-shod,

Holds its breath, eyes wide, and waits for God.