There was also This, This, and This

What Happened to Summer?

Where did August go? I don't know... just looked up and it was September. All ideas about blogging were left in a cloud of good intentions as the woods called my name! But it was good -- so good!

The Wild Woods

The orderly part
of this perfectionist
would manicure
the wild woods,
correcting corners
where tree fall
mars magnificent views.
But the wild woman
knows in her soul
that as things have
always been
they shall be,
and true beauty
includes moss,
moisture,
hollow logs
and yes,
mosquitoes.

Vacation Songs

Ditch is dense with daisies --
bright faces,
pristine collars.
Intent on collecting a share
to shimmer up
my woodland table,
I fail to notice
just beyond my bent form
a fragile fawn
comes slowly forward,
as if she recognizes
the Collector of All Things Orphaned--
puppies,
posies,
people.
Locking looks
we recognize each other,
motherless child and
childless mother.

Songs From The Road

Travels lead to many places, outside and in. Often, it seems one repeats the same journey--but careful observation reveals new ways of seeing, understanding, being. Here's one from the road...



The Journey

Ribbon of road rises before,
lifts sight,
connects earth and air.
No separation between
path and perspective
as though the journey
from here to heaven
holds horizon
as translucent,
passable,
simple as
next step.
I have traveled this road
and more.
Once knew it well,
but now see
beyond blue
in the sky of your eyes.

Poems in the Night

Full Circle


darkness
waiting
light comes
cresting over
life’s horizon
I should be content
with gentle glimmer
soft sigh of sky streak
rosy ribbon rising
but I long for
bursting brightness
shimmering, shocking, shining
juice, joy, justice
life’s horizon
cresting over
light comes
waiting
darkness

High Winds

It was a dark and scary night... last night. Storms ripped through the city, leaving broken branches mostly. One area a bit north of here had something touch down. The ever-present precipitation predictors could not decide whether (weather??) it was a tornado or not. (Now there's blog-rant potential -- television weather types manufacturing news. But then, that is not in keeping with the new Fill-In-The-Number Days of Optimism. So, no going there!)

Back to the weather. The first time I visited Kansas City was nearly 15 years ago. Storms were raging that week as well. High winds, rain, twisters, flooding -- a spectacular display. But even that drama could not compare with being swept away by someone I met here. Life was never again the same. He still sweeps and the storm continues.


Tornado Time


Temperature plunging
High winds
Hail
You enter my life like
A fast moving storm
Whipping up all the dirt and debris
On this dry patch of ground
My heart

Marks and Scars

It has been a while... The forty days of optimism stretched into many more than that and continue to weave a fresh pattern in the fabric of my life. Lately, the topic of brokenness has been on my mind. We all experience it. We all have choices about what we do with it -- how we use it.

One of my favorite books is Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan. It's not on the New York Times best seller list -- in fact it's not new at all. It's not a fast-paced, action-oriented potential script for a Hollywood movie. But it is something that keeps drawing me back, year after year. A favorite character is Mr. Valiant For Truth. As his pilgrimage draws to a close, he offers some parting thoughts. Here is the well-loved excerpt:

"After this it was noised abroad that Mr Valiant-for-truth was taken with a Summons by the same Post as the other, and had this for a Token that the Summons was true, That his Pitcher was broken at the Fountain.

When he understood it, he called for his Friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going to my Father's, and though with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the Trouble I have been at to arrive where I am.

My Sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him that can get it. My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles who now will be my Rewarder.

When the day that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to the Riverside, into which as he went he said, Death, where is thy Sting? And as he went down deeper he said, Grave, where is thy Victory?

So he passed over, and all the Trumpets sounded for him on the other side."

There it is -- that line that makes me tear up every time, "My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles..."
Everything else was given away, but the marks and scars -- the defining experiences, emotions, events that left visible evidence were carried on as a reminder that there was a greater purpose.

The marks and scars of my own life -- like those of may other people -- are deeply carved on my spirit. They are not beautiful, nor poetic, but they have deep meaning and are continually at work shaping who I am and how I relate to other people. The important thing seems to be not what they are as much as what they mean, whose battles they represent, and how I allow God to use them for purposes that may have nothing to do with me.

As the years unfold, one begins to realize that it is not our wholeness, but our brokenness, not our perfection but our imperfections, not our successes but our missteps that set our pilgrim feet on the path to true fulfillment. Brokenness and imperfections and missteps are not the fun part of the journey -- especially in the immediate experience. But in the restoration of those things, in the realization that experience (even the heart-shattering kind) can be redeemed, we find the real juice and joy of life which is getting out of ourselves and aligning our purposes with those of One with scarred hands and feet.