cooler than me

The most arrogant
          (and idiotic)
       thing a man can say to a woman
   (or, really, any person can say to someone else)
 is this:
      See, I got you all figured out.

dark-eyed

   When you are too tired to write
             (or even read)
          love letters

there is a problem.

may You dwell

You make me strong enough
           to contain
   the Fullness of the Creator of the universe
                   without exploding.

[Ephesians 3:16-17]

the dignity of softwood

You've been there for near fifteen years, shining and solid in a sea of swirling colors. At first you were held in awe, protected from the trauma of life. Soon enough, we became comfortable with you, included you in daily tasks and mundane activities. You held up, strong and sure, still lovely despite the wear of life.

And how well you've endured.

You've held holiday dinners, been crowded round with chairs and benches and happy bumping knees. You've proudly displayed Mother's Day flowers, birthday cakes, piles of stocking gifts. You've been witness to tea talks, stupid arguments, flirting, serious discussions, weeping--and you've held the secrets that were whispered over and around you late at night. Babies have been propped up on your smooth safe surface, to smile and make eyes at everyone passing by; little children have tiptoed to gaze over your edges at the delights that were promised for later, not yet. You've held textbooks and coloring pages, and borne up under the slammed books and pounded fists of frustration. You've been covered with puzzles, card games, the Mechanic's projects, craft days, disassembled rifles, and paperwork, yet maintained your simple beauty and grace. Dinner parties, both formal and impulsive, have gathered around you, and all have been welcomed, whether clothed in jeans or flowy dresses. On you, two little kittens discovered mischief in the shape of food-thievery, and an elderly dog cruised the edges, nose sharp and sharklike, just in case. You've had paint, tea, gallons of milk, dark mechanical grease, bottles of ketchup, and pencil shavings spilt over you, without leaving scars. You've lain still under the labored first letters of wobbly littles' hands, and endured the scrawlings of a girl spilling out the tears of her soul. Late-night phone callers have found a perch on you, and exhausted flannel-clad mourners have laid down their heads and wept into your grain. You've hosted dice games, and the hilarious or serious conversations that accompany. An illness-worn kitty laid down his head on your cool smoothness, and was stroked away from the scariness. Happiness, grief, terror, and content have all, in turn, gathered round you--and been welcomed, and soothed or nurtured, whatever was necessary.

You are a refuge, a bastion of hospitality, an enduring fortress of cheer and comfort. No task is too humble for you to bear, no parties too lofty for you to serve. In simplicity and grace, you welcome all laughing guests, all weary ones, to come, gather here.

[such should be all kitchen tables]

moving day

We danced up and down the stairs, smiling and chatting and teasing, arms full of boxes and fragments of your life. You gave me a light box, and instructions to take it upstairs; you took a heavy box, deep into the basement. On my way down the bright stairs, you surprised me at the landing, caught me with your grin and your eyes.
Hi, you said, grin broadening, hands settling on my hips, forehead leaning into mine.
Oh hey, I smiled back, arms resting on yours, hands in the crooks of your elbows.
The house smelled of new-- fresh paint, fine-sanded sawdust, plaster, hopes, dreams. Your grin was deep and bright and overwhelming, as you spun me there in the sunny landing. Our steps were disjointed and ungraceful, but I laughed, head back in delight. There was so much promise all around, in the new walls and stairs and windows, and in the way you held me, like a treasure. There were so many reasons to smile, so smile we did, into each other's faces and eyes and souls, as we wound our arms around each other like we'd never let go. But soon enough we did, and went back to lugging boxes in and out.

Somehow my heart remained in that sunny corner, laughing and twirling and resting in your arms.

graceless

You say it every week,
    we all have grace to share.

 False. 

       I don't,
  and I know it,

 but still you say it and insist it and look right at me,
     disappointed when I don't "share my grace."

     You won't believe me,

 I know you won't, 

because I look good.

     I'm not pierced or inked up;

        there's no baby-belly revealing promiscuity.

I talk and walk and dress right, and you do not know

              there is no grace here.

I am an empty well,

    a fruitless tree,

 an unwalled garden.

I give a promise

    of worth, of blessing, of beauty,

 but I am helpless to deliver.

      I know what this means.

It means the Gardener will cut me off,

   and burn me up.

 I don't want that

        (who does?)

    but wanting is not changing.

It is my emotions that are all wrong,

         and I don't know how to change them.

There is no grace here.

              And I fear

                    there never will be.

forever is a long long time

Pretty bare feet and shining long hair are easy to love--light-coffee skin and slender waist and smooth face with laughing eyes, too. Flashing grins and fluttering eyes and light-trembling words are easy to forgive. Patience and accommodation are easy to endure.

But what about someday, when the toenails curl and yellow, and babies make the waist swell beyond shrinking, and the wrinkles pile up around the eyes and mouth, and the eyes fade and droop shut, and everything--hair and skin and spirit--turns grey grey grey? What about when the heart forgets love itself, and snappy mouth and bitter words are all that's left? What about when patience drains dry, and selfishness sears black?

What then? Will you still grin down into the dull eyes, and will you still wrap your arms around the baby-thickened waist, and will you still press your nose into the coarse cropped hair and laugh warm against the ticklish ear? Will you still wrap fingers round shaking hands and whisper, stop worrying, I forgive you? Will you still pause with tilted head and dark steady eyes and study the face with intensity meant to draw back the soul, to remind it this is not who you really are?

Will you? Or will it be worth it to you, even then?

zephyrs and buds

Spring
is a little girl
in a frilly dress
whose favorite color is
Green

All these years
     I knew you were the one with all the issues.
                  In fact, you were the issue.
And now
       (good grief)
    I find that was actually me,
                all along.

to be affirmed

I felt it, deep in my bones, the voice saying,
     Yes, do this, it's for you.
        
         But I so mistrust my own hearing.

And then you, standing so close to me,
            engaging the conversation, turning to me,
                        shocked me with the question,
                   Do you want this?
     
           I do, yes, I said with truth.

And then you, touching my elbow with your fingertips,
           blue eyes shining in the sunlight,
                           floored me with the statement,
                I knew, as soon as I heard this, that it was for you.

           I was speechless in the face of your confidence.

           Really?
   I wanted to ask you both.
            What is it about this,
                      about me,
              that makes you so sure it is right,
                           that I am right?

And then I realized
          it wasn't me
                it was His voice;
      that was what made you sure.

  I was overwhelmed with gratefulness that
                 when I am weak
                           He sends me strong ones;
               when I am uncertain
                           He sends me sure ones;
         that He has placed us,
                   each one,
     exactly as He knew was best.

logos

words, under your breath,
and i shiver, for i think
you ask to kiss me.

of brotherly love

There are fences everywhere, I said, staring out the car window. She leaned forward, glanced at the streets she already knew. They don't really have yards, I said, and she nodded. Probably want to keep dogs out, she told me. But they don't even have grass in most of them, I protested, and she shrugged.

What were they really trying to do? I wondered to myself. Were they trying to keep something out? Or were they trying to keep something in?

Maybe, I realized, it was both. Maybe they felt afraid, and needed to keep things away. Maybe they felt afraid, and needed to keep themselves in. Maybe they didn't know how to give themselves freely to their neighbors, and receive the gift of another person. Maybe they'd been burned too many times to tear down the barriers. Maybe no one ever taught them to live without fences.

And suddenly I was so aching-proud of her, this golden country girl who loved open land, living in this cramped-up city so full with fenced-off yards, bringing her fenceless heart and giving it without shame . . .

Maybe somehow, I pray, she will teach those around her to do the same.

two dozen

Today is gold, or so it was always supposed to be. I always knew, just knew, that I wouldn't really reach it, that my body, or time itself, would run out and this day would never come. But if it did, oh, I had ideas of what it would be.

I would have a husband, children, and a place of my own. I would have a dog, and probably a mom-car. I wouldn't be living even in the same state as my parents, let alone the same city. I would have a purpose, a positive clear idea of what it meant to be me, fully and truly, a woman living purposefully and strongly in the presence of the LORD.

But look, things are much different than I always imagined. The number on paper seems far older than the number in my heart, and as I blink it into my eyes I think how is this even possible? Nothing I wanted has happened. There is no man, no children, no dog and no house and no minivan. There is little clarity, and there is even less purposefulness.

But see, try to grasp, what is. Things I didn't even dare to imagine have been. I have flown across the world and back, and I have fought my way through blacker places than I thought bearable. I have been shown grace upon grace, mercy upon mercy, gentleness, tenderness, love.

You ask too much, and yet, so little. These few long years, I think, have barely dipped the surface of the depths into which You wish to plunge me, yet I find myself gaspingly overwhelmed by what I've seen and known.

Nothing has been as I imagined. And yet, nothing has ever come as a surprise to You.

For You created my inmost being; You knit me together . . .
All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.

the measure

You are a man,
       and I know because you held me in your arms as I sobbed out the frightful words, and you pressed your fingers against my shoulderblade to let me know you were listening, and when I later began to repeat the story to you, you looked me in the eyes and told me, I know; I heard every word you said.

You are a man,
       and I know because your eyes filled with pain for my family, for my father; and you nearly wept as you hugged me close and whispered, Hang in there; and you promised to come and repair the stove for us because we don't know what the hell we're doing.

You are a man,
        and I know because you sauntered over, jabbed me softly in the arm, and asked, So when am I taking you to look at cars? and you talked to me like a grown-up, and you let me know you were doing this for me because my father couldn't.

You are a man,
            and I know because you showed up at the hospital when only my parents were there; and sat next to the bed where my father lay, arms full of the needles you so dread, a cup of coughed-up blood on the table next to him; and you chatted with him and my mother like a friend, despite your discomfort; and you later came to our house, to eat up leftovers with me and my sister, just because you knew our tears would never stop if we were left alone; and you didn't ask us how are you doing? a million times.

You are a man,
           and I know because you have been tender and compassionate with my brother, even though everyone else looks at the women in our family and thinks he seems to be doing just fine.

You are a man,
           and I know because you weren't afraid to tell my father that you love him, you didn't hesitate to put your hands on him and pray hard, and you took time from a precious vacation to call and ask how is he?

You are a man,
             and I know because you showed up at our doorstep with a massive crockpot of soup that you, not your wife, had made.

You are a man,
            and I know because when you asked how is he? and I said, I'll cry, you said, okay, and waited.

You are men,
    and I know because you stepped up,
           raised your hands on behalf of your brother,
                  stood firm for his wife and children,
                        did the things he couldn't do but wanted to,
                             defended those whose father and husband was taken out of commission,
                                            and were the face of God to us in so many ways.


May He ever bless the work of your hands, and may He always strengthen your arms for battle.

Even when my sky is black
       Your goodness overarches,
    soars over what I can imagine or even hope.

You are larger than the diseases.
       You are larger than the hospital beds and beeping monitors.
                You are larger than my snotty-sobbing heart.
                          You are larger than my screaming fear.

The problem isn't You;
        the problem is my eyes.