Tempests escort trust
Right out the door
In rudest manner.

Blustery, with an icy chill
That breathes nausea into my soul,
Fear has ******* trust for far too long.

This is not The Way.
This is not what He designed,
Nor paid so dearly for.

He could not be more clear:
“You will have trouble-
But take heart,
I have overcome the world,
I am with you always,”
Cast your cares on me,
Consider the lilies of the field,
I’ve numbered the hairs on your head.”

It’s time I get ruthless,
Toss fear and worry out,
And bar the door with trust.
Start a fire of gratitude in the hearth,
And cook a celebratory feast.
When darkness descends
And trouble comes in waves,
When I see things gone wrong,
With no redeeming bent,
I will wait.
I will clutch His hand and wait.

I will look around in this moment,
And ask, “Father, what would you have?”
I lack understanding,
And there is nothing good in me,
But I belong to One who
Loves extravagantly,
Strengthens repeatedly,
Forgives freely,
Rules in humility,
And is jealous for my trust.

I’m beginning to think
It is an all or nothing proposition.
Clarity may not come,
Not in this shady realm.
But confident expectation surely can.
Do I or don’t I?
Will I or won’t I?

Trepidation and trust
Just a heartbeat apart, these two.
It’s time for ruthless trust.

Look.

Revelation underfoot

And overhead,

Within

And without,

Cycle

And system,

Adaptation and

Resolute resistance,

Wind-whipped ocean

And aspen dance.

Listen.

Lightning

And thunder,

Sizzling fire

Of new earth,

Blue whale

And bird song,

Thundering hoofbeats

and hail from the sky,

Water spilling

past rocks and high places.

Breathe

Night blooming jasmine

and lavender lilac,

Cinnamon stick

And orange blossom,

Rain soaked air

And nighttime heat.

Puppies

and children at play,

Crisp air

Of mountain pass,

Salt spray

and desert dryness,

Oak fire

and incense cedar.

These illuminate,

Speak,

And carry the scent

Of something far bigger,

Much grander,

Ever richer.

Indeed,

We see the broken,

Hear the hard,

Inhale the bitter,

But to say that these define our world,

And shape the edges of existence...

No.

No, we must not let our senses dull

And fail to notice,

Interpret,

Give thanks for

the sight, sounds, and taste of all that is good.

Plain little jewels of the sea
Resting easy in my hand,
Your velvety roundness
Breathes tranquility in me.

Funny this should be,
For you were born in the fires of this sphere,
Ejected rudely with sudden blast
Chipped from wholeness,
Pressed and wave tossed.
Upheaval transformed you from igneous grit
To this polished state.

You do not sparkle or shine
With color bright,
But your creamy grain
Soothes, beautifies your loud world
Where surf and sand collide.

Placed in my palm,
You help me pause,
Remember that time and stormy seas
Might just knock the jaggedness off me.

March Sunshine

Reticent ray

Dappling forest floor.

Like a long-lost friend

Returning warily, without warning.

It settles on the clotted soil,

Surprising earth and creature alike.


The demure caller is not answered in kind.

Towering trees bully their way into the shaft of sparkling sun,

Cutting swaths of shade, denying warmth to others.

Perhaps they’ve earned the right to lead the parade

From darkness to light,

Weathering untold seasons’ bite and blast.


Sprightly squirrel and brash blue jay,

Scramble, Soar,

Clamor to be noticed;

Boldly demand the proffered gift.


Plants arch their backs, stretch, and yawn;

Crowd upward, seeking a draught of the milky warmth.

Not content to go without.

Soft-green infant cedars

Sway in the benign breeze,

Usher in the honored guest with jubilant dance.


Do those who dwell below

Hear the primal prompting:

“Wake, ready yourself!”

Before they crawl to the surface

To bask in the message of hope warmth brings,

And join the impending, riotous celebration?


Sunshine in March,

Fragile promise,

Beacon of spring.

SURELY

Surely, bullets rend and wreck.
Ripping through reality,
Rendering innocence lost.
They silence playful voices,
Still small, active hands,
Before their young words or work
Can finish growing.
Words and work that might have had healing in them
For this old world.

Bullets tear through a family,
Leave them struggling to breathe.
Grief knocks the wind clean out.
Familiar words like “we” and “us”
Are fractured beyond recognition.
Little things like pajamas and backpacks,
Once common and constant,
Lie about tragically unused,
Becoming heartrending monuments to the innocent.


Surely, we can put a stop to this.
Can we find no way to shelter
These, our little ones, our future?
Those who invest such trust in us,
Who simply are where they are
Because we told them so.
Surely, we can find a way.

And whether or not we can determine or agree upon
Much about the nature
Of the flawed and lost who rain down this terror,
Can we not gather in and heal these hard broken
Before they wander to such realms of disconnect, delusion
That they cease to discern the sacredness of existence?
Surely, we can.

In such a wounded world as this,
So in need of shelter and security,
God protect the playful voices
And the small, active hands.
Watch over the innocent.
Help us.
Surely, we can do better.
Surely, we must.

Laughter
Happiness
Bubbling up and over
Tonic for the soul
It binds us together with its sweetness
As we hold our splitting sides.
Giggles, like fine champagne
Intoxicate, overpower stale senses
With the giddy taste of joy.