I Really Meant To

 I really meant to listen to you tell that story AGAIN

About how you wanted dimples so badly when you were little 

That you would hold pencil erasers in the spots you wanted them 

And try to make them yourself.

I wish I hadn’t been so annoyed that you had already told me this story five times that morning. 

I really meant to consider how one day 

I would long to hear you tell it one more time.

I really meant to be more patient, not so busy washing the clothes and tidying the mess

Ready to move on, move on, move on to the next thing.

I really meant to sit out on the porch more. To look out at the birds with you. 

It was so hard: you being there, but not there. And I just did the best I could.

I really meant to hold my temper, not to criticize and nitpick so many little things.  

Instead, to tell you: “you are such a good boy, and you, a precious girl, full of life and spirit.”

To let you just be yourself, to say you don't need to like what they like, or dress like they dress.

I really meant to get off my phone more. 

To sit on the floor and just watch you two play.

Not because it was funny and would be a cute video. 

But because it was sacred and fleeting, your little hands slipping through my fingers.

Now I reach and they are bigger than mine.

And busy, busy...playing guitar or drawing. 

Out of our little back yard and out into the world. 

I wonder what else I really meant to do or say or treasure

To kiss you more

To lock eyes and listen 

To sit out on the deck and watch the stars together.

And things I don’t yet know that I will miss:

The red robe.

The sound of gameshows in the background.

Endless questions.

Guitar blasting late at night.

Water on the sink, the floor.

Clothes and dishes left behind.

A mess,

Or a measure of these people I have for just a time.

Those long days stretched out, seeming to be endless

How I wished them away.

Then gone, like a breath

And I'm longing for one more moment

Of chaos, presence, smiles, meltdowns, drudgery.

I really meant to

Mama

Mama shows her children all that’s good and ugly in the world. 

She lets them know if they are blessing or curse.

Mama gives her love

And children’s hearts blossom,

Tall, like a spring lily.

Grace upon Grace.

Or, if she withholds,

What bitterness grows in dry, parched hearts? 

Thorny and stumped.

Will these wee ones dig deep and bloom to love? 

Or shoot shallow roots toward earthly things? 

Will they make beauty or war? 

Mama makes everything lovely and warm.

Makes you believe in the best kind of magic.

She says sorry. 

Tucks you in, just so. 

Her singing, like an angel.

Or Mama tells you the world is hard and cruel.

You must toughen up.

She says “stop that nonsense.”

Heroes and villains, once helpless in a cradle, looked up for Mama’s gaze, reaching out for her embrace.

Mama shapes the hearts of the monk and the minister, the dictator and the teacher. 

The artist and the atheist.

She is baby’s first window into the heart of God. 

Something Beautiful

 

There's nothing more beautiful than knowing and being yourself. It may be harder to do that these days, but still well worth the effort of tuning out the noise and tuning into what is at work in your own spirit. 

One of the many things I love about Eden (well both of my kids, really) is that she KNOWS herself. 

Her values, boundaries, and the ways she wants to embody creative self-expression. Not because someone else told her, or she saw it online, but because she took the time to tune in and listen to the gentle voice within.  

What is Resurrection?

What is Resurrection?

First, faith was crushed.

But then, a revelation! 

Hopelessness burst

into hallelujahs.

Turning mourning into dancing.

From death, back to life?

Such power, from where?

Not iron fist, but selflessness:

Sacrificial Love. 

Struck by the reality of God’s upside down kingdom.

Or was it us who had been upside down?

Yes! We had only seen in black and white 

But now in technicolor.

Today, look to the tomb again

Where is He? Not THERE!

He is HERE! And EVERYWHERE! 

Still turning man’s wrath into dust.

Blowing it away like a spring wind 

And breathing into us- new life.

Bursting with love

Like Mary’s tears.

Winter

He comes in quietly

A thief in the night

A hush in the woods

Then a bitter chill

Winter strips everything down

The trees, naked

Gnarled and spindly stretching up, up to the sky

Beckoning for warmth, for light.

The weight of darkness and frigid trembling

Exposed, yet heavy

Do we huddle together like the deer?

Bringing warmth and comfort

Or solitary, like the White Oak tree digging our roots down deep

Winter shows us what’s underneath

What lies within and without

When summer’s bounty gives way

How To Be

be nice

no, be angry

be gentle

and compassionate

take care of you

but don’t be selfish

speak up

hold your tongue

you should take a break

don’t be so lazy

stop striving

you are a quitter

be beautiful

and thin

but also, love your curves

your face/ hair/ body look so old

you should embrace your aging self.

Is this how to be?

Or can you picture

when you were a tiny newborn?

little eyes looking up to the world

sweet songs sung over you

just loved

just open

just being held

That’s how to be.

Which One

Oh, to be alive

Embodied

Heartbeats and exhales on

warm skin

Eye to eye

To take up space together

Or is your world

Two-dimensional

Watching and listening on

cold, hard glass

Eye to screen

To watch the world pass you by.