Upside-down World

When what was and now is not happens in a wisp of a moment,

when friends become foes, exchanging their trust for biting and isolating words,

then it is plain to see that we are living in an upside-down world.

When conversations meant to break down barriers instead erect the worst kind of walls,

when what I see and what you see suddenly are

oddly at odds

to the vision once shared,

then it is pain to see that we are as much a part of this upside-down world as everyone we have observed from afar. Tut, tut, what a shame it was. And is.

We are in it, of it, and yearning for all to be made right.

What makes it worse is that the reflection is somewhat like what we hope for; but

in its rippling distortion and everchanging color, what’s hoped for seems like some cruel illusion.

Far off, unattainable, yet present enough to hunger the soul.

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Proverbs 13:12 (NLT)

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

3-24-18

Have Mercy

Oh, Lord of the broken and heartsick,

of the world weary and tumult tossed,

have mercy.

Oh, Lord of the fractured and failing,

of the wounded and flailing,

have mercy on us.

May our beliefs align with Your truths,

and may our weakness not hinder Your kingdom work

here in this battleground

between earth and heaven,

between the cross and the crown.

Oh, Lord of the blind and beleaguered,

the willing but wanting,

have mercy on us here below.

May our hearts break for the living lost

and our hands be quick to holy tasks

here on this hallowed ground

between world and wonder,

between sacrifice and song.

Oh, Lord, have mercy on us here below we pray.

Once Again

These witchy trees, bare and lifeless, cold and leafless:

One might wonder where life has gone and if all hope is gone,

receded into the dark earth. But

in one moment, that gifted second,

a nub of green sprouts, a speck of promise appears, and the sleeper rises,

stretches to the sky. Renewal happens once again—

from death to life.

That these dormant praises in me would rise again, unchained.

That these sleeping sermons once more would reach my mouth that I may speak of Your wonder,

once again.

These Carnal Threads

I look down at my hands and know that within those tissues and cells, blood is coursing,

coming from,

going to,

minute after minute, circuit upon circuit. But where is my soul in this pink, freckled flesh? Where is my spirit in this troubled, pondering life?

Is the soul hitching a ride on red blood cells as they careen by the white?

Is my spirit holed up in one of my vital organs? My brain, maybe? Concentrated in a command center, overseeing all my worldly cognition. 

Perhaps soul and spirit share space, intertwined in the four chambers of my pulsing heart.

But when the soul is gone, the hands are still there, and even the blood; but what stops really when we say life is gone? As the flesh cools, lying motionless, is the me-part that is really me immediately absent,

or hovering, waiting for further instructions?

It is said to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord, but I am wondering when the absent happens. What changes in that one fragile second to another when what was thought alive is now

dead

and these carnal threads release their hold?

3-9-18