boxesI relocate
Take it back from
finite places and
finite people
where I imagined
it belonged
Wash off
the crud and
it’s gathered
Place it in
that Holy Fire
where it can be
an incense
and emanating
a sweet perfume

I unpack
from the boxes
on the shelves
in the closets
where it has collected
instead of growing
Take it outside
to let sun and rain
alike fall on it
Nestle it deep within
that Ground of All Being
from which
comes life
to which
returns life
by which
all life sings

I excavate
from my own heart
where it has grown
stiff and sore
(also stubborn
and vain)
Hold it in my hand
with compassion
at last for
its brokenness
Give it to
that Wise Storyteller
who might oh so impossibly
reimagine it
alongside such fairytales
as justice
and love
Wait and listen
for a new yarn
to be spun

Happy are those whose help
is in the LORD their God.
(Psalm 146:5)

Without You

There must be you.
There has to be you.
Without you,
how will I sleep at night?
How will I rest
if not in the knowledge
that you are there — beside, behind, before,
long ago and forever?
Without you,
how will I laugh in the storm?
Only the impossibility of you
makes the impossibility of mirth
possible in this chaos.
Without you,
how will the wilderness bloom?
How will I tell stories
of life, how will I
paint pictures of flowers
sing songs of rocks yielding water
without you?
There must be you.
There must be
a joy of the galaxies
a peace within the oceans
a love of the tree for the soil
a hope beyond the sunset
a testimony of generations
else how will I smile
how will I greet
my sister
how will I walk
how will I wonder
how will I be
without you?
There must be you.

on Luke 1:43


knocked at my window
last night but the dreamcatcher
must’ve been turned in
the wrong direction
for only despair found its way
to my dreams.
After many nights like this I am
converted: let me no longer
wait for hope to find me
on my pillow
let me no longer chase its tail
like a siren’s song through the stars.
Instead let me watch for hope
wide awake,
out and about
in the world far
from my pillow, out
where life walks and works,
loves and leaves, out where life
and fails.
Let hope touch
eyes-wide-open daydreams
and ordinary “to do” lists and daily routines,
find its expression in watchful
hearts and words.
May hope
be the holy imagination that
does not let us go from
sunrise to sunset,
not the soft comfort
that helps me sleep at night.
O God our God,
Shadow of every dream,
Conviction of all that is not yet,
send hope
into the world like
a stranger into the streets:
ever present, ever surprising, ever challenging
and who and
how we see ourselves and
our ways of being
in your world,
our ways of being within
your dreams.

on Psalm 39:4-7

To reread as needed…

Let the storms rumble!
Let the rocks quake and roll!
What can move me like my God?

Let the nights stretch on!
Let the traffic come to a standstill!
Who knows my time so intimately as God?

Let joy be fleeting!
Let romance bloom and fade!
No whim of fancy delights my spirit like God!

Let my feet lose their way!
Let my soul faint with its longing!
God’s faithful lullaby will far outlast my tears!

Let shame become my crown!
Let ashes and woundedness dress this life!
Who else but God alone can redeem the brokenhearted?

So let my tongue lift its praise!
Let my hands stretch wide in gratitude!
God holds forever the seat of power and mercy!

Even as I pour out my soul, I say to myself:
“Hope in God, for you will again praise your
help and your rock.” (Psalm 42:5-6, adapted)