Turning point

Determined not to care
busy with the weight assigned,
sharing the weight of others.

Duty bound, task oriented

Then the distraction of you,
thinking I was past it.

Turning again--
focus
work
ministry
Control
Structure
Duty.

Leaving,
involved in conversation
you turned,


and for the first time

you
acknowledged my existence

I melted.



And melted I remain.

I know

You come in and slither around the edges,
Snapping and snarling when the center approaches.

You lurk at the periphery,
blazing bright from time to time
Showing how set apart
how isolated you are.

I hate and love it both
because I am the same.

I know it.

You can't, though,
because you refuse to be approached
by any one or anything new.

You think all life lessons are the same
all outcomes predetermined to be bad

Guarding yourself from hurt,
you also protect yourself from love
and something surprisingly new.

From someone who knows.
I know it.

I have it.

Shall I wait for you to trust,
keep trying amidst the snarls?

Or find another willing to believe?

Thank you

for noticing me today when I came into the cafe. And looking again, and then again. I needed that. You made my day.

you again

Last night I went, hoping you'd be there.

I saw your car in the parking lot, and I felt happy that I'd risked. You were charming and funny as usual--but also incredibly and simply wise.

I can't take my eyes off you; I wonder how obvious it is.

When I left, you were sending people off with a smile and a "y'all come back now, y'hear?" I took your hand, and told you quickly how much I appreciate what you say.

I can't often read people, but I read you then. Your eyebrows went up, surprised, as if what I said meant something. And maybe you weren't sure whether to believe it. But you wanted to. A whisper of hope.

As I drove away, I knew that you are the second coming of the same old thing. I should run away as fast as I can, because I can't live through another one of those. But maybe, if God is in it, it would be different? A whisper of hope.

Today at meeting again, I said hi, then studiously ignored you as you prowled the perimeter. You are like Rilke's Panzer, restless energy contained. I'd like to think I've baited the hook, and now it's your job to come and bite.

I think I see, but maybe I'm just dreaming. Oh well, I can always hope.

The Danger of Me

I am always running to the next thing, even when I haven't finished what is before me. My heart seeks fancy, never willing to be alone, to quiet itself. I had rather dream of what is to come than live in the now. I find the perceived Mr. Right and settle my affections on him, when he is a stranger--a two-dimensional object. Not much different than porn.

I have found one, and for all intents and purposes, he is perfect--everything I seek. The irony is that I have never met him; talked to him once, but he doesn't know me, and I don't know him. I'm right back where I was in college. Incapable of knowing how to meet someone and build a relationship, so I stick with my worshiping from afar. I think I shall never have what I yearn for because I cannot step out of who I am.

I have made it my mantra to say, "That's not my learning style."

And wearing it like a badge, I refuse to participate in "video learning." But today the message was to be just that. I could leave, but I stayed. I was always a sucker for Joseph in the Old Testament.

And I heard the word I was loathe (?) to hear--reconciliation. It means more than a husband and wife getting back together. It meant fixing brokenness--maybe in ways we didn't expect. And then he said these words: "It doesn't mean you won't go your separate ways. It means you have to clean out the wound, make your part in it right." He told us to go to the one who has been wounded by me or has done the wounding and say, "I regret that our relationship has come to this place, and I'm sorry." Maybe nothing would be made right, but the purpose of reconciliation is to put it out there so God can do the work, so God can cleanse the wound--whichever heart is wounded.

I followed instructions--not wanting to cry, but I did--and I spoke the words (again? for the hundredth? the thousandth? time). This time it was different; it was acceptance and ending.

So maybe I did learn something in video class today; how to let go and say goodbye and let God--all the cliches that I rebel against.

I'll be like Joseph today. You may mean if for evil, maybe I did too. But God means it for good. I'll let him be in charge of it.

you

Speak,
Usually so far removed,
but today only a hair's breadth away.

Nervous, twitchy
articulate,
funny

tortured.

I try to connect
use my focus, my energy
but you will not look.

Are you afraid?

Do you connect with anyone?

Or scan over as you make your point.

You turn within yourself and I find myself praying that you will settle, relax,
be at peace.

God,

why am I always drawn to the ones with broken wings?

This is the Voice of One Crying in the Wilderness

The Bible says to prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. But how does one build a highway in the desert? The sands obliterate any progress made.

How does one prepare when all around looks the same? Desolate, lost, filled with death.

I have wandered for many years in the wilderness--sometimes with a pack, sometimes not. Sometimes finding oasis, other times not.

Sometimes sensing the cloud by day and the fire by night, other times not.

Perhaps like the children of Israel my wandering shall last forty years or until I die. The price for my stubborness and rebellion.

Will I make it to the promised land? Or will I, like Moses, be doomed to see it from afar? Will I drop and be covered over with the sands that blow around me?

I cannot say. I can only hope that today I will have the strength to move forward my alloted amount.

Crying, yes. In the wilderness, yes.