Category Archives: Poetry and Stuff

Last week at our small group we gathered around a small table and were invited to bring whatever we had and, figuratively, place it on that table in front of God.  The time we spent praying together was very good.  As I went home from there, I was struck by the reality that I did not put much on the table.  A few things, but I did not want to monopolise the time with my own stuff.  I could have filled that table; heaped stuff on there till the table broke! In fact sometimes the problems are a bit like the snow we have been having lately – it just keeps coming.  You shovel and clear a path and before morning it is all filled up again.  No end it seems. 

 

But, you know how it is; politeness keeps us from unloading all our stuff in front of others.  Some reservation is likely the proper thing to do under the circumstances.  But not as far as what we put on the table before God.  We won’t run out of time or burden him by spending long periods of time telling him the details of our life where we need him to work.  He is a very gracious host. 

 

As a result of the time we spent together last Wednesday, I went home and wrote.  Poetry seemed the only way to express some of the things I felt.

 

The Table

 

The table waits. In linen

A long expanse of pure white

And all around

A ragtag crowd clutches

Great green garbage bags

Bulging with broken goods. 

We’ve come in hope.

There was a promise; this stuff

Could be exchanged here

For better things.

 

We are afraid.

We thought it was a yard sale.

He said to bring whatever we had,

That we could leave it here,

Our junk,

And get stuff remade like new,

For nothing.

The spotless white linen

Will be spoiled

By what I’ve brought.

.

I have a heart dripping

With brokenness.

It’s sure to stain.

There are words oily with

The dark lubrication of half truths.

Here are puzzles with no picture guide,

Missing pieces.  Dust gatherers.

There are rags infected

By disease awaiting cures

Hope having died in little steps.

 

Jesus, how dare I

Soil your table with such filth?

How can I spread such piles

Of worthless junk before you?

I should have brought my finest stuff

But had none.

You say, “Don’t worry,

The invitation stands. Come. 

Give me your broken stuff”

 So here I am.  Here is everything I am.

 

 

O Most Holy God

How can I honour you

With less than perfect

Obedience?

 

I wish to be obedient.

 

Perhaps I have come

A fair way

Since beginning with you

But the million small demands of life

Don’t look sacred.

I tire of little humdrum tasks

You give me.

 

Obedience eludes me.

 

This slow work by you

Will re-create.
Give me the grace to live

 Till every heart beat, breath is yours.

Teach me your ways.

You’ve promised me a yoke that

Suits me well.

 

Obedience will become me.

 

O Most Holy God

Christ, Teacher, Renovator

Of hearts, perfect mine

For your glory.

 

Winter is not over yet – not by the looks of it.  We just got at least the 15cm of snow that was promised by the weatherman.  Since it came over the past 24 hours, and seems to still be coming down, the snow crews have not been able to keep up with it.  The picture above was taken last year after an early spring storm.  we have at least twice as much snow as in this picture.  I wish I could download some pictures of today but my USB connection for the camera has been borrowed. 

When I was at the women’s retreat on the weekend, I had time to think and write a bit.  I also went on a long walk and that always gets me thinking creatively.  So I did some poetry and thought about how our humanness is a wonderful gift allowing us to experience the world through all of our senses – our eyes, our ears, our taste buds,and the nerves picking up information from our skin.

 Winter Pleasures

God,

Does your great majesty

Keep you from

The cold softness

Of tongue caught snowflakes?

The tingle of frost reddened cheeks?

The dazzle

A million crystal diamonds

Brings to the eyes?

The light shush

As wind calls

Through branches of spruce?

 

Perhaps these winter pleasures

Reserved for the likes of me

Were breathed into being

As hints of eternal glory.

 

 

Morning Psalm from Elk Ridge

God, I awake to your morning light
And to the sounds of your creation;
The call of the loon in the mists,
The siren calls of the gulls.  Above,
Insects hum in my leafy roof   
Seeking the nectar of opening buds.
Already squirrels scold my presence
Waiting to raid my table.
You have kept me safely through the night
And I begin my day with you.
Today I will rest in your creation.
Feed my spirit with the joy of your presence,
With joy and rest, nourish me.

Rain

Sodden promise laced with snow,
Drape yourself on the brown land
In grey soft sheets.
Embrace the waiting limbs,
Seduce the land,
Flatter the buds to swell.
We would have spring!

 

Child of mine,
You of the lithe body
And swift feet,
I wanted to save you
From these deaths of potential
From these experiences of adulthood
That should not be for you – yet.

Now it seems too late.

Trapped in the snare
Of choices poorly made,
The demons come with glee
To suck away your youth
And trip your dancing feet.
You were a work of art
To stir their jealousy.

A smashed jar cannot be filled.

My child
You know I’d willingly
Pick up the shards of soul,
To help restore.
‘T would be crudely done.
But there is one who waits
Who with his art of broken pieces, recreates.

A vessel fashioned by his hands,
Dropped in the roughness of life,
Will not be broken again.

The aroma of coffee fresh brewing
Will be forever morning sunshine
And the Good Book read.
Best friends talking
The day waiting to be embraced.

I feel like a tiny child
Unable to say where it hurts;
Flushed with the fever of life
Listless and weak.
I wrap my arms around you
Like a child to it’s mother
Knowing that in that embrace
Healing will begin.

by John of the Cross

“The Incarnation” is translated from the Spanish by Kieran Kavenaugh and Otilio Rodriguez.  It was published in the book Divine Inspirations assembled and edited by R. Atwan, G. Dardess, P. Rosenthal, Oxford University Press, 1998.

Now that the time had come
when it would be good
to ransom the bride
serving under the hard yoke
of that law
which Moses had given her,
the Father, with tender love,
spoke in this way:
“Now you see, Son, that your bride
was made in your image,
and so far as she is like you
she will suit you well;
yet she is different, in her flesh,
which your simple being does not have.
In perfect love
this law holds:
that the lover become
like the one he loves;
for the greater their likeness
the greater their delight.
Surely your bride’s delight
would greatly increase
were she to see you like her,
in her own flesh.”
“My will is yours,”
the Son replied,
“and my glory is
that your will be mine.
This is fitting, Father,
what you the Most High, say;
for in this way
your goodness will be more evident,
your great power will be seen
and your justice and wisdom.
I will go and tell the world,
spreading the word
of your beauty and sweetness
and of your sovereignty.
I will go and seek my bride
and take upon myself
her weariness and labors
in which she suffers so;
and that she may have life,
I will die for her,
and lifting her out of that deep,
I will restore her to you.”

 

The lights of the Aurora Borealis arch across the northern sky from west of the Big Dipper to east of Pleiades way off past the airport on my little horizon.  The sky sparkles as if wearing a dark blue velvet skirt dusted with tiny grains of silver and diamonds.  The air is crisp, bordering on icy.  My fingers feel it – the approach of winter.  Part of me welcomes this change; this autumn season.  Part of me wishes for summer, which was too short and too cold this year, to win a bit more time.  But even in the dark, I hear the geese honking as they gather to begin their southern journey.  They aren’t sentimental about autumn at all.  They just know they had better begin to gather and move on.  The seasons will change and all my wishing will not stop them on the parts that I deem most favorable.

I like these walks along the riverbank in the early night.  They clear out some of the cluttered thoughts from the day.  I seem to have less junk jostling for top priority on my mind when I’m out walking.  It seems to give God and me clearer access to each other – but that is kind of stupid.  He’s not a radio signal.  Maybe it is just that I quiet down my mind when I’m walking so I can hear him better.  In any case, these walks and this time are holding me close to God at a time when other stuff threatens to pull me away.  

So here I am lamenting the approaching cold, snow and ice that will end these walks.  I guess I will migrate too, like the geese – inside – and set aside some little sacred space in the warmth of my home.