Build it

January 25, 2013

My father said,

Son, we’re gonna build

A house, and you…you and I

We’re going to build it

Yes, we’re going to build it

Together.

And ours will be fine house,

A place fit for a king

With silver stands and lamps of gold.

The old man said,

Son, we’re gonna live

There forever...you and I

We’re gonna live there

Yes, we’re gonna live there

Forever.

And our ours will be a good house,

A place up standing

With wings outstretched, cherubim of God.

My father said,

Son, I’ve got a plan

A plan, and you… you and I

We’ll figure this out

Yes, we’ll figure this out

Together.

And ours will be a kind home,

A place where we bring

Our friends; our enemies now so old.

And father said,

Son, we’re gonna open

Our hearts, and you…you and I

We’re gonna live there

Yes, we’re gonna live there

Forever.

Son,

Don’t be afraid,

Don’t be dismayed

We’ll do it, you…you and I

We’ll be brave and

Love each other.

Then David said to Solomon his son, “Be strong and courageous and do it. Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed, for the LORD God, even my God, is with you. He will not leave you or forsake you, until all the work for the service of the house of the LORD is finished.

(1 Chronicles 28:20 ESV)

Where it Starts

November 2, 2012

I want to tell you a story
But I don’t know where it starts.
I am just sitting in it
And I can feel it, but I can’t place it
In the sun come up and then go downs
That pass through our backyard.

I want to tell you a story
And I think it means something
Because I’m loving in it.
And I can hear it, but I can’t tell it
To the children that grow up and then fall down
In the grass of our backyard.

I want to tell you a story
And I don’t know where it ends
Because I am living in it.
And I can see it, but I can’t trace it
Through the trees climbing up; their leaves falling down
On the Grace of our backyard.

Mares' Tails

September 29, 2009 9:13pm

The mares tails went from left to right

From noon to nine and past

They scratched the sky

To signal she was coming

So you think so, huh?

Yes, I think so. She’s coming.

She came round. She came round.

She rang the bell and ran around

Our camp and hid beyond

The horizon

But did not come in.

She played and played,

And toyed with things left loose,

But never stayed.  Never stayed.

She just arched her back

Rolled on her side

And went her own way

And so, in our own time, did we.

With nothing missing, no memories lost,

We marched along the bank

Through the aspen coins,

Until the goodbyes ran

Under the bridge and over

The falls.

But later, many miles later,

We saw her again.

She came, she came, running red,

From beyond the setting sun.

She ran and ran.

Blue slip showing,

She tried to race us home

Before night fell.

On the storm that missed us up near Squaw Lake in the wilderness of Colorado and the river of red dust near Amarillo.

Lest I Reach Out

January 4, 2013

I know; Thou hast sent me

 from the garden

Lest I reach out and touch

 The tree of life

That grows there.

I now Lord beg Thee allow

 Me to return

Let me reach out and touch

 The tree of life

That died here.

Beersheba, Well of the Oath

January 29, 2013 (Genesis 26)

Searching, thirsty-

In the land of your promise

We have found water

Struggling, digging-

In the depths of your heart

We have found water

Waiting, Wandering-

In the rain of your spirit

We have found water.

Comfortable Shirt

August 2008

Every morning I get up
And put on a

Comfortable shirt
Clean pants
Dry shoes
Warm hat
Wrist watch.

I hope they make
My life better
And much
Longer.

Luke 18:18-29

Blue Lake

August 2008

Shall I sit in my closet and
Touch the world?
Look out a keyhole;
See the morning?

Shall I plug my ears and
Hear music?

Cover my face;
Smell rain,
Taste food?

Shall I read scripture and
Believe in miracles;
Or imagine a cross and
Love the Lord?

And if I find my way
To the wild country,
Can I see the river from camp and
Know its strength
Or its final turn?

Do I learn my brother’s fate
From rumors told by strangers?

They come up the trail at dusk
Riding milk-eyed,
Dry-mouthed mares
And leading gray mules
Gone pale,
Laden with the ghosts
Of dead hope.

They say, “Your brother is lost; too late to start;
Too weak to climb; too old to cross.”

Their stories stale quickly
Like bitter coffee –
They sour my mind and
Destroy my rest.

Heaven forbid that I listen to these!

No.
I will go to a high place and
Study the rivers path.

I will find a trail to the crossing place and
Spend time beside it.
I will test its speed
Against my own and,
By listening quietly,
Sound its depth
And gauge its power.

And Lord willing,
I will return to find my brother.
I will stand outside his tent and
Call him by the name God gave him.
And when the time comes,
We will cross the river again,
Together.

Together
We will walk up the high trail
To Blue Lake
Where the Grandfathers fish.

There, at sky’s edge,
We will find our
True friend
Roasting fresh fish over
A low fire.

And the smell…

The smell is beyond
My imaginings.

John 21