The Good Stuff

March 1, 2013

Back last summer, when folks first started hearing the news about Lori’s cancer, they begin to wonder at the faith it took for Lori, Bryan, and the girls to handle that kind of life-Trouble so well -- in such a God-glorifying way.  Now this was big T trouble, the biggest trouble you ever saw, the kind of trouble that seems bigger than the whole world, overwhelming trouble. And when people would ask Bryan where they found the faith to deal with this, he would say, “It’s not a new faith. It’s the same faith we always had.  It’s not like we've got the Good Stuff back in the closet that we've been saving for times like these.  We haven’t been holding back. This is all the faith we have…it better be good enough.” If you go to our little church, or you are friends with Bryan, you have heard this story before.

So please forgive me, Bryan tells this story much better than I do.  In fact, I still get kind of broken up inside when I hear Bryan tell it, or I hear John Brown tell it, or I see the girls and Ed and Maxine continue to live it out. But no matter how much I've heard this story, no matter how much I understand the wisdom in it, no matter how much I nod my head and say “Amen!” to the truth of their witness…I got to be honest with you, I still find myself rummaging around in my personal storage and part-time prayer closet looking for the Good Stuff.

And if I can’t find what I am looking for in there, I go to my spiritual medicine cabinet and I pull out all the out-of-date prescription bottles and the vitamins-going-bad, and I go through every bottle one by one. I hold them up to the vent-a-hood light over the stove and try to decipher the fading label and dosage instructions that always seem to be written in fine print for old men to read.  Yes, I’m still looking for the Extra-Strength pain killers.

And some days, quite often lately it seems, I wake to find myself sleep-walking, actually sleep soul-searching the cabinets of our utility room, standing on my tip toes on the little step stool we keep in the downstairs bathroom for potty-training grandkids, reaching as high as I can and digging as deep as I can through those dusty shelves, looking for the Counter-cleaner Concentrate, the Good Stuff, the Ultra-Strong Faith.  I know it’s in there somewhere.

Praise of Dust

February 1, 2013 (Psalm 30, Chronicles 26)

It was you who pushed me from the womb – from the warm core of the only world I knew; you drew me out into a dark sea and bade me crawl to the starlight, to crawl until I reached the place where the night meets the shore.  And as I drew myself across that endless ocean floor I dreamed of breathing…breathing the light of stars, the ether of free space.

And just as I began to hope – just as I began to see my destiny glimmer beyond life’s membrane – you pulled me back.  You pulled me back and you drug me down until I drowned beneath the waters; you pulled me down and pushed me headfirst into the underworld where you kept me bound in irons for an age, now ancient.  And then, when it suited you, you poured me onto the earth. You poured me out; like molten mirror glass I floated across the still water. You stretched me out and spread me thin.  And the stars watched. And when I had reached my limit, when I had nowhere else to go, you closed the gates set into the walls of my horizon and my dreams fell, exhausted. And then the walls came in; my future shrank until I felt my bones folding – until I heard them breaking – and still you pressed me. You pressed me into a narrow space until I had no choice but to stand upright and lift my face to breathe…light.

Year upon year, there I stood – the first to see the morning, the last to see the sunset. My days were like years but I needed no rest, I could see the stars and I knew they could see me.

And I, above all creation, received your tribute.  From the coast came streams of gray-beard clouds, the emissaries of conquered oceans, and heavy-laden they stumbled on the frozen steps of my tall throne and spilled there your gift of fresh water from a humble spring.  But in even this was I glorified, for the snow fell and I was robed in white.  And I stood strong and proud beneath the cloak of winter.

And then a time came when the earth was tilted and the season changed.  And one spring day the sun raised high above me and shone his face upon mine and gave me warmth. But I turned away; those eyes are too bright to see. Still, at last, the new day caught me and I was burned; my skin cracked and then burst and my flesh fell like ash onto the slopes of melting pride. And in my pain, cold prayers fell from my mouth and drifted down the valley like wet incense, smoldering.

And in the forest, time hid waiting for the scent of my weakness and from the tree line sprang a hungry wind. In an instant, it was upon me.  It climbed my heels and tore at my flanks until it should bring me down, but yet it did not.  And for many years more I rose still above all creation. 

Until at last, my strength hanging in shreds, cold and naked, I knelt down.  And there I stayed until the lichen came.  And they, the tiny together, covered me complete with their finest brown-gold furs and charm-blue graces until their kindness broke me at last and I was brought full down.

Many times now I have been broken, thinking each would be the last. Finer and finer I have been sifted by your tenderness until I hope I am finally free of myself.  I am dust, this is my praise.

Down to Joppa

Now there was in Joppa a disciple named Tabitha, which, translated, means Dorcas. She was full of good works and acts of charity. In those days she became ill and died, and when they had washed her, they laid her in an upper room. Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, hearing that Peter was there, sent two men to him, urging him, “Please come to us without delay.” So Peter rose and went with them. And when he arrived, they took him to the upper room. All the widows stood beside him weeping and showing tunics and other garments that Dorcas made while she was with them. But Peter put them all outside, and knelt down and prayed; and turning to the body he said, “Tabitha, arise.” And she opened her eyes, and when she saw Peter she sat up. And he gave her his hand and raised her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he presented her alive. And it became known throughout all Joppa, and many believed in the Lord.

(Acts 9:36-42 ESV)

Down to Joppa

February 12, 2013

Peter walked down to the gates this morning,

Down a road he has walked before.

Peter walked out through the gates this morning,

Down to Joppa, Peter went once more.

Peter went there cause he heard some crying-

Sisters weeping and calling her name.

Peter went there and he found them praying;

Sisters calling on the Lord by name.

Peter walked out through the gates this morning,

Down to Joppa, Peter went once more.

Peter came in and he found them mourning

On their knees and deep in prayer.

Peter told them they could stop their crying,

“Sisters come on, let’s go downstairs.”

Peter said, “Now, you can stop that worrying.

Don’t you worry, now that I’m here.”

Peter said, “You know, there’s no more hurting.

Don’t you worry, now the Lord is near.”

Peter walked out through the gates this morning,

Down to Joppa, Peter went once more.

Peter went up and he found her lying

On the bed the sisters had made.

Peter saw then how they loved her sowing.

On the headboard, there her work was laid.

Peter knelt down and he started praying

For his sister, sweet child of God.

Peter said, “Now, it’s time we were going.

He wants you with him, the Lamb of God.”

Peter walked out through the gates this morning

Down to Joppa, Peter came once more.

Love you, Mom.

Bring it

January 4, 2013

Bring it, bring it, bring it

I got Nothing, but he said

Bring it, bring it, bring it

To me.

My car is broken

My house is rotten

I got Nothing

Worth keeping.

He said,

Bring it to me.

Bring it, bring it, bring it

I got Nothing, but he said

Bring it, bring it, bring it

To me.

My heart is broken

My soul is rotten

I got Nothing

Worth keeping.

He said,

Bring it to me.

Bring it, bring it, bring it

I got Nothing, but he said

Bring it, bring it, bring it

To me.

Luke 21:1-4

Cain's Lament

January 4, 2013

Master, will you not take from my hand

 The fruit of my labor?

Here, with all my reach

I hold it up to you.

Take it.

Is it bitter?

 It is all I can do

For the ground is hard;

 My back…the field breaks it

With its furrow-teeth.

It is all I can do.

Take it.

I hold it up to you-

 This small seed, my very soul.

Is it dry- mere dust to you?

 For you know there is no rain.

And I have no water within me;

My blood is rust.

Will you not take it?

It is all I can do.

Let the ground cry my name,

For I have fought it.

I have…day upon days…

Torn from its side the stubborn

Roots of thorn and thistle.

And these scars on my face…

Do they not testify

This is all I can do?

Take it.

And there stands my brother-

His offering accepted.

And I saw you touch him

When he held up to you

The fat of the lamb.

You took it.

He has done so little, master.

Is this right that he live beyond

The law?

Is he not bound, like me,

To this ground?

This world, that lies heavy in my lungs,

My brother escapes somehow.

But this lamb…this lamb you gave him…

Will not escape my brother’s knife.

And you are pleased?

Was the lamb not born in your own stables,

Fed in your own fields,

Washed in your own river?

This gift you give yourself…

Why credit my brother?

Here…here I hold up to you…

With my full length extended…

All that I can do.

And you will not

Take it.

Master, do not look for me today.

I have gone to water the field,

 For I hear it crying…

It is forever crying…

For my father’s blood.

Five18

October 30, 2007 5:18 a.m.

When I was little,

The clock stopped

On Christmas Eve

And jumped straight to

GI Joes

In a wink and a blink

And a touch of his nose.

But the days came --

The bleaching reality came --

And where my heart not sealed,

My joy, my joy, lost its color.

And so my life passed.

And when I was dying,

The Dark Accountant came

And left, beside me lying,

Different presents that crawled from

Memory to memory

And covered them

With pain –

Which is joy, rotten.

But now --

Benignly now,

The night passes

Time with me.

(He is older, you see)

And together we count my debts.

While to men, these debts growing…

My debts to God – no one knowing,

He has forgotten.

Calli Come Here to Me

January 23, 2013

Sitting here I can barely see the morning leaking through window. The shade is drawn. The glass is dirty. The air is gray. And as far as I can see, I see motherless children and husbands alone.

But called, I step out on the porch and hear...faintly, as my hearing is poor these days... the little birds that your mother fed, the very tiny ones that even your old father loves.

They sing,

"Come out, come out...come out to us.

Come with, come with...come go with us.

Blind can see...blind can see.

Love you...love you

Come here to me... come here to me.”