Belonging

its letting yourself be
woven in
surrounded, held tight
by hands not your own
but that you've grown
to recognize. to trust
the way you already
did the fields beside the old house,
the sound of gravel, the declaring stars

it's walking now
through the new city hearing
familiar voices
on the phone- smiling at

the realization that
this weaving stretches
that you didn't leave it behind
with your address

that the healing's been real
and true things
follow us
because of who their
Author is
and- Behold!
this map that He is
so carefully
so wonderfully
writing

its waking up
changed,
and then
the life after that

Summer in Oxford

windows open
to night's breathing
warmed air waltzes these
unfolded fields of
corn and soybean carpets
offering themselves
free
beneath the world's
open ceiling

I watch the
quiet
constellations
of
lightning bugs

rise

the difference we make in this life

has everything to do
with Him loving us

it's the river
we never thought
we'd see, washing
tonight
around our ankles
our thighs
calling us
Beloved
Beloved in the Earth

now
escorting each one-
the weak- the broken- the strong-
into the same
jeans stuck to our legs
waving and splashing
eyes filling
with Light

We are found. this is our glory.

Malaria

I love the way
the pond looks now
that spring has come
the dogs used race and wrestle
on its surface
now reflections of
tree branches
ripple and move

the grass is green as the
the hilltop we hiked in India
when the monsoon wind
swept white mist around us
moss exploding from every stone wall

***

these weeks
Your hands held tight
locked in, around
while the trance passed over
(Love- You say- is strong as death, and jealousy unyielding)

until I awoke
here with arms heavy
and tired
from fighting You
while You carried me

learning to be loved

it starts with giving up
on being able to
buy it

then comes the realization
that people, after all
can't really
ever be invisible

And, if you're like me,
You learn about this
God
Whose love can hit
like a wave and
knock all your snot out

and maybe- like me,
you think that is more than enough love
to live on for awhile, thank you.

but you'd be wrong

Because love
has this way of crowding us
wrapping around
our feet
growing
roots into
cracks in these
ancient walls
until
one day
finally
we start
to really
hear

the people
telling us stories
of things they
didn't forget or
showing us where we are
on their maps
and
somehow
we believe them

learning to love

love is like a
bird, sitting soft inside
these hands
from time to time
the Voice tells you
lift your
arms,
hurl love
into the air
watch it fly
above the skyline
away from you and
the safety of
your control

declare
over and over
that you would rather
risk it's loss
than refuse

holding them both.

The other day
I was reading some writer's
words about beauty
being everywhere. She said
life is hard, but life also
is good. We should rejoice.
My lips stiffened into a line
as I read.
(Which is- I'm aware- a problem)

The other day, I saw
a 4th grader
labor through her math
while fondling herself
beneath the table. (When an 8 year old
knows they have a vagina- I've been taught
it's a red flag of abuse)
We talked about
whether the answer to number 5 was A or D,
knowing, I wasn't there long enough
to ask other questions.
to listen
for something concrete. And also
that the world is full of such
normal horror.
That I teach math
almost everyday to children
whose souls are
curtained
in dark water.

I know, Oh God, that
You are beautiful, and that You alone
have never turned
from pain. You who also
resolutely yell
the joyful story
in the darkest holes.
That You cry and sing
and somehow You
do them both perfectly
and at once.

I think I would like to
do this with You.
As usual,
I have no idea
how.