Learning to trust

is changing my
life

Sometimes I feel like I've been a grown up for way too long
and other times I feel like im still trying to get born.

probably that is normal for most people.
Probably we are getting there a little bit
each day.

"Who am I, and who is my family
that you have brought me this far?"
asked David, kneeling. Fingers spread.

Who?
Who are we to have You heal us? And who
do I think I am to be
 so scared?

Who am I afraid of?

You? Me?

The world is turning.
We will not be left
out from
 the way of all things

we will be changed.

help me
let You
be the One
who does it

Such grace:
You'd want to.

light poem

Well then,
 how did you think
you got healed
anyway?

How did the light come -

So long forgotten

Into that dark?

Do you recall

The weight inside your arms

how you sat outside

In that same sweatshirt,

wet faced -  because you

Knew that He was the

Only freaking chance

you had?

How
in your mind’s eye, you saw
 a highway with

Sealed off-ramps,

And a door

most prized

that,
even if shut,

would be-
 of all things-

worth waiting for.

Q: How then did the light come?

A: The way light does.

At first

 you barely trusted

your eyes.

reguardless, it came

spilling across field and street.

Who is competent to understand such things?

Who can say anything
except

 thank you?

Remember!

You did not save anyone,

Least of all yourself.

I'm not so afraid anymore..
have I mentioned it?

the world is unfolding,
shifting, different.
and You are my grace
Unfolding, new.

All is unfolding.

Ahead, on the horizion,
I think I hear Your voice

It says
I
remember
everything

(--We wrote
those poems
together)

All my life,
i've been waiting
without knowing it
-for rest

There was that walk
through the trees
up the hill, where my friends
stayed. -It's perhaps
like that. the sandy dirt,
 the sun on my arms
I was loved and I loved

I don't know how to tell
 how it feels like now, maybe
I won't go back the way
I came

How i can sit here at the table,
thinking about the future,
grateful. 

Deuteronomy 15:17

it is easy for me, as of late
to look with jelousy
at those seated
in other chairs
in other roles
on other journeys

the lie I hear is that
'they are getting something
you arent.'
that somehow
their joy is
at my expense

my lips thin
and I fumble for loving
words. (The ones I'd
like to think I'd
say at times like these.) 
Instead, mutter
 "I wasn't ever like this
before."
eyes glaring, heart knotted

My friend once said
there is no amount
of Butter Pecan ice cream
that will quiet
our sadness. 

Aslan told Shasta
that we only get to know
our own stories

Truth.
there is no way out from
this thinking. No way home
on this twisted road.
to choose
bitterness
is to choose
death.

Truth.
I once
held out my hands
to You.
I lay my ear to
the doorpost and offered
my heart, my character,
my desires, my glories
to You. to know. to
fill. to love.

I said. Show me Your glory. Give me nothing
else. 

I know that You have done it
that this place can hurt,
but it's my place
and You: the Shepherd
are good and 
have led me thus far.
these kids.
this time
 this pasture.

I know
you're
here. 

there is room
for a thousand tears
cried into Your good arms.
There is a path
laid out
that will take us home. 

We say 'Thank God' for things
we don't know the
meaning of
yet.

thank God they rushed to the hospital
that day

thank God the train didn't come
and he was late

Thank God she wrote that recommendation

Thank God I cried tonight
at the table
(even though I don't
know why)

Thank God for the days getting longer.

Thank God for His hand
still holding

For pasture and
silent waters
and righteousness laid out

thank God it feels
like home,
(and
there's more
to come.)

My Stepmother

there was once
this clearing in the woods
in the empty lot
beside my Dad's house.
a tree with big leaves
and mossy ground and
a path only I
knew

I remember
after the funeral, 
coming in
the family room's
dimmed light and the

forest of hushed
people.
their voices
floated above me.

I did not
know how
to be sad

Outside, I saw the bulldozer
the churned dirt
the red realtor's sign,
And cried

I hope now
that she knew
what I didn't
When she explained to the others
that, no, I wasn't crying about
her father, but
that empty lot.

I hope now,
(and this just occurs to me)
she saw not the traitor
I think
But instead just
the child
I was
who just
couldn't find
her way home