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Thursday, January 21, 2016

The Season of Re-

Pardon the poetry these days.  Sometimes it just spills out here and there.  Words emerge in mingled masses until I throw them on a scrap of paper, only to be lost somewhere along the way.  Here and there I may get them into this blog, for a more permanent chronicle of the gazillion thoughts that I think.  This one is mostly thoughts I am telling myself.  Am I the only one who talks to myself?  Hope not!


Re-tell, Re-write, Re-alize.
Re-engage, Re-turn - 
A turning again to what once was,
that might have missed its place - 
the place of significance, of priority, of impetus
on your journey.

Re-think, Re-new, Re-birth:
Because these all flow, 
each from the other.

Re-open - open your eyes to see what has been there,
but you never dared to see.  
See reality.  See yourself.  See the love you haven't held.

Re-visit - the things you tossed aside as useless -
Gifts of heritage and faith.
Re-evaluate.  You may find treasure.

In your rest, find a place to begin.  
To everything, turn again, and return.

What you once rejected, perhaps you will now re-integrate.
In receiving, be re-born.


In a discussion recently someone wrote these words, which I think apply to what I wrote above: 

"So rethink grace.  Relearn love.  Reacquire the liberty Christ died to give you.  Do that work.  It's worth it." (Thanks, Mike Moore).

Tuesday, January 19, 2016


Do not think much of me for the things I say.
Do not think much of me for the things I do.
In fact, do not think much of me at all.
Think much of Christ - of His greatness, worth and love, and then,
Only then...
Think much of me as His broken child - needy, helpless and empty;
Waiting to be filled by Him,
To be soul-fed by His real food and bonded to Him by His real drink.
I thirst, and am nothing but a hungry child.

Think much of my want, my lack, my nothingness.
And think much of the Christ I love; the perfect Treasure of grace and truth,
Whose supply abounds.
There is nothing much to think of me,
And oh, so much to think of Him.

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

House of Words

I fill my home with words - on windows, walls,
microwave, fridge and oven.
Volumes full of words arranged on shelves
form libraries of verbiage
to plow up in search of some novel nugget -
to turn slowly in the polishing chamber of the mind.

No room shall lack them -
words tucked in hidden places,
Not the least: bathrooms,
where one might flee for solitude and reflection.

Words here will not be meaningless -
lifeless chatter to fill empty spaces...
floating around us merely with their wisdom and wit -
Much more than arrangements of letters and words:
Grace, love and joy spill from crevices,
catching the eye, and maybe the soul unaware;
Prompting a thought yet unthought -
An impulse not quite begun.

For those with ears to hear,
eyes to see, and hearts ready to receive
the seeds of truth
will sit and wait -
Beckon in their silence
To all who enter.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Some Haiku for You

Sometimes I am uninspired to write.  And then I discover (or re-discover) the joy of Haiku.  So I wrote three today.  Here they are!


Never be settled
Immune to the Voice of God
His song is your joy.


Bitter, cold winter
Invites reflection inside
Soul-work not quite done.


Being and Longing
Meet each other and rejoice.
Married, they Belong.


Monday, January 4, 2016

Dangerous Days

Someone asked me today what I thought my trajectory might be for 2016.  I said I really have no idea.  It isn't something one can answer off the cuff, if that one is me, I suppose.  After some thought I'm sure I will come up with something.  I like the word 'trajectory' better than 'goals', 'ambitions', or the dreaded, 'resolutions'.  (Sounds so final, and defining and confining, that one).

You may have ideas for my proposed trajectory.  Or not.  But regardless, I felt a word of poetry was in order, because it has such rich meaning, and a great message for us all.  And since I didn't write it, I can commend it to you:

Sleepers, Awake

These are the dangerous days
Christmas elation is past
ornaments now put away
bells are no longer ringing
carolers cease their singing
clean snow slowly grays.

These are the dangerous days
as we turn from adoring the child
to adding up income taxes 
to writing thank-you letters
no longer givers, but getters
we resume old ways.

These are the dangerous days
tempting to slump and to doze
when every day is too short
each bathroom tile too cold
each body joint is too old
Sunwarmth's chilled by haze.

These are the dangerous days
wise-men return to their homes
shepherds again climb hills
shivering with cold through the nights
lonely with sheep on the heights
Herod comes and slays.

therefore a time for alertness
time to be watchful and pray
dark nights of the soul
have no permanent role
in hearts raised daily in praise.

from A Deeper Hunger Starts by Andrew T. Roy  (Collected Poems)