Faith?

What am I worth?
Not much in the great scheme of things.
It stretches me
to the breaking point
to believe
Somebody cares.

Anonymity is comforting in a way.
Nothing matters
if nobody's watching.

Free -- from what?
For what?

Alone or not,
I reach out.
It's my nature.
Could that be a gift
from You-Know-Who?

Sculpting

Michaelangelo
(superbly named!)
saw David imprisoned
in marble.
He chipped and chipped
away the bits
that were not David,
setting free the beauty
he alone could see,
pulling back the veil
for lesser souls
to share the glory
eternally present,
close as their heartbeat,
and yet beyond their reach

Dear God, are you a sculptor too?
Is that why it hurts so much?

One thing you lack . . .

Bank balance--
headline potential--
newsworthy stunts--
terraforming new planets --
add up to
ZERO.
Irrelevant.

All that really matters
is invested love.

Joy Comes in the Morning

When joy returns,
anything seems possible.

Why can't it be like this
all the time?
Must joy be a fragile flower?
A minute, an hour, a day --
and then it's business as usual.

Or am I missing
the point?
Does joy flow like a river,
unending?
The mainspring of rejoicing,
the backbeat of sorrow?

Those who are in love
contemplate their beloved
heedless of chaos, pain or deprivation.
It is enough to be together.

If I could love God like that,
things might be different.
I might believe
eternal life starts here and now.

I wonder --
how does God see me?
Insignificant as I am,
is my photo in his wallet,
my latest poem on his fridge?

I don't feel like I have much to offer.

ME: I don't feel like I have much to offer.

ABBA: You have ME to offer.

ME: But I'm so afraid
that I'm wrong.
What I think and do and pray
works for me,
at least some of the time,
but that doesn't prove
it's not a mind game.
What right do I have to impose
my fantasies on others?

ABBA: That's not what
you are called to do.
The trick is to be Me
where I am most needed,
because they can't see or hear Me.

ME: But neither can I!

ABBA: Are you so sure?

ME: No, I'm not.
I know nothing.
Abba, HELP!

ABBA: I'm working on it.
But first, dump everything
and trust Me.

ME: You might have to wait a long time!

Venting

Sharp-edged shards
spew from my heart--
when will it end?
Will it ever?

My toxic thoughts
seem so true,
so plausible--
why can't I see?
Will I ever?

Love whispers
in the background,
calling me--
why can't I hear?
Will I ever know,
ever understand?

Wrong answers.
Wrong questions.
Despair is always with us
waiting for redemption.

What can I see?
What can I hear?
What can I change?

Beyond Forgiveness

those who see
good as evil
and evil as good
cannot embrace forgiveness
cannot let go

like addicts
who barter life itself
for one more fix

Growth

Pride comes so easily.
I refuse to accept people
as they are,
lusting to control
how they unfold.

I planted mustard seeds,
but harvested cucumbers.

That's a gift; a mystery.

How do you put up with us?

It's not a question of right or wrong --
it's how you work the system.
Lord, was it always like that,
or is this a modern cancer?

Read the book, girl.
It's all in there.

Misused power.
Misused wealth.
Injustice.
Manipulation.

Yes, I see.
You tell us one thing,we do another.
How do you put up with us?

Do the people you love always please you?

Point taken.
Help me be more patient, Lord --
fire and brimstone
boil in my heart.

Listen to the evidence

Faith is the evidence of things unseen . . .

ABBA: It is also the willingness to listen.

ME: You mean, relinquish control?

ABBA: Control was never yours to relinquish.
You need to learn
that you are not alone.
There is help even for you.
You don't have to justify your existence
or cover up your flaws.

Epiphany

We've done all the seasonal things:
sung the carols,
marvelled at the angels,
seen the Child
(or reasonable facsimile).

What now?
Where do we go from here?

Follow me.

What? Follow you where?
Away from the circle of light,
the easy fellowship,
the comforts of home?

It's not a one-shot deal.
You know that.
It's in the book.

The book is OK for quoting
on occasion,
but hey -- let's not forget the real world.

My world is real.
It's not pleasant or easy,
but it's all we have to work with.

Scoping a Galaxy Far, Far Away

The Hubble shows me marvels
from the ancient past --
I eyeball a galaxy
50 million light years away,
but what do I really see?
Light that took
50 million years
to travel here.

I don't know
what any part of that galaxy is like.
I don't know
what's happening there today.

If some advanced beings from there come to visit,
they can tell me more.
But even they won't know
every detail
of every single star and planet.

I see a spiral.
They look up and see stars in their sky.

God knows every atom
in their bodies and in mine
intimately -- with a Creator's love.

"My friends,
we are now God's children,
but it is not clear
what we shall become.
But we know that
when Christ appears,
we shall be like him,
because we shall see him
as he really is." (1 John 3:2)

Dear God, let it be true.

My mind is made up

When I'm sure I'm right
it's static
in my ears,
a filter on my eyes
that re-invents
everything I see.
Even God can't get through.

And yet,
I continue to seek certainty.

God is love -- a labyrinth of light.
Certainty is a lesser idol
which I can frame
and hang on my wall.

Seek and Ye Shall Find

Magnificent dreams
are uppers in a humdrum world --
how else could Cinderella endure?

Caution: the glory of the dream
may distract me
from the here and now.

More often than not,
the treasure I seek
is not at the end
of the rainbow,
but buried scant inches away
in the ground
on which I stand.