With large, cold, graceful
hands that reach for me,
my enemy pursues.
I can hear pants,
Run to the rooftop,
Jesus calls from the next rooftop-
“Come over here!”
my stomach a fist,
My mind screams “hesitate!”
Is this my visual cliff,
or will I gain superpowers and spring
one building to another?
No time for questions.
Vague remembrance of
Peter walking on the water-
‘Don’t look down, just look at Jesus”
magnetic pull screams for me to
conflict funnel dances in my midsection,
then I am across,
clutching His hand.
He’s not confined by space, by time,
by galaxies or hourly chime-
He doesn’t see just what I am,
but who I’ll be under His plan.
When I in surrender bow,
UNFINISHED what I see for now.
( Philippians 1:6, ESV -And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.)
Man’s scales of justice,
don’t always point the way,
quick judgement in a case,
you always have to pay.
If the foundations, they tremble,
saying “That’s right in my eyes.”
Don’t listen to your neighbor,
with his oppressed cries.
Seek only your own benefit,
you are the king-
you reject the truth and peace
that God would place you in.
The last year of Mom’s life, in spite of aggressive treatment, the cancer wove its way up from her lungs to her throat.
Earlier on in treatment, my ears cupped her words like my fingers cupped the fragrant baby blue coffee cup I sipped from. Initially, I would gush out things, information from Zoey’s latest tea party to the creative writing course i was enrolled in. As time went on, I asked her what Daddy’s and her song had been in college, how she had felt when I had a positive pregnancy test only six weeks after my honeymoon, what her iced pumpkin cookie recipe entailed. The floodgates of speech were easily opened when she was presented with even a simple question. Her faded blue eyes would mist over any time she would recall something about my dad.
One new aspect to her personality was the hats she wore. Even before her hair started to fall out, she took some money from savings, and got herself several hats. Now, before getting sick, she never picked up the habit of wearing hats like dad always did, or my sister with her Fedoras, or me with my feminine hats with styles form the 40’s and 50’s. She got a beautiful straw sun hat that she wore all year long when it was bright outside. It ended up turning her already pale skin into the milky, ivory of old china. To look less pale, she would often tap her lips with a deep rose lip gloss, and slick on some blush in a similar color. She had given up eye makeup by the time her lashes fell out.
In spite of the smile she continued to beam, our family could see the shake in her hand, and the sweat that would break out at even a leisurely stroll. Sometimes, grief would rise up in me, and I would exit to the bathroom, trying to dam up the waterfall threatening to come out.
When she got tired, she would sit on our beige vinyl chairs and run her toes back and forth in the baby pool I had left there when my daughter was four.
Generous with your criticism,
heaping with your lies-
watch your world contract around you,
strip off your disguise.
Swamp life dances all around you,
environment that you caused-
you sowed a little, reap the wind
as God his hand withdraws.