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because

people said "why there?" with
a certain snotty disdain as if
cornfields and combines
straight roads and small towns
were uncivilized
and i smile
because they can't know
that my soul opens up on
the horizon
too vast for my eyes to rest
that every morning my heart stretches
with the land waking up and breathing in
the divinity of creation
identifying with beauty and that morning
devotions are just to open my eyes to drink
of goodness and ancient wisdom too magnificent
for mere words
and my cry of praise becomes the voice of the birds
the dance of the crane delighted to find a spot
to greet his friends on their annual pilgrimage and
catch up from last year
manure is often the perfume of the day or the fresh aroma
of damp grass struggling to live as death gives way to life
massive birds carpet the land not ready yet for planting
yet taking their nourishment as God has orchestrated
unknowingly enlarging our spirits with the symphony of
their presence and song, played out from simply being
living out their created intention
joyfully living without unnecessary ponderence and worry
dancing, embracing, playing, delighting
just another stop on the journey
a communal prayer

Take Care of Each Other

      This afternoon in U.S. History we saw a video on the Reconstruction period after the Civil War, and after Lincoln's assassination.  Slave owners were angry at losing the war, which affected their plantation and devastated Southern economy.  They were angry that their slaves were freed.  Many of them killed their slaves or threatened to shoot anyone who didn't keep working.  There were massacres in the streets and no one was held accountable.  Without Lincoln to follow up on what he'd started, it seemed like the country was having a free-for-all murdering spree.  

       I was sickened as I was watching it.  It's hard to dissassociate myself from the images and say, "shoot, the country sure was crazy back then!"  I think of Hitler, a mentally ill paranoid man who gained enough power to annhilate 6 million people just because they were Jews.  I think of the popularity of Trump, here in 2015, where we ought to know better. All this angry rhetoric and air-time for people who are just angry and want to draw followers who are also angry.  Watching the video on the Reconstruction era didn't feel so distant  We've got killing in our city streets.  Now we have more sophisticated weaponry so we can do much more damage.  We can kill more people.  

      Christmas is a hard time for me.  It seems that a lot of horrible things happen at this end of the year.  Eight years ago there was a mass shooting in a mall in Omaha close to Christmas.  9/11's shadow extended into December, of course, and beyond.  This year, take your pick as to what images of blood and massacre we carry in our minds and hearts.  

     In addition to that, people are fighting about the color of a coffee cup or whether someone wishes them a "Happy Holiday" with the proper wording according to them.  We allow loud mouth politicians to stir us up and encourage us to hate a whole group of people based on what the extremists among them do.  Dear God, I hate to admit out loud that I'm a Christian anymore, because I want to explain. 

      I want to say, "I'm not that kind of Christian.  I'm not angry or bitter or judgemental.  I don't want to kill anyone.  I don't want to set off a bomb or shoot someone in the head.  I'd be glad to wish you a Happy Hannakuh if you're a Jew or "Happy Holidays" if I don't know what, if any, religion you associate yourself with. I don't believe that Jesus was a pale-skinned, blue-eyed middle class preacher wearing a stylish suit.  I believe he looked just like the people we want to kick off our airplanes because he had dark skin, black hair and brown eyes and had a "funny" accent."  He didn't speak English!  

       I get discouraged.  I'm glad I'm not leading a Church right now.  I don't think I could go to meetings where my parishioners might wear a T shirt that expresses a desire to shoot an Arab (I had parishioners like that before).  I don't think I could endure any more fights over whether or not we should have a projector in church or whether the songs are unsingable or how many bags of potato chips we need at the Vacation Bible School picnic.  I don't think I could handle parishioners coming up to me and saying, "Thank you, Preacher, I agree with you, but I wouldn't say that too loud or I'd get in trouble...."   I don't think I could listen to a sermon from another preacher talking about the comfort of Jesus and how he loves us, but a sermon that doesn't demand that we live our lives in radical obedience to his teachings of grace and mercy.  

      I don't know the answers.  I just know that repeating the same things over and over throughout history doesn't fix anything.  I know that killing and more guns and more hate only causes more blood and more pain.  I know that Gandhi said "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves the whole world blind and toothless," and yet we still don't listen.  It's too hard to think about what we can do in our small corner of the world, so we just blame all our problems on one group of people.  Just because to us they are "strange" or "foreign" or different.  I'm so tired of not wanting to say I'm a Christian because I'll be lumped in with all the mean, angry, unhappy, judgemental, ignorant people that get all the attention on T.V. or in best-selling books and who even run for president.  

        So I go home and I hug my daughter and my husband.  I watch "Downton Abbey" and feel really good that Mr. Carson loves Mrs. Hughes or neither of the Bates' are in prison.  I read books by intelligent people or about intelligent, courageous people who weren't afraid of being unpopular because they believed in what was right and good and of God.  I write and read poetry.  I try to be spread kindness and peace in my little corner of the world and help where I can.  I tell people I love them and why I see beauty and light in them whenever I can.  

        I will not march to the drum of hate and anger.  We were put on this earth to live and breathe Light and Love in the image of God.  I believe God delights in goodness and beauty and joy and connection.  God wants us to know the fullness of joy and part of knowing is sharing it, spreading it, fighting for it, but not with deadly weapons.  By giving our hearts.  

       Sometimes I hate Christmas.  I get tired of all the rude people in lines at the store or who cut me off on the road.  I get tired of all the buying and all the greed.  I get tired of the meanness and the "me, me, me-ness" of it all.  That's not why we celebrate it.  Who cares what we say to each other as long as it's good and kind and loving?  Tell me "Happy Holidays" if you feel so inclined.  Tell me "have a great day," "I wish you love, I wish you peace," or "here's a great cup of coffee".  You don't have to give me anything but a smile, and if appropriate, a hug!  Because I believe Jesus likes that sort of thing.  

      I think Jesus is trying to say, "Take care of each other.  Take care of the world.  Take care of those who can't take care of themselves.  I don't care what words you use as long as what you are doing is Being Love.  Being Kind and Merciful.  Reminding people of me by your actions. Take care of each other."  

      This Christmas I'm going to turn out the lights and keep lighting candles.  I'll keep hugging the people I love and telling them how precious they are.  And I'll keep asking God, "Help."  And I'll also thank God for all the good stuff I already have, the kind of stuff I can count on not to break down or malfunction or require an expensive upgrade.  

        Let's be the sane ones and the corny ones and the naive ones who still believe in Love.  Take care of Each Other.  

transition

early morning
the air is crisp, cold on
the lungs
the world is lit by

a mixture of oranges
across the prairie horizon
clouds stretching here
and there to make it interesting

leaves crunch under my feet
a tinge of frost icing on
the yellow, browns and greens
that couldn't hold on one more day

winter coats in the morning
windbreakers by afternoon
it's the season of adaptation
preparing, gathering muster

how can the dying be so
beautiful?
trees shedding so casually
unafraid, knowing that this is

temporary

necessary, even

my eyes tear up in the cold
nose running
a cat runs across the yard
and down the drain for shelter

autumn is comforting with
its bright colors
shining just before
dying, letting go

as if to tell us that it's ok
this changing, moving forward
letting go of things that no longer
serve us and give life

trusting that when it all
comes around again
new life will emerge
blossom and shine

making us forget
the cold, the darkness
the shedding of what we love
season of barrenness

if only we hold on

just my imagination

(the writing prompt for today was your favorite toy of childhood)

there were teddy bears and dolls

spirograph and lincoln logs 

charlie the giant stuffed dog that 

was too big to sleep with (though i tried)

what my mother couldn't give in presence

she gave in things to ignite my imagination 

i had a dollhouse made of wood and wallpaper samples

tiny rug samples and homemade furniture

my barbie dolls had a luxurious life 

with a fancy camper and sports car 

their own airliner for their private use 

and a couple of horses  

with all of that at their fingertips 

their lives were most often tragic 

once i learned from beth how babies were made

barbie and ken worked hard at making them 

but then that wasn't interesting enough 

all that moaning and rolling on plastic beds 

so  ken took on different personalities 

of villains and criminals lurking in shadows 

the women never had a chance in the wooden house

but were raped and beaten, left for dead 

covered, at times, with vampire blood in a tube 

until ken resumed his identity and saved them 

sometimes they were run over, fell off horses 

crashed their  sports car or fell from the roof 

i have no proper explanation for the horror suffered 

by my innocent, but very sturdy toys  

there was yelling down in the kitchen 

slammed doors by adolescent boys lost 

in a maze about which i knew nothing  

drinking and wreckless driving, high school abandoned 

i only knew the quiet of the kitchen when i 

came in, no one about, nothing disturbed 

smiles and laughter as my mother made supper 

a fist-sized hole in the bathroom door 

boys, all boys, me the only girl trying to grow 

and learn about the world and when it got confusing 

i played with my dolls in the backyard, the horses 

carrying them far across the vast backyard 

running away 

free 

until they were caught again 

in the spiral of violence, secrets, and horror 

their faces always smiling, even under the blood 

everything was ok everything was fine 

the other bedrooms locked upstairs 

loud music blaring from beyond ancient doors 

mysteries occuring on the other side 

sparking my young imagination 

barbie and ken went at it again 

never making that baby but 

having a lot of fun 

dinah got raped again out on the prairie 

but everything was ok 

everything was fine 

their painted faces 

just kept smiling  

what i know

(the writing prompt was overwhelmed, in the poetry from of Ballad.

this is my attempt)

as a child I loved to play
in the powerful mysterious waves
and pretend i was a might sailor
with stranded passengers to save

i teased the water crashing down
daring it to show its power
back and forth, back and forth
i played my scenes for hours

but the water was too much for me
and grabbed me off my feet
the undertow pulled me down
i knew that i'd been beat

i flailed my arms and sucked in water
suddenly frightened for my life
nothing to hold or grab onto
as the sand cut me like a knife

i sucked in water as i tried to find
a way to stand up straight
i fumbled back to my feet
still unbalanced by my weight

when those days come to me
and it all fades into black
when nothing's really prompted it
but the demons come on back

no one can know just how it feels
to have no sense of control
when the darkness gathers 'round again
and i cannot redeem my soul

it feels like when i was a little girl
 tumbled by the tide
with nothing to grab onto
but all hope in me has died

i say my mantras, i say my prayers
nothing seems to be
as powerful as the curse that haunts
 relentlessly pursuing  me

but so i live and hope and love
followed always by a shadow
learning how to ride the waves
and hope in what i know

what we have

(the writing prompt was what would you do if there were no limits?)

what would I do if 
i could do anything?

i'd get on a plane 
and fly here and there 
i'd visit the oldest places 
to remember who we are 

i'd go to art museums and 
tour cathedrals 
i may stop in that place my 
father never talked about  

shove my way through the crowds
look into the eyes of the children begging 
on the street 
visit the wise ones who lost their teeth 

but whose eyes shine with a peace
unknown to westerners so tied to 
technology and speed and success
through wealth  

i'd take off my shoes 
and visit the taj mahal 
go to the river where sinners repent 
and wash themselves clean 

i want to touch stone that used 
to be houses thousands of years ago 
where people lived and 
loved and did their best to make sense 

out of their existence 

just like me  

i'd go to the henge of stone
sit among ancient rocks
listen to the silence 
wonder at mystery 

i'd do all of it with you 

and then i'd come home 
with you 
write my poetry
listen to my music 

i'd go back to work 
come home and cook supper 
sit by the fire with you 
read our books 

because if i could do 
absolutely anything 
have everything i wanted 
except for a few trips across the world 

i would want 
what 

we already have