change of heart

i remember when i first became an uncle i couldn't wait to have a kid of my own, wife first of course was always thought ideal. i suppose those thoughts lasted until tonight. and if you have kids or are anxiously awaiting the day i mean no discouragement. it's just, well my dog, i guess i shouldn't say my dog, my roommates dog has been my responsibility since he, david, left for nicaragua last week sometime. anyhow, tonight sam (dave's dog) and i walked out to see our book club guests off and close the gate behind them. we made the rounds through the junglous banana patch grounds until we reached the intracoastal water's edge. i threw a few coconuts to try and entice my brown and black pal into taking a night's swim. i said a few words that i now regret, "go get em' sam." i regret them for these were the four words that sent sam into a dead sprint away from me. i seriously heard no more than ten steps and then she was gone man, ghost-like, crazy. long story short. i walked the neighborhood and i drove the neighborhood. i returned to the house, did a load of laundry, chatted on facebook, sent an email, talked to mike on the phone for a good while- this all past 11 which is already an hour or so past bed time. sam just returned and the reason i never want to have a child of my own is the worrying that resulted from the dog's extended absence. if a sweet child of mine scampered off and with instincts less dog-like (though possibly more) decided to do something so disobedient i would absolutely lose my mind, no question, my composure would be wrecked, long way past destroyed. and if something were to happen to my boy, or goodness my girl, holy ape flippin bonkers i'd be a cantankerous he-wolf, ripping myself, others, hell anyone to shreds.

okay, seriously, all this to say, it's late and please sam don't freaking run away again, it's not nice. i was too upset to lay a hand on her though something inside said that my sparing of the rod was a poor choice. i just was afraid for her and me had i decided to scold. i may have really lost it. i just stared her down. okay seriously i wasn't that mad, but exhausted, drained, and severely perturbed. ahh. i wish i had the strength, confidence, resilience, endurance...of a robot, oh to be robotic, like ryan, he's part robot.

revolution- moving in a circle around a central axis

i looked and saw a tilted sphere bending towards a haughty crowd.  i sustained my glance for it appeared that it would soon crush all underneath.  being as it were a heavy ball, a painful mass, doomed to fall i shouted at that scornful bunch and shook in the echoes of my call.  i soon found my vocal nodes scratched bleakly by the reverberations of mimicry, and i, regretted to find that crowd was i.  

and finding my voice repugnantly bound to sounds of warning not personally heeded i conceded my stance of safety and let the declension from my fate defeated take its course that i might find my new broken corpse tomorrow ringing the changes of true remorse. 

but now that i’ve fallen silent,

now that my self-deception fells me silent i see in silence i’m rebuilt and rebuilding          

quiet revolution deep within.  

sheep or goat

i’ve never had a great grasp of theological principals. i’ve cared and studied theology but my pursuit has always left me lacking, it has always left me thinking, “you know i get that now but there’s still this and that other bit yet to uncover and i don’t know anything about them.” it’s discontenting really because it feels like i’ll never really know God. i quit caring though and i’m not sure when it happened exactly but i think it was sometime this past year. i went and lived with people who suffer the injustices of financial, emotional, physical, spiritual, and mental poverty and rather suddenly my theological world shattered beneath my feet and i saw that all of that which i’d known previously didn’t mean a thing. seriously, not a thing. i’ll tell you why i know this is true and why i’m starting to bank on this and why you should too. jesus had great ideas sure, but imagine sharing the gospel without the story of the cross. you can’t do it and the second you try you’ve already failed. because to really share the story of the cross is to stand, like Christ before herod, silent with your opinions, plans, and goals and to love your enemy to the point of giving them your life.

jesus parables aren’t like any other stories i’ve heard, his miracles are just that, miraculous. but it is not from these teachings and healings that i draw my hope. i have reason to hope only because of the cross. and the problem is that once i began drawing my hope from that beautifully tragic story of the cross my first reaction was to want to understand it more, not to do likewise. this is where i went wrong, for it is not that God would have me an ignorant cross-devoted actionary, but that in my lessening, abasing, serving, suffering, dying, i would begin to know Christ systematically. and not the other way around because it’s so tough you know, once you think you know who God, Jesus, and the Spirit are to do what they’ve told you to, once you think you know something you start feeling like you understand what he really meant rather than beginning to simply do what he plainly did. that doesn’t have to happen and of course the same thing can happen with christian service but i’ll err on that side any day of the week- getting it done rather than getting it known. why? the miracles and teachings came first but again it is not from these where we draw our only hope in this life, it is the cross and the empty tomb. had jesus only told a parable, be it a really good one that made all the pharisees crap themselves or something, and had it been about the Son of Man bearing the sin of the world to propitiate them from a place of utter depravity so that they could begin to love the way he loved and by his grace understand salvation it would not have been enough. he had to literally die. do i need to literally die? as i write off the “yes” answer to this question i sacrifice my opportunity to share in the fellowship of Christ’s suffering. but before you lash me, before ripping me a theological new one, let me ask you one more thing- chicken or egg, cross or savior, action or word, sheep or goat.

in a hammock

o sparrow in-graft in me
the heights of your simplicity
that flutter upon the depths of crusted clay
and capture the fullness of this fair day in may
shall i compare thee to a summers dampness
that renders me sleepless and desirous of your sweetness
by the mist your tasks, unhindered they seem
while my mind tarries here and there, i've foreseen
that you are the greatest and most contented
the simple motions of your wings have on my mind dented
a covetous desire, a bend toward all that is plainly
hidden beneath every new moment, reaching mercilessly
to grasp all afforded by this grace in me

injustice

will i...
suffer
make other wounds my wounds
our scars
forsaking my weary compassion-less start
allowing another obscenely marred
heart
solace
until the indefinitely evil charges
depart

you ask...
is comfort but a melody for songs forgotten?
is my hurt forever thronged by hail demonic?
has turmoil alas seen that radiant mercy blotted?
will hope dry out before my peaceful fields are soddened?

a prayer..
oh God that you would place in me
a trace of that humility
that embraced omnipotence and bent its knee
to wash the befriended feet of humanity

watching the shore

the rocks
jagged crags
bent like flowers towards the sun
turning skyward in the tide
in the ebb and flow they change gradually
constantly standing their ground
resisting
in the frigid wash they're daily found
wrapped with kelp and other pieces of flotsam sea foliage
and draped with their salty skin
each ornate with uniqueness
though mostly unappreciated
they unaffectedly go about their business
their task of testing permanence
their mission is to be seen invariably permanent
fighting erosive warring waves
breakers bobbing and crashing to and fro
bouncing in tangled masses of liquid changedness
dissipating when wind and currents subside
rapidly awaiting the ethereal breach of morning light
a surreal serenade
mournful dungeons of darkness exacerbate this scene of constancy
growing shadows
a whipping wind entices the stones to sleep
awaiting another day of peace

another hot gulp

sin impedes the paths of grace and threatens, rather promises to destroy. sitting and reading sipping coffee, lust, rather selfishness took a stab at murdering me. i dodged- today i dodged but tomorrow, well tomorrow is another day. strength today isn’t necessarily strength tomorrow- sometimes it’s quite the opposite.

the patchwork of tongue tissue singed by another hot gulp, a woolen blanket atop blistered pulp. tried to talk my way through, squinting hard until red lights turn blue-ish green. if all was seemly, a release of eyelid indulgence and pressure, would ease escape rather i find endless measures and cautious yellow beems beeming bleekly. all is not as it seems.

i find the paths of the deceiver appear beside the paths of the believer and nearly always the sinful diversions can be pinned onto respite or an overly cautious pace- and commonly at night.

another hot gulp, no different from any other hot gulp and yesterday’s remedy won’t do the trick. new burns and freshly battered flesh. what was once comfortably safe has changed. but never again unless the paths of grace become seemly and hemmed in, and when grace is but memories of forgiven times, one will never find the remedy for new creations with new flesh.