Hands

My brother called the other day his voice cracked with a deep saddness I couldn't carry for him or take away. It happens at times. My spirit crumbles at these notes and I often reflect on them after I've already said all I can say about loving him and God's immeasurable love for us all. My spirit radiates this "please come and make your home in the harbour of Jesus's hands" to him, but I don't know if he notices. I don't know why it is that his suffering and struggles worry me so much when I consider God's in control and will do what he will do whenever he wishes to do it. And along with the worry that my brother's world may come tumbling down again I worry that mine will too through all these afflictions and then there will be nothing left to say. He tells me he needs to learn to love himself and I say I have Jesus for that. Jesus holding me up from the inside out telling me I'm beautiful, though I'm trajically fallen and my faith seems so immeasurably small. I don't know why I feel this nervous wrentching tension at times as if one day I'll break. It's all a terrible lie of course I know this but I have to keep pushing back the lies.I realize why I love the book of John so much. He is the vine I am the branches. I need to be rooted everyday in God. When did the lies ever mean anything to me anyway? I can only surrender all that I am. I do feel his clean, strong, steady hands cradeling my soul whenever I ask for his help. His presence cuts the tension as he tells me one day I will be whole, to never tire of doing good and to keep pressing as if this pain will brandish golden pearls I just can't see yet.

Slug

I'm not sure what it's been about today but I seem to be fighting a sluggish down spiral into sad. And I know by the morrow it will have passed me by like the movement of shadows climbing across the face of silver trees leaning against the setting of sunlight. It's not that I'm even aching over Karma today. It's this awkward loneliness....like I miss hearing the sound of God's voice whispering in my ear as if I hadn't heard it in so long I wouldn't remember it. Its the wondering if all this passion regained will really mean anything at all in the end. On one end of the spectrum I feel I could burst into flames and fling myself across the earth like a maddening comet and on the other end I want to walk in silence among stone bridges and fragrant gardens. I work in a grey cubicle in a grey building and today I feel trapped as if I know a part of me is not living somehow. I'm writing a novel that's light and fun and keeps my engine jolted in a direction but is it my calling?

I have a job,I'm not sick or begging on the street, I'm not cold or hungry or homeless. The other day a homeless person I passed on the street, bundled up for the coming winter, asked me for food. I looked them in the eyes with love and brought them a hot meal. For now I shall hold my tongue and hold of this sadness and keep watch because maybe I've helped angels unawares. They long to look into these human affairs don't they?

Wild Colts and Rivers of Jordan...

When Jack had stopped dreaming of roaming Gypsies...I dreamt of a wild, fiery colt and setting him free. I kept walking into different elegant rooms with high vaulted ceilings and white walls and mahogany furniture, leather chairs and crown molding and there would be this beautiful, sad, creature looking out the bay windows longing for the elegance of the sun and the pure joy of grass. I lifted my hands to touch the black coat and the long mane as if in slow motion, then before I knew it I was flinging wide doors open and setting him free. We ran past the garden, past the hedges and down a valley. Him all grace and strength. Me in wonder and happiness. The colt bucked once and stood on hind legs letting me know his joy as he flung his neck and dashed away rustling up the dust as he went. I smiled and awoke wondering if in heaven God would let me have a horse to ride like a lightening bolt. I've been writing steadily again though its pure silliness but I've found a heart for it and I rather like slinging my words around again even if the depth is not there at least its become fun.
The other day I kept thinking in poetry. The moon so full and bright hung in the sky while the sun rose. Two heavenly bodies clashing upon the same horizon. And I wondered why I toil so much when the world is bathed in such significance. I feel stretched sometimes trying to give myself to those who need me the most. I travel and work and wonder when my schedule will slow down...when I will slow down enough for me to fall deeply into God like falling into a river of Jordan.