Ev’ry now and then, I think
Of now in light of then,
And wonder that the cup I drink
Has overflowed again.
Now still holds its grave concerns,
But John reminded me
Of that then when the chapter turns
To bright eternity.
Photo by Mitchell Maglio on Unsplash
The tide rose to my nose before it fell,
Its inflow deepening the depths of fear
As I just tried to breathe. I was unwell,
Convinced I could not swim, that ev’ry tear
Was trouble self-inflicted due to sin.
The God of grace appeared to be austere,
Unwilling to relent. I had grown thin
Through waiting in the waves, and still I stayed
Till I had grown accustomed to my chin
Residing at the waterline. But aid
Was not far off. A voice called out, “Hold tight!”
‘Fore teaching me to see and swim. I prayed
And noticed water shallowing as light
Broke over all the breaking water’s pall
And in a moment brought an end to night.
Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash
Last year,
fall’s first days felt like
it was still summer, just less hot.
But slow change is still change.
Sometimes,
such is the transition to
green pastures.
Photo by oskar holm on Unsplash
In life, we’re met with gentle breezes, signs
That life is full of movement. Summer heat
Is broken by a cool front, and the pines
Carpet the earth with needles, catching sweet-
Est melodies as wind sings through their limbs.
But not all winds blow gently. Some appear
With power unapproachable, like hymns
Writ out of holy fear: we turn the ear
And close the mouth. We know our smallness well
Before the hurricane and Harmattan,
And like the sailors frightened by the swell,
We run for help to power’s paragon,
The man who has become our hope and peace,
The God in flesh who makes the storm-winds cease.
Photo by Caleb Woods on Unsplash
We follow in the paths of those of old,
Take note their battles lost and battles won,
Reflecting on the stories that they told.
For there is nothing new under the sun.
What was before still is and yet will be.
Though much has changed, tis no new race we run.
And so we learn their forms, for thus we see
Our common world through glasses made of gold
And in the wisdom gained there, grow more free.
Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash
I always heard birds traveled south in winter
But never noticed diff’rent birds around.
Perhaps I might detect signs of migration
If I was not so focused on the ground.
Photo by Mehdi Sepehri on Unsplash
My life could be measured out in pizza slices.
When I was younger, I wanted to be
A “pizza chef,” simple, but somehow grand.
Fast forward a few years: frozen pizzas
Were family dinner staples, filling
Our home with Italian aromas,
Or something like it. In college, we ate
Cafeteria pizza, covered in
Yesterday’s sides (or so I assumed). Still
Good. In seminary, I ate too much
Cheap pizza at youth group, feeding students
And myself as I learned to serve them more
Than Papa John’s. I discovered deep dish
While looking for direction, made my way
Through darkness with the help of local pies
And some Red Barons. Some nights, that and an
Episode of Chef’s Table fed my soul.
Tonight, I’ll share a slice with my wife, and
Savor every bit of this good life.
Photo by Jordon Kaplan on Unsplash
The first line is a reference to a line in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot.
Life has at times been like
a playlist driven by uncertainty
and fear,
sometimes
frantically skipping songs
until the “right” one plays,
sometimes
tryingtokeepupwithwhateverpla
ysnextnomatterthecost(ohgosh
it’s“ThroughTheFireAndFlames”
andIcan’tstop)untilI
hit
a
wall,
experience the stillness of
a soundtrack (ah, Shore’s
“The Shire”),
and make time
to heal.
Now, life is like a song sung
by my favorite songwriter,
the comfortable tempo
perfect for walking.
Photo by Martin Sanchez on Unsplash
Cloudy with rain,
but just the right amount of rain,
not enough to keep you inside
but enough to keep you moving.
Sixty-three degrees feels good after
a summer of oppressive humidity
and record highs.
(In this contrast,
we prefer lows.)
I wore the thicker button-up today,
covered it with the branded pullover
and a rain jacket,
and it’s enough to sit outside in
for the last few minutes
of my lunch break.
A cool breeze blows, bringing
a chill to my skin
but a warmth to my heart.
Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash
Lately,
Facebook has been suggesting
short clips of childhood:
thirty-second videos of
old happy meal toys and
video games.
I remember
opening the plastic bags and
relishing the surprise
of Wolverine in a plane with claws
or of Gandalf with his light-up staff
after a cheap hamburger
or taco.
I remember
hours spent
chasing podracers,
flipping on skateboards,
wielding Flame of the West
or Buzz Lightyear’s blaster,
batarangs or Pokéballs,
in my favorite
digital adventures.
I remember joy,
still present, appearing
over time through
a host of expressions,
all gifts of grace
from a God
who is not too old
for play.
Photo by Meghan Hessler on Unsplash
as i learn to walk 