Snow Day in New Orleans, 2025

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It snowed ten inches in New Orleans yesterday-
That’s ten more inches than we get most years-
And gave the city an impromptu holiday,
A joyful breeze that chilled our undried tears.
We speak the language of precipitation
But not this dialect. We know of flood
But not of flurry or accumulation,
And frost’s not often what has chilled our blood.
But in a city mourning New Year’s tragedy,
Where bitter memories still haunt our sleep,
A snow day brought an unexpected melody,
Reminding us we will not always weep,
For songs that seemed forgotten in the night
Were found again and sung in winter’s light.

My friend Gary Myers wrote about how New Orleans needed a snow day this year, highlighting the news anchors who covered this day just weeks after covering a tragedy. I kept thinking about that observation, about the juxtaposition of tragedy and joy, and it led to this poem.

Monsters

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The Lord created all things good, and we
Created monsters, metaphors of life
Now marred and mangled. In their eyes we see
Extremities of loss and waste and strife.
We know our state, our status, and we feel
The curse unyielding, so we turn our tales
To terror and temptation, to what’s real,
To time within this dark and tear-filled vale.
But in the foul creations, we perceive
A purpose buried, still more real and true.
Beneath the vilest horrors, we believe,
Lies hope that what is lost can be renewed.
For death is not the final word, and night
Will always break before the dawning light.

Photo by Enguerrand Blanchy on Unsplash

Do You Love Me?

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Despite his good intentions, promises,
And passion, Peter three times failed his Lord,
And though his doubts were not like Thomas’s,
He fled at costs he thought he could afford.
Back to the boats, the nets, the fish, the sea.
He’d tried another life, sought something more,
And made a wreck of it. Could there still be
A place among the faithful? Then from shore,
A voice familiar called, harkening back
To early days of hope and ignorance.
He asked of the supply and knew the lack,
But then he spoke, and all was providence,
For his is love no shame can e’er efface
That meets great sin with more abundant grace.

Photo by Dave Herring on Unsplash

Though the Earth Gives Way, Though the Nations Rage

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I believe in a light overcoming
And that good will endure to the end.
I believe there’s an end to this running.
When I feel most alone, there’s a friend.

I believe in a hope not unfounded,
In foundations untouched by decay,
In desires fulfilled, grace unbounded,
In the imminent breaking of day.

I believe that assurance is granted
Despite all evidence for the lie,
That the future’s a seed that’s been planted
And yet grows under God’s watchful eye.

I believe the existence of trouble
Doesn’t mean that the trouble will last,
That a garden can grow from the rubble,
That good days are not just in the past.

I believe in a rescue from ruin,
In salvation that’s certain and sealed,
In a day with no sorrow to rue, when
What is broken is finally healed.

Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash

Questions and Answers

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One asked, “Why do you think of me?” in awe.
He saw the stars, the heavens, and was filled
With holy fear, in wonder at the law
At work within the world. It left him stilled.

One asked, “Why do you think of me?” and wept
At losses greater than a man should know.
Accused but innocent, this one was kept
Alive to cry to heav’n from hell below.

One said, “Do this. Remember me,” and broke
The bread for broken questioners and poured
A cup for all the thirsty as he spoke
Of death and life and suff’ring and reward.

The third knows well the two, the joy, the strife.
Encompassed in his knowing is his life.

Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash

The Return

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The earth is gods and goblins ev’rywhere,
Host of antagonists attacking good
Through counterfeit and subterfuge, like wood
Too wet or rotten to be useful, fair
Of form but fearsome, felling those who dare
Distrust the king, stand where the prince has stood,
Lay claim the throne as if they ever could
Create, control, or care. But though the air
Be dark with smoke, there blows a hopeful breeze
That parts at points the shroud and shows the sky
And lets in light and warmth and something more:
A whisper of an answer to our pleas.
The king’s return is sure and drawing nigh.
He will arrive and bring an end to war.

Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash

Reflections on the Kings of Judah, 2 Chronicles

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Lord, keep me weak if I can’t handle strength,
For pride precedes destruction, and I fear
Forgetfulness, the turning of the ear
To people’s praises. I would run the length
Of life in faithfulness, but know the length
Of steadfast years is short unless my ear
Inclines to you, unless a holy fear
Is fixed in me, for therein lies true strength.
Humility, my Lord, is my request,
To know my stature and to call it blessed
Whate’er my lot because I’m found in thee.
And temper henceforth every request,
Reminding me what truly makes men blessed:
True knowledge of themselves in light of thee.

Photo by Olga Angelucci on Unsplash