Earthquake

It will take ten years

To rebuild after the damage

Of a few minutes,

The newsman said.

That sounds about right

From what I know of shake-ups.

My world was rocked

I was shaken to the core

And all hope spilled out

Like debris on the sidewalk

Of my life.

The structure

That had once seemed so safe

So secure

Wasn't.

And I'm still rebuilding

Using the debris to mend fences

Or build new ones.

(I'm not sure which.)

Sometimes it’s just easier

To throw a tarp over the emotion

Like a gaping hole

While I wait for another aftershock.

I suppose I should

Gather my few belongings

And move back in.

I just don't know if I can trust

Another dwelling made by man.

I can see

The foundation is still there.

We’ll rebuild from the inside out.

It may be the only way to restoration.

My Gospel Story

“Your sins are forgiven”
He said to me.
I hadn’t even asked for that.
You see,
It never even occurred to me.
I only wanted
To be accepted
To be healed
To see what all the excitement was about.
But forgiveness?
No.
Not for me.
I’m too sinful
Too dirty.
“You are already clean . . .”
Me? Why?
“. . . because I said so.”

I sit back
And let it sink in.

I take up my mat
Pick up my pitcher
Take off my bandages
Toss out my crutches
And run to invite everyone I know
To come
And hear my gospel story.

For Now

Today

I went to the movies

A matinee

Some silly comedy

Nothing romantic

Because I had hoped to laugh.

Yesterday

I drank cappuccino

While watching people pass by

Our favorite seat near the window

Decaf, wet foam

Just how you like it.

Last week

I drove by the gardens

Where we strolled so often

Planning tomorrow

While savoring today.

I did not stop

(I'm not ready)

But drove slowly past

The scent of roses

Teasing me down the street.

One day

I will be able

To drive through this town

Walk through a garden

Browse a bookstore

Sit by the pond

Make a pot roast

And smile.

I may even take in a movie.

But for now

I'd be content

To go an entire day

Without aching for your presence.

Retreat

This place is spring to me,

This holy ground.

Refreshing,

Giving me new life

To arise and worship

The Lord of Life.

Deep breath

Fill me with the Spirit

As I take in aromas

Of young grass

And mountain air

And sweet-smelling sacrifice.

Sounds of the valley –

Clucking hens and yipping pups,

The chatter of friendship –

Make me want to sing praise

To the Creator.

The food of fellowship

Strengthens me to serve

And makes me long for more

Communion.

The sun on my face

Is the warmth of His love.

No wonder

I am drawn to this high place,

This holy ground,

For more than scenery,

More than rest.

I can gaze upon God’s face

And relax in His arms.

The Last of the Lilies

I hold in my hand
The last of the lilies
That colored my yard all summer.
They grow along the sideyard
Where his grandmother planted them
Years ago
Before we even met.
Inspired by their beauty
I planted more
In tribute to her.
Orange and yellow
Bright as the sun
In a cobalt vase,
Bringing light to my table
Set for company soon to arrive
And enjoy the flavors of my garden.
Another bunch of deep red
Stands on the table near the couch
Where he and I
Spend many hours together
Talking and laughing,
Working the Sunday crossword,
And dreaming
While a warm breeze comes through the window.
One pink lily
Sits in a mug by my bed
A gift for me that he picked himself
To tell me he loves me.
What to do
With the last of the lilies
That marks the end of summer.
I stand in the sun
And think,
Then finally choose to wear it in my hair
And feel loved
For the rest of this lovely day.