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.

Listening

"None of us hears God perfectly."
~ Alan Wright

I’m listening,
But did I hear You correctly?

Quietly I sit
Alone on the front pew
Waiting
For the word of instruction
That I am to obey.
Or I lay
Eyes open in the darkness
Of my room
Listening
To hear Your voice calling me.

Tell me my next step.
(This way . . .)
Give me my orders.
(Do this . . .)
How do I obey?
(Watch Me . . .)
I hear,
And I obey.
My willing heart will follow
Orders,
Instruction,
Direction.

But there comes a time
When I wonder
If I heard You correctly.
I know
None of us hears God perfectly,
But was I even close?

In my zeal
To do the right thing,
Any right thing,
Did I rush headlong into a plan
Born in my own mind
Rather than
Whispered into my heart?

Help me
To know when I have heard
Your voice.
When I obey,
Follow,
Execute a plan,
Help me
To know that I have heard
And understood
So I won’t hesitate
To move at the sound of Your voice.

A Few Notes

A few notes from Bocelli
Is all it takes
To send me back there
To that corner booth.
Making small talk
Around the big subject
Of you,
Your fears,
Your courage.
Self-conscious giggles
Over nine-dollar sandwiches
I pick celery out of my chicken salad
While you sip tea.
We make a plan,
Then everything feels easy,
Right.
Arms linked
We step outside
And stand in the wet twilight.
Hope glimmers in your eyes
For the first time in months.
Music floats over us from inside –
“Per amore,
hai mai speso tutto quanto?”
I have.

You said you owed me the world,
But I knew
You were already beginning to forget.
But don’t worry.
For me,
A few notes is all it takes
To remember where you were
And see how far you’ve come.

Dear Jimmy

“Dear Jimmy,” it had begun.
That was all he read
Before it was snatched from his light hold.
The sweet, girlish words
Meant for his eyes
Were passed from hand to hand
Through the classroom.
The boy, in hopes of stealing the letter back,
Jumped, ran,
Dove, lunged,
And reached where he could –
All without result,
Except that of increased grins and giggles
And mocking looks.
Finally,
He stood in the center of a circle of faces.
They watched,
And waited to see what he would do.
He waited,
And watched them as they stared.
He begged within himself
That the red-haired girl who now held the letter
Would have mercy on him.
Her freckled smirk made him wonder
If she would.
Perhaps it was the tragic look on his face,
Or the hint of tears in his defiant eyes,
Or the crimson on his hot cheeks,
Or the nervous shuffling of his feet –
Or perhaps it was that she had penned the letter –
That erased her teasing smile.
She looked shy.
He seemed anxious.
She paused.
He held his breath.
She stepped forward.
He did the same.
She held the letter toward him.
He leaped forward, hesitated, and hastily
Clasped the letter that had been
Held for ransom
At the cost of embarrassment.
Then he ran from the room filled with snickers.