Trust, January 30 2020

Trust is when a friend sends a poem unchaperoned
in the mail. When my brother sends me coffee beans
that fell on the street
when he was hit
by a truck;
the bag still plastered
with ground beef
and onions.

It is my Mom
telling me nothing in particular,
or something she told me before,
because I won't mind.
It is a phone call, not a text.
It is a text, not silence.
It is silence, not piffle
just to keep up the talk.

Trust is saying, "God" when there are no words to follow:
nothing to ask, no reproach,
no relief, no clarity.
Only the certainty
that I must look
in the right direction.

From the Overflow, Nov 20 2019

I need to have a vital connection with You, Jesus, to be fed on truth so that I can live from the overflow, and have something real to give my friends and family and everyone else. And so as not to be vulnerable to temptation or distraction. Please protect me, fight for me, woo me, give me the peace I need to live trusting You. 

I'm Old, Nov 18 2019

I've been dithering, but I meant to write and confess some recent thoughts:
I'm old.
Am I too old? Am I beginning to look middle aged? I'm not worried about that, really. Most days I feel comfortable in my own skin, attractive. But...I've been seeing myself through younger eyes, and I might be a little fusty. Etiolated. What do I have to show for my years? Not money. Not a lot of interpersonal prowess, even. Or confidence traveling, apparently. Alas, when I begin to listen to the accusers, it never ends.

I guess I just want meaning. Love and action. And that's not wrong. It's very humiliating to be a weak human with a divided heart. Please breathe on it and form it whole. Knead it thoroughly. 

Please Help, Nov 18 2019

But really, what do I need?
To be still and know. To worship. To gather all my nourishment and inspiration trustingly from the source. To cast my cares, and take up Your supernatural peace instead. 

Every Which Way, October 15 2019

The discount grocery store was very nice today. Miso soup ingredients, beans, shampoo, more tea, grain for hot cereal, maple syrup, potatoes.

A young guy there seemed to be aware of me (it was mutual, although I'm far too old), and when we were actually alone in an aisle, I assiduously avoided acknowledgement and eye contact, which then made me feel brutish and dull.

Because, if I could have just been natural and friendly, I could have helped a young man have a good day. Could have helped him feel magnanimous and significant, like an active participant in society. Instead, I pretended he was invisible, because I felt awkward.

I don't think I'm overdramatizing the effect we have on strangers, by our attitudes, actions, words. Please forgive me. And help me not be such a tomb. I treat every warm feeling as danger. Help me trust You and go forward boldly, and bodily, too. Loving and unafraid. Preaching the Gospel every-which-way. 

*Note to Self*

Nail polish is a pain and you don't like it. Don't be seduced by the pretty colors. Anything other than a fast-drying clear is more trouble than it's worth.
Venture out again at your own risk. Don't say I didn't warn you. 

The Seed Has to Split, July 15 2019

Dear Jesus,

You are everything good, and everything I need. The real nutmeat. The presence without which everything would fall apart.

I want to say yes to You, but I feel myself aloof, guarded, wanting guarantees. What next?! Could you convince me I'm mistaken? I'm having nightmares as it is. Particle and wave.

Please show me my dreams. Could I live in one place? Home is so dear, but now and then the sound of my own chewing drives me mad. I have to be cut open and stretched apart to be useful and not rot, now that I am dead finally. The seed has to split for the new tree.