P.O.W.s

...Genesis 1:1 properly reads, "God in the beginning created the heavens and the earth." (p 3)

...No one knows the length of time between the events recorded in verses 1 and 2; but it is known that when the account given by verse 2 begins, something catastrophic had happened in the heavens and on earth. (p 4)

...When God created the heavens and the earth in the beginning, He did not create them in the chaos found in verse 2.

Genesis 1:2
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

First of all, in examining verse 2 a student of the Word must be aware that in the original Estrangelo Aramaic and Hebrew there was no verb "to be," although there was the verb "to become." This is the reason the first "was" in verse 2 is in regular print while the second "was" is italicized. It points out that there was no Hebrew word in the second usage; there was no word at that place at all, but there was a word for the first usage. The first word "was" should have been translated "became." "And the earth became without form and void..." The earth was not created in Genesis 1:1 formless and void, but it became that way. (p 6-7)

Ezekiel 28:15
Thou [Lucifer] wast perfect in thy ways from the day that thou wast created, till iniquity was found in thee.

Whatever happened between Genesis 1:1 and 1:2 was of such a cataclysmic nature that a perfectly created earth became tohu va bohu. When Lucifer rebelled in heaven, the whole creation rocked and reeled. Romans 8 says that even until today the "whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain..." (p 8-9)

I went to bed angry,
And I woke up angry.
Angry at myself,
Angry at loved ones,
But a lot of my anger
Feels directed at You.

In my head,
And in my spirit,
I understand that we are all living
In a shattered, disintegrating Creation.

I understand that
Everyone and everything
That matters to me in this life
Will someday cease to exist.
I understand that death is inevitable...
That illness, destruction, despair,
And all the tragedies and sufferings
Wrought by Nature and human hands
Are inescapable.

In my head,
And in my spirit,
I understand all these things,
But in my heart,
I rail against them.

In my heart,
I cry out against
The brokenness of Creation,
And all that this brokenness means
For Creation's inhabitants.
In my heart,
I ask You "Why?
What is the point of all this?"

O Lord,
How long must we wait for
The healing of Creation,
The restoration of Your Design
To its original wholeness?
We are so weary
From the warfare.
We are so weary
From enduring, and suffering,
For ourselves
And our cherished ones.

There are multiple paths before me.
There is one particular branch of the journey
I am loath to tread.

I am learning,
And studying,
And planning,
And cultivating patience
And understanding,
And trying to prepare.
In the meantime,
In my heart of hearts,
I pray for Your Mercy
To shine on someone's future days.

"Semper fidelis."
Sister Pat's nickname for me.
Always faithful.

O Lord,
Will you test me thus?

Wierwille, Victor Paul.  The Word's Way: Studies in Abundant Living. American Christian Press: New
     Knoxville, 1977.

Auld Lang Syne

2012.
What a full, busy,
Life-altering year.

Father,
As I go into 2013,
Be with me,
And draw me closer to You.

Be with my family,
And my second family,
And my friends,
And my team,
And my company,
And my congregations,
And my old city,
And my new city,
And my birth country,
And my home country,
And, in fact,
The entire world.

Watch over, protect,
And show Your Lovingkindness to
My sister, aunt, cousin, and cousin's fiancé...
Adalheid, the king, the wandering momma, and the king's mom...
All the pets...
The Aussie,
The Sales Manager and her children...
The Russian, her folks, and fiancé...
The Manhattanite and her son,
Didymus and her boys,
The Songbird and her family,
And the beloved archer and her family...
All those whom I hold
Near and dear in heart.

Father,
What will this year hold?
Whatever it holds,
Love us,
And enable us
To faithfully love each other.

Psalm 113:9 - A Meditation

He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the LORD!

My dear, dear Adalheid,
Aside from my mother,
You have done the most
To mold and shape
The course of my life.

You know me throughly.
You accentuate and encourage
My good points and strengths
You push me beyond
My limits and flaws.
There are moments you know me
Better than I know myself;
The right words,
And the right gestures
Guide me, steering me
In the proper way.

I did not anticipate how radically
You would change my life
When I first met you
Back in that dumpy newspaper office
On Sheepshead Bay Road.
I am so happy,
And I owe so much of that
To you.

The Good Lord works
In the most mysterious of ways.
Only He could take a twice-orphaned child,
And place that child in the care
Of somone who has never had children.
Only He could knit us together,
Compelling you to ask me to move with you,
Compelling me to choose to do so.
It's been a long few years.
I have no regrets about the path
Unfolding before me.

May the Lord continue to bless you,
To make your home a haven
To humans and animals alike...
To bless this house with love
And laughter and protection and
Health and divine intervention and
Mercy and Grace and His Presence...

But Ruth said, “Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried. May the Lord do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you.”  (Ruth 1:16-17)

Wordsmith

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. (Genesis 1:1-3)

Words are a form of action, capable of influencing change.
-Ingrid Bengis-

The words have always been there,
Words and words and more words,
A teenager's vocabulary
Crammed into a toddler's brain.
I was my loquacious mother's first.
I guess she couldn't help herself...
I guess she couldn't resist once she saw
That I was retaining what she said.

Words and words and more words
She would share with me,
And explain to me.
She would always read to me,
Golden Books, Disney Stories,
Fairy tales, and older material
Probably not suited for someone my age.
My mother first introduced me
To the lilting cadences
Of the writer's way.
I would go through her desk,
Eyeballing essays and compositions
She had written,
And thinking, "This is wonderful!
I want to be able to do this
When I grow up!"
Even the few neighbors who were family friends
Had heard about my love
Of the written word.
Lorraine from next door bought me
"The Big Book of Amazing Facts,"
A six-hundred-plus page tome
That had all kinds of facts about
Animals, and history, and science,
And other cool stuff.
She gave it to me for a present.
I was only four years old.

I started writing
At the tender age of eight -
Not the dry, boring school assignments
That my mother would quaff off for me
In under ten minutes,
But an actual short story,
A piece of fiction.
I was thrilled.
A fire was kindled,
A spark that led to the creation
Of literally thousands of pages
Of fiction, poetry, memoir, essay,
And even a play or two.

I don't exactly know what contributed to
The gradual slowing to a trickle
Of what was formerly a flood.
Life encroached.
Jobs. Family drama. Relationships.
Writing became less vital somehow,
Less needed as my days filled with
Busy-ness, responsibilities,
Chores, demands, and sleep deprivation.
But the love for the words
Has never left me.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me."
What a load of crap that is.

Words have the power to hurt or heal,
To build up or tear down,
To hide or reveal,
To convey everything from love to apathy.
Words were present at the dawning of light
Over the face of creation.
In fact,
It was the utterance of words
That brought forth light,
And everything else that followed.

Father,
Speak Your Words to me.
Speak Your Words through me.
Let the words that leave me
Be gentle and tender and loving and sincere...
Edifying, emboldening, embracing...
Whatever builds up and does not destroy,
Whatever conveys love and compassion,
Whatever the words need to be
At the moment they issue forth. 
Arm me,
Not as a denizen of planet Earth,
But as a citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven,
Wielding words as You would have me do,
Eternal Wordsmith Divine!

Surprised by Joy...Alive in Love

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
     you have loosed my sackcloth
     and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
     O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever! (Psalm 30: 11-12)

My Lord God,
I have been back in Arizona since Saturday,
And if there had ever been any lingering thoughts
About where I belong,
Those have been extinguished
By my time spent in New York. 

It's been a long week,
Time stretched alternately slow and quick
And laden with layers of meaning.
I have simultaneously aged and become younger
In the span of six days. 

My Lord God,
I am but a human,
A being of Your Design gifted with
A brief span of years upon this earth.
Portions of my earlier years
Have covered me in shadows,
But increasingly,
Your Light has illumined me,
And drawn me through to
The other side of grief and sorrow. 

And on the other side
Of those griefs and sorrows,
I am unabashedly encountering joy.

Cover me with Your Mercy;
Protect me with Your Lovingkindness.
Do not withdraw Your Face from me.
Without You,
I am nothing. 
Be ever with me,
My Creator and King,
As I embark into the
Glorious, terrifying, unknowable future. 

Anointed One,
Above all things,
Teach me daily
And remind me hourly
How to love
My cherished ones
Like You love us:
Patiently and kindly.
Without envy, boasting,
Arrogance, or rudeness.
Ready to compromise and accommodate.
Without irritability or resentfulness.
In truth, and honesty.
Bearing all things,
Believing all things,
Hoping in all things,
Enduring all things.
Love never ends. *

It is true.
My life continues to be shaped
By the love I have encountered
From You,
And through Your Creation...
From those who are here now,
And from those no longer
On this plane of existence...
From the parents who raised me,
To the birth mother I may never know. 

Let the seeds You plant in me
Flourish and bloom and propagate.
Grant that I,
However dimly,
May reflect Your Love
And sing Your praises
Out, and out, and ever out,
Indefinitely... ad infinitum...
Amen.

Father,
Thank you
For my life,
And everything and everyone in it.

And Father...
Have I mentioned to You lately
How much I love Arizona?...

* derived from 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8

Pine Tree

On the corner of the Upstate property
Is my mother's favorite pine tree.
Soaring to a height of over 40 feet,
Many summers we speculated about
The logistics of
Decorating it with Christmas lights.

We had many conversations
By this tree...
Conversations about
Life. Death. Everything in between.

"I want you to promise me
That if anything happens to me,
You will take care of Gabrielle."

That was an easy one.
One dognapping,
And a plane ride later...

"I had two daughters,"
She would say,
(Special emphasis on the word "two")
"So that you both
Could take care of each other
After we're gone."

A much harder arrangement, Ma.
Much harder to know
What are the right things to do...
Much harder to navigate
Her personality,
And the landmines present there...
Much harder to not negatively impact
My own life in the process.

But you asked,
And I promised,
And I'm trying.

Lord,
Help heal the aftermath
Of all that I've done,
And have yet to do...

Alternate Universe

Thanksgiving week, 2005.
Mommie and I were standing in this kitchen,
In the Upstate house,
And I was trying to convince her
To stay here to celebrate the holidays.

It had been a wistful desire of hers for many years -
Just once, one year,
For us to spend Thanksgiving through January here.

"Come on, Ma," I had said,
"Let's stay.
 You've always wanted to do this.
Sis and her boyfriend can come up if they want.
Let's gamble, and try it.
Who knows, we may love it!
What do you say?"

Of course,
I had ulterior motives in place.
I was slowly trying to talk my mom into relocating,
Into doing the thing she wanted to do most.
I had been offered a job at the
Times Herald-Record Newspaper,
And I was prepared to take it,
Knowing that she would stay if I did.
If only I could convince her
To pursue a course of action
That would fulfill her desires,
Instead of everyone else's all the time!

But no...
One of her daughters
Was back in Brooklyn,
And so back to Brooklyn
She and I went.

The plotting didn't exactly end there.
In January, I got a job working for
A chain of community newspapers in Brooklyn.
In September, I convinced them to let me
Work from home for an indeterminate amount of weeks,
So that I could get my mom back up here
And try convincing her again about relocating.

She passed away in October.
So much was buried along with her...

Thanksgiving week.  Seven years later.
I am back at the house,
This time without Mommie,
Preparing to celebrate my first holiday here
With my sister.
Ironically enough,
That work-at-home job I had wanted so badly
Back in 2001-2003
Has morphed into my newspaper job,
The one I had resigned from
Eight months ago. 

Timing is everything...

"It's okay if you want to move back to New York,"
Adalheid had said to me last weekend. 

No, no, my very best friend,
You have it all wrong.
That window has come and gone.
Maybe I would've been able to do that
Prior to encountering you, and your husband,
And your wandering momma,
And your parrots and dog...
Before I had been kissed by the Arizona sun,
Or walked South Mountain,
Or lain on a blanket looking
At the southwestern night sky,
Or heard the songbird's glorious trill...
Maybe back in 2005 or 2006,
My fate to stay in New York would've been sealed -
But it is not so now.
I have been too altered, too changed
To ever be at peace here.

Although my sister's future may lie here...
Mine does not.

However...
I do sometimes sit back and wonder
About that other Blanca,
Living that Upstate, NY life...

Some lives are linear,
Traveling in a straight path from point A to point B.
Mine is like a spiral,
Ever-circling back around
To reflect on the circuitous path
Propelling me forward...

Lord God,
I feel You present in this place,
Your Hand at work in this pattern of my life.
Lead on, Creator,
And continue to unveil
My path before me...

Out of Touch

Two months ago today,
I returned to New York.
This has been the longest I have been away
From Adalheid's family in three years,
And from Adalheid herself in six, almost seven.

I sorely feel the disconnect
From my Arizona life in its entirety.
There's a drop-off point in my head
Where the Blanca living this alternative existence
Is somehow disjointed from the Blanca
Who lived in Arizona for six months.

Scattered, scattered...
Too many lives being led simultaneously,
And nothing ever in cohesion.
My "filing system," as Adalheid calls it,
Has sustained some heavy hits.
I have been altered by my time spent here.
I feel much heavier in my internal headspace. 

Every action has consequences.
Father,
Let the path I have walked,
And the good I have tried to do here in New York
Not negatively impact
The life I long to lead in Arizona...

Ocean and Earth

My Lord God...

My friend's soul is,
To me,
Like the ocean.
Deep and mysterious.
Ebbing and flowing.
Sometimes dangerous in its motions.
Sometimes treacherous.
Sometimes tumultuous.
Changeable with a sense of
Brooding beneath the waves.
Alluring with a siren song
That is hard for me to resist.
Beautiful and terrifying,
Enlivening and crushing,
Able to buoy me
Or drown me.

My soul is
Like the earth,
A field where others
Build houses
From which they aren't evicted.
They can choose to leave,
But the fence remains open
For them to return. 
There are permanent residents here.
My heart strives to
Love them,
Nourish them,
Protect them,
To be a place where they can be
Safe and secure. 

Father,
I am standing on the shoreline
Between ocean and earth,
Surveying the damages wrought
By the most recent storm.
The tide has receded further out
Than I had expected or thought possible.

Eli,
My Lord God,
Face down in the wet sand,
I ask You to
Mediate for me.
Maker of earth and ocean,
Reconcile my friend's soul to me.

I am approaching the shoreline
With great unease and trepidation.

Please, God, please...
Not another loss,
Not another someone
I have to get over...

Expiation

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

Lord...
In 2006 after our mom passed away,
I sat in the kitchen of our Gerritsen Beach family home,
And said to my sister,
"There's a $700 monthly deficit here
Between the bills and the mortgage
And what I make.
How am I supposed to make that up?"

Angrily, defiantly, she said to me,
"Well, you figure it out!"

It was a bad time.
Neither of us were thinking very clearly.
Neither of us knew what to do
With the weight of all that our mom's passing
Thrust upon us.
Forced into the unexpected role of family breadwinner,
I found myself with a mortgaged home in Gerritsen Beach,
A home that needed maintenance and repairs in Wurtsboro,
More bills than I could conceive of,
And a full-time-plus and part-time job
That still didn't financially cover it all.

For three years, I struggled vainly with the money problems.
I fell drastically behind on the mortgage payments,
And then madly scrambled to finance those payments.
No one knows the full extent I went through
To try to get that money
Except you, Lord.
The begging.  The near-loan-shark transactions.
The lies and cover-ups and complete deceitfulness
I regularly and systematically engaged in while buying time.
The life insurance policy I took on myself
And then asked You to mow me down
So my sister could pay off the Brooklyn house. 
All the sleepless nights.
All the crazy thoughts.
When it finally blew up,
So too did my relationship with my sister.
Already a rocky one,
This nearly demolished it altogether.

So many people weighed in with their opinions
About my trip here to New York.
Your sister is an adult, she can help herself.
She has to learn how to be independent and self-sufficient.
No one gives up weeks of their life at a time.
All true.
But -
No one knows or understands the promises I made
To parents no longer alive.
No one knows or understands the conversations I had with You
About my soul-sickness.
No one understands the knot of thoughts and emotions
Sitting at the center of my chest -
Guilt and remorse and family ties and loyalty and
"Honor thy mother and father" and
"Be reconciled to thy brother."

Who are you serving, the archer had asked me.
You don't get it, I wanted to say.
You weren't there through the years of struggle,
Through the food stamps and fighting for veteran-disability pensions,
Through the hospital stays and the home dialysis,
Through the fire of our first home in Gerritsen Beach,
And the flood that ravaged our second home in Wurtsboro,
And all the other things that happened in between and since.
We were four.
And then we were whittled to three.
And now we're just two. 
And yes, it matters what happens to my sister,
No matter how spotty and checkered and messed up our relationship is
Because relationships matter eternally. 
And yes, I have felt the depth of my wrongdoing
Because all I kept reviewing in my mind these past few weeks is
"If you hadn't lost the house in Brooklyn,
Your sister wouldn't be forced to move Upstate now."

What did I hope to accomplish by coming here?
Spiritually - communicating to my sister that she is not alone in the Universe
(from a human perspective).
Emotionally - propping her up so that she wouldn't disintegrate nor explode.
Mentally - helping to plan then execute the actual move.
Physically - providing the manpower to facilitate the move.
And for myself?
Peace of mind.  Release from guilt.
Knowing that my sister is on a path to soundness and wholeness.

Oh Lord,
My great, gracious, God,
How completely unfathomable and mysterious and wondrous
Is the way that you have unfolded,
And continue to unfold
My life.

The sale of the house in Brooklyn
Financed the necessary repairs for the house Upstate.
Had we not sold the one,
By now we would've lost both,
The Brooklyn house to Hurricane Sandy,
And the Upstate house to a crumbling foundation.

I walked by our former house on Sunday morning,
And stared in wide-eyed horror at the collapsed fence,
The items strewn on the lawn,
The open basement door that led to the sub-street-level basement
That I had baled out on numerous, rainy occasions.

O Lord,
Be with those people who purchased our family home.
Help them recover from the devastation,
From all that they have lost.

Lord,
Thank You that we were not there.
Thank You for protecting us
In this most unexpected and convoluted of ways.

Father,
There is release at the end of this long, circuitous journey.
At last,
There is an easing of burdens,
A knowing and experiencing of Your Grace
That far outweighs all that I have felt and envisioned
These past three years.
At the end of all this,
I can feel seeds of peace and freedom
Finally flourishing...
Finally leading me to where I belong...

West... west...
The arid air and desert landscapes
Are calling me home.

"Everything happens for a reason."
Indeed, Adalheid, indeed!...

Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,
    whose sin is covered.
I acknowledged my sin to you,
    and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
    and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. Selah  (Psalm 32: 1a, 5)

Pierced 2

So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. (Matthew 5:23, 24)

Father,
Tell me...
What is it
That I am supposed to do
If a fellow child of God
Does not wish to be
Reconciled to me?...

Disaster Area

Gerritsen Beach.
Never in my wildest nightmares
Have I envisioned what I saw today.

Cars haphazardly littering the avenue.
Trash and debris strewn in yards.
National Guard troops dispensing gas.
Dumpsters everywhere, loaded with
The water-logged detritus of so many lives.
Relief lines for food.
My sister and I stood on one of the lines,
Retrieving a hot meal for our aunt.
"You have no idea
How much this has taken out of me," she said.

Looking around... Yes, I do.

God...
As the five of us bed down
In my aunt's small living room,
I pray for Your Protection
Through this long, dark night.
I pray for Your Guiding Hand
For my aunt, her family,
And all the people devastated by Hurricane Sandy
Through these arduous days ahead...

Lord...
I am truly without anymore words...

Tohu Va Bohu

The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. (Genesis 1:2)

O Lord,
You who have wrought order
Out of the chaos of the universe,
Do so, too,
To the darkness in my mind.

Disorder reigns.
It's getting harder to hide and control.
It's manifesting and impacting everything...
Jobs, relationships, responsibilities.

I don't know what's going on.
I've felt a change,
But what it represents,
I do not know.
Even my speech sometimes stumbles,
As the wrong word escapes my mouth
In lieu of the right word inside my head.

Let Your Light shine forth,
And bring order out of my internal chaos.
All things are possible to You.
Please, Father, please...
Illumine me...

Valley Prayer for A

Father,
My aunt stubbornly refuses
To leave her house.
She's past ten days without
Electric, heat, and hot water.
She stayed at the house
Throughout Wednesday's nor'easter.
She offers endless excuses
Of appointments with FEMA,
Insurance agents and others
As her reasons for not leaving the house.

Father,
Protect her
As she strives to preserve
What's left of her material life.
Keep her pressure low,
And her body warm
As she battles high blood pressure
And cold-induced body pains.
Protect her from looters,
And all the other forms of danger
Manifesting in hurricane-ravaged Southern Brooklyn.
Bring her to safety
If and when she seeks it.
Be close to her, Lord.
Be at hand.
She needs Your help
To pull through this time.
Uphold her, Father...

Anticipation

Lord,
I don't know what happened overnight,
But I woke up this morning
With my heart in my throat,
And tons of nervous energy.

Last day on-site at MetroTech.
Packing up the Uhaul tomorrow.
Setting out for Upstate Saturday.
And then...

School and work have always been my buffers,
Welcome escapes from the crazy
Sometimes awaiting me in my family life.
The fact that I will now be going Upstate,
And will be alone in the house with my sister for two weeks,
Is forming a familiar, unwelcome knot in my chest.

I have broached the conversation
About my need to return to Arizona
Several times with my sister.
For each reason I present,
She's finding a way to refute it,
Or work around it.
She's not getting it, God.
She's avoiding the issue.
And Father, please... I have to go.

Manipulation was a skill
Honed to a rapier blade in Mommie's hands,
And one that my sister inherited.
Mommie could assault me with words
That would cut me to the quick,
And make me second-guess
My actions, decisions, motivations,
My very sense of self and identity.
My sister's manipulation
Used to be of a more turbulent strain,
Involving thrown objects,
Tossed furniture,
And a verbal barrage learned from our mom.
She's toned down...
But I sense the edge still there.

I developed a system of
Anticipation, avoidance, lying, and giving in
Very early on. 
At that point, it felt like the only way.
It was easier to roll over and play dead
Than stand up for myself,
Assert myself, or fight.
The passing years only saw
More and more of me dissolving.
I didn't engage in my first true act of rebellion
Until I was 20, and moved out.

Adalheid has done so much
To teach me new ways of thinking
That aren't laden with guilt.
But there are apparently several gaps
In my so-called filing system,
And my sister is one of them.

There was a moment when we were on the phone,
And she said things I remembered
From an incident when Mommie was alive.
It involved an overturned dining room table,
A knife, and enough blood
To scare the crap out of me.
I panicked.
It was like I was there again,
Reliving some horror movie scene,
And all the old impulses and behaviors
Rushed to the surface.
I doubted.
She wouldn't - Would she? -
The not being sure blew me away.
So to New York I came.

Father,
I know that there's an unspoken expectation
In my sister's mind.
I know that I'm about to fall short of it.
I know an attack is coming.
I know that all the pent-up resentments and jealousies
Are about to foment to the surface.
I am so afraid of the fallout from my actions.
Afraid almost to the point of... what?
Immobility?  Capitulation?  
Self-sabotage?  Dissolution of self?

No.  NO. 

Softness and compassion, in and of themselves,
Are not bad character traits,
But taken to an extreme, can be.
There is a difference between having a healthy conscience
And allowing myself to be consumed and controlled by guilt...
Guilt for not living up to people's expectations,
And for choosing a life
That removes me from
The immediacy of my sister's life.

Father,
Help me find the fine line of balance
Within myself...

Arrow

Father,
An arrow has been shot at me,
And it has found its mark.

Have I proven myself deserving
Of such little faith in my actions?

Anointed One,
Mediate for me please.
Guide me to safety
On the other side of being hurt.

I hate that the people we really love
Often have the greatest power
To deeply hurt us...

Dispossessed

This last week prior to
My sister's relocation Upstate,
We are living like refugees
In the master bedroom.
Hiding out. Planning escape.
Eating on the run.
Sleeping at odd hours and intervals.
Packing furiously when inspired to.
Recovering from a cold that has left us
Sounding like walking contagion.
We are drained,
Physically, mentally, emotionally.
There's a reason why moving
Is one of the top five stressful situations.
We're living through all those reasons
And then some
Right now.

This is how a heart breaks, I muse,
Hearing Rob Thomas singing in my head.

Yesterday,
I spent many hours in the second bedroom,
Repositioning or repacking the boxes that stored
So much of my sister's life
That she hadn't unpacked three years ago.
Oh, what I found. And touched.
And remembered.
My sister has held on to
The relics of our former lives
As children of our parents.
She's kept holiday decorations,
And accent pieces like the
Wrought iron candelabras,
A remnant from our old life pre-fire.
"Happiness is being married
To your best friend,"
A wall plaque read that I repacked.
Our parents were, at heart,
True romantics.

This, too, is how a heart breaks.
Mommie only lasted six years
After Daddy passed away.
There have been moments I thought,
"What, Ma, we weren't enough to keep you here?
You had to leave us to go see him?"

I stood in the fire of my sister's breakup,
And the shadow of my parents' love,
And thought,
"There is no way I want this for my life."
The ones I love will eventually leave me,
Willingly or not.
What is the point of all this?

And yet,
To be fully human,
We must love others.
And let them love us.

Father,
Hasten the day
When it won't be like this.
I long for restoration, and wholeness,
The undoing of losses,
The unraveling of fears.
Give me courage to love freely,
Without the undercurrent fear of loss...

A Letter to Mommie

Ma,
Six years ago today
You left us.
By leaving, I mean that
Your physical body
Ceased to work,
And we were no longer
Gifted with your human presence.
No longer would I be warmed
By your words,
Or alternately pierced by your blazing eyes.
No longer would you reach out
And touch my arm or grab my shoulder
As you passed by...
Establishing contact,
Just saying "hi."

Today I feel the lack of you
Like a ball of molten lead
Sitting in the middle of my chest.
It's a hot, magmatic mess.
Right now,
I am a hot, magmatic mess.

So much has changed
During these past six years.
I am not who you remember.
I am different, aged,
More resilient and more sensitive,
More tuned in to God,
And more tuned in to myself
As His child.
There are moments my life
Does not make any rational sense to me,
And somehow, that's okay.
There are moments I wish that I
Could talk to you,
Face to face...
Could hear your wisdom...
Could experience the way you made me
Laugh at my own seriousness
Without making me self-conscious.
When I wasn't afraid to approach you,
You would always provide me with
Feedback, and comfort, and support.
I wish I could share with you
All the crazy, zany, everyday experiences
Of my life with Adalheid and the tribe in AZ.
It's strange to acknowledge that
If you were here,
I would never have moved.
My life continues to be shaped
By 29 years of your presence,
And the remainder of my days
By your absence.

I am trying so hard
To do the right things.
Things that matter,
That positively impact other lives.
I am trying so hard
To hear God's voice in my life,
To discern what He would like me to do,
And not trip over myself in the process.

I don't wrestle with Demon Depression
Like I used to.
I have blue days, and black and blue days,
But nothing like the abyss I once hovered over.
Consequently, Demon Alcohol
No longer exerts a hold on me either.
I don't want to drink myself into oblivion.
I can drink, and not want to get drunk.

That has been mightily tested
During my last few weeks in New York.

I am bone weary
From the situation with your younger daughter.
There are times I feel like
She is draining the life out of me.
I am angry that no one else
Wants the burden of helping her,
And I'm too sensitive to the devastation in her
To let her fall alone beneath its weight
Without putting up a fight alongside her.
I am trying to prop her up,
Without losing sight of myself.
Her nature remains foreign to me;
There are moments I vacillate between
Wanting to hug her
And wanting to smack her. 
I can't stay long enough with her
To make her happy.
I can't leave fast enough to return to AZ
To make everyone else happy.
I am braced for the weeks ahead,
The strings of disappointments
That will trail my actions,
Whatever they may be.
A little of your strength and conviction
Would be welcome gifts right now.

Finding the balance is so damn hard.

Help me help her get settled.
And then help me get back to AZ.

I wonder what you would say to me
About the choices I have made,
And the actions I am taking.
I wonder what you would say to me
About pursuing the things I have always wanted,
And choosing the compatriots
Who have become my second family
In your absence.

I pray that I will not forever be
Bereft of your presence.
As you wrote on the note
You sent Daddy into the afterlife with,
"Until we meet again..."

Divine Appointments

The Aussie's cousin,
The fisherman,
Is in New York City,
Traveling on business
For his ministry.

We brunched at the New Apollo,
Swapping life stories
About God's love for us,
And the events that have set us
Upon the paths we now travel.

There was a moment
When he spoke of having
A divine appointment with me...
When he said that he felt that
I was one of the people
He had to meet while in New York.
As he spoke,
I could feel the thread of my life
Being interwoven with his,
However briefly,
In the rich, mysterious tapestry of
The Triune Godhead.
Yes, Lord, I thought,
You have brought refreshment
To my weary soul
From literally half the world away!

The fisherman reminded me
Of God's grace and love,
And how to move freely within it.
"His mercies are new every morning."
Ha ha, oh yes,
How I know that to be true!

Father,
You have always sent me lights
To illumine my way
When I tread through dark places.
Thank You for sending
The Aussie into my life's work and inner workings,
And the fisherman at this moment
When I need the reassurance of You.
Embolden and strengthen us all
As we walk our divergent paths
Along the roads You have set before us!

Unmoored

There she stood
At the MetroTech train station
With a cardboard sign
Stating that she was suddenly homeless
And had lost everything in a fire.

I was already at the office
When I was prompted to go back
And talk to her.

Over breakfast,
She told me her name is Debbie.
She summarized her life story,
And the events leading up to
Her desperate, destitute condition.
She told me that no one ever stops
To talk to her.

Of course.  You are invisible, I thought.
And I am a creature who precariously hovers
Between worlds.
I operate on instincts, and gut feelings,
And spiritual promptings,
Seeing what others often miss. 
I see you, Debbie, I thought,
Thick with emotion
In response to her tears.

I ministered to her as best I could.
I felt awkward and foolish,
Guilty and self-conscious,
But I stayed, and listened,
And prayed that she heard You
In the words coming out of my mouth.

How easy it is
For a string of events
To rip us from our moorings at life's docks,
And toss us about
A storm-savaged sea!
How very easy to lose
Meaning and direction and purpose!

O Lord,
Let the words of my mouth
And the meditations of my heart
Be pleasing to You.
Recall that girl to life's safe shores.
Help her get settled.
Help her find a good way,
A sturdy harbor in her storm.
Fan the flame of hope inside her.
Above all, Father,
Don't let that be snuffed out.

I rode up the escalator
Disconcerted and unsatisfied.
Lord, have I done enough?
I asked You.
It never feels like enough.

The lyrics to the hymn
"Let Your Heart Be Broken"
Resound in my head,
Weaving through the melody
In a tapestry that girds me.

And deeper in the background,
On the periphery of my thoughts,
I hear the siren call of seminary...

Envisioned

For the archer

I've always had
A vivid, over-active imagination.
Daydreams occupy my time
During mundane tasks
Like doing dishes or riding the train.
When I was a kid,
Fantasy stories and adventures
Would dance through my mind.
As I became older,
The daydreams became more down-to-earth,
And sometimes much darker or sinister
Depending upon the seasons of my life,
But they have never, ever left me.

Robert Foster talks about
The role that imagination can play
In prayer life.
You have given us imaginations;
Why, then, should we not put them
To use in service to You,
And in service to each other?

In my mind's eye, I see...

In the spiritual realm,
The AZ house looks like a
Radiant, dome-shaped sphere,
A halo of light encompassing
The physical structures of
House and cars and
Ficus tree and backyard.
Pulses of radiance shoot out of the house,
A hidden nexus of Love and Light
Traveling along ethereal axons,
Binding us to God
And one another.
This is our earthly home,
An earthly temple of unlikely compatriots,
Bound together
In ways unseen,
For purposes yet to be revealed.

It is dawn.
I see the Anointed One
Coming down the street,
Approaching the house
With a gentle, purposeful stride.
Fingertips of soft translucence
Bathe the ground and air,
Enlivening the bushes and flowers,
The earth and cacti.
The environment hums aloud the scripture
"All things were made through him,
and without him was not any thing made that was made." *

He enters the house.
Gabrielle and Fifi toss in their sleep,
Sensing his Numinous Presence.
The king doesn't know that
The King is leaning over his shoulder,
Reading his e-mail,
Tweaking the universe so that
Another eBay sale is closed,
And another client seeks out his skills.

The birds in the birdie room
Stir into parrot semi-consciousness.
They bow in silence to the East,
Hailing the morning and the King,
Hearing in their hollow bones
Echoes from the primordial past,
The cycles and rhythms of life
Authored by the Holy One downstairs.

In the master bedroom, Adalheid is asleep.
The hub of the house's aura,
The Anointed One infuses her
With divine energies, healing powers,
Insight, strength, endurance,
Cosmic protection and intervention.
Downstairs, the wandering momma
Sleeps like a dead weight.
He peeks in on her,
Sifting through the amyloid plaques
With a thought and a breath of peace.
Today will be an okay day for her.

Simba emerges from my bedroom,
Greeting the King with a loud purr.
He walks before Him into the den,
Leading Him to the archer
Who is asleep on the comfy, brown couch.

My beloved archer,
Another initiate into our ragtag band of
A family of friends...
Drawn by threads of Love and Fate that,
For all we know,
Have been sewn
Since the foundations of the world were laid.

In spirit,
I am seated on the cuddler.
I have been waiting to speak with Him about her.

He turns, sees me, and softly smiles.

I smile back,
Feeling some of the heaviness in me lift.

There is a pregnant pause.
I seek words.
I seek passages to express
What my human mind grapples with.
I thumb through Romans,
And finally find what I'm looking for.

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified. **

He hears me read the passage in my mind,
And nods.
"Please..." I mumble aloud,
My one word request encompassing
All my pleading and emotion and thought...
Everything in me lensing to a laser-like point
Focused on the healing of the archer
After last week's car accident.
"I know You spared her," I say,
"And I and everyone else are so
Thankful and grateful that you did.
Now, I ask You to mend her,
Body and soul.
Restore her to wholeness,
Our Lord and Healer!"
The prayer rises up my spine,
And out the crown of my head,
Tingling in that way it does
When the Holy Spirit is at work in me.

The Anointed One sits on the piece of couch
Between the couch's edge and the archer's pillow.
She lightly stirs, her arm flung in sleep over her eyes.
He brushes her hair back from her forehead,
And I watch the healing-filled Light
Escaping His fingertips...
I watch the Hands that made her
Slowly bring down her body's inflammation...
He soothes away her troubled sleep,
Reigning in her fears and misgivings
Beneath His glorious cloak.
He exhales a deep breath,
Controlling a steady flow of
Physical and spiritual energies
That are repairing the archer
From the inside out.
He tenderly kisses her forehead,
And there is an easing, a slight release
Of the pain from the concussion.
"Humans take time to heal,"
He reminds me.

I take it as a word of assurance,
And a call to patience and continued prayer.
I feel confidence renewed within my soul.
I feel my spirit overflow
In praise and worship.

O, my Lord God,
Creator and Healer,
Whose touch heals so many
And even raises the dead,
Hear my ardent prayer,
And grant that it may be so!...

*John 1:3
**Romans 8:26-30

The Customer Service Face

Lunchtime shoe shopping
With the Aussie.
She is shopping.
I am tagging along.
Suddenly, I realize that
A woman is addressing me.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
And then I see her dilemma;
A clothes hanger,
Complete with clothing attached,
Has lodged itself in the
Curls of her hair.
She can't extricate herself from it.
I untangle her.
She thanks me, and continues shopping.

There were at least
Ten other people milling about
That the woman could've asked for help from.
Why me?
99 times out of 100,
Why me?

I am that person:
The person people will stop and ask for directions;
The person little, old ladies gravitate to
To help them across the street
With bags and packages;
The person that hungry and homeless people
Are not afraid to approach for alms,
Or anything else, for that matter.

I call this syndrome
The Customer Service Face.

It's pretty severe.
I have tried masking my appearance
To minimize the syndrome's impact.
I wear hats, headphones, sunglasses.
I pull the hood from my sweatshirt
Deep over my face
So that it is cloaked in shadow.
I turn up the music on my iPhone so loud
That other people can hear it.
It's all to no avail.
I am always stopped, queried,
Sought, picked, tapped, singled out
In countless banal and sometimes extraordinary circumstances.

It's me too, of course.
There is something about me
That shouts safety, openness, welcome
To stranger, friend and foe alike.
Surely, this is dangerous.
Surely I must shut down,
Shut out, shut off
In order to successfully survive life intact.
I've had this conversation with myself
So many times.

This is far beyond
People-pleasing or being motivated by guilt.
It's innate, like breathing...
A generalized vibe I emit
That human souls receive,
Without either of us knowing what's happening.

Father,
I have exposed myself,
Trying to do the right things.
I have been betrayed
By stranger, friend and foe alike.
I feel far too vulnerable,
Far too open to survive.
And yet I know -
I acknowledge -
That this is a part of my nature,
And that I could sooner grow wings and fly to the moon
Than protect myself.

Abba,
Shield me
From the good or evil intentions of others
That ultimately hurt me.
Shield me
From my disappointments,
From my mislaid plans that backfire,
From the enemy who knows how
To lay me low in five seconds flat.
Shield me
From myself,
And the unspoken dangers
I am exposed to
Which I sometimes step into unwittingly,
And sometimes step into
With a premonition of trouble.

Almighty Lord of Hosts,
Be Thou my Fortress,
My Rock and My Redeemer,
My Protector,
Now and all the days of my life!...

Pierced

Father...
We cannot fathom
The rhymes and reasons,
The hidden meanings and workings
Behind our lives.
Your Understanding
Arcs across our pasts, presents, and futures,
A secret path, a hidden thread
Leading back ultimately -
To salvation or damnation -
By You and through You.

Instill faith in us
When darkness encroaches -
When friends fail us -
When serpent tongues
Pierce us with poisonous fangs.
Protect us
When we feel compelled to take action,
And throw ourselves into the fray.
But mostly, Abba,
Heal us
Where and when we need it most.
We get injured. We bleed.
Tend to our wounds
With Your gentle, loving touch...

The Big H

Father,
My sister and I have set a date
For her untimely relocation
To our home in Wurtsboro Hills.

I remember being eight,
And we pulled up to the house
In Daddy's Chrysler.
My parents paused,
Surveying the house
From the car's confines.
Finally, Mommie spoke.
"Is this it?" she asked.
"What a dump!"

Mommie was the first one
To then fall in love with said dump.

The Big H,
The House on the Hill,
Became a summertime haven for
The four of us.
We were normal there,
Much more mentally and emotionally healthy
Than when we were in Brooklyn.
I would squeeze my childhood into two months,
Climbing trees,
Catching and releasing grasshoppers,
Swimming like a fish at the lake.
I would weep on the return trip to Brooklyn,
Bracing for the torturous school year ahead.

My parents and sister
Were ready to make the move there
In 1997.
I had moved out that summer
Under the thin guise of finishing
My last two years of college on full scholarship.
The truth, of course,
Was a much more disastrous affair.
I know that, in large part,
Because I stayed behind in Brooklyn
They didn't go through with the move.
I know my sister still holds that against me,
One of those unspoken resentments between us.

In 2004,
When I became mystery illness sick,
I went to the house with Mommie
For three months.
I walked the paths and roads,
Reliving my childhood
While my body slowly shucked off
The still-unknown malady
That had crippled it.
I personally know about
The healing qualities of that location,
The balm to body and soul provided
At one of my lowest life points.

The house has undergone many transformations,
Thanks to a home improvement grant,
A flood that destroyed much of the interior,
A second home improvement grant,
And the diligent help of friends
Who have kept a caring eye on it
During our absences over the years.
It's winterized.
Someone could occupy it all year long.

Many people have told us,
Especially after Mommie passed,
"You should sell that house.
No one is in it.
It's an albatross."
I must admit I had moments
Where I thought selling it would be best.

Now?
Thank God for the house.
Thank God that we didn't sell it.

Father,
My sister will be up there
Alone
This fall... This winter...
Who ultimately knows for how long.
Draw close to her.
Draw her close to You.
Bring her to whatever comfort she can find
In this home haunted by
Good memories and
Good energies.
Protect the house protecting her:
The heating system,
The roof,
The pipes,
The well,
The septic system,
And everything else needed to
Keep her safe and comfortable.
Show her the beauty found in nature.
Let her meet and connect with
Gentle, noble, honest souls
Who will befriend her,
Making her feel welcome and at ease.

Father,
Adalheid's favorite expression is,
"Everything happens for a reason."
Unfold Your Plans to my sister,
And illuminate her to see
The meaning and purpose behind
This unexpected detour in her life.
I trust You enough to throw
Alot more caution to the wind
Than ever before...
Help me convey and cultivate that
Within her.

Big H...
For so many winters
You have slept.
Awaken, now,
To welcome my sister
To her home...

Runner

Abba,
I spent the better part of my life
Running from my parents,
My sister,
My peers,
And my friends.
I had multiple selves,
Swappable like cell phone casings,
Exchangeable at a moment's notice.

My running days,
By and large,
Are over.
The sensitive, warm, weird, quirky,
Smart, naive, dense, emotional parts of me,
Along with all the other facets
Of my personality,
Are finally melding into a
Cacophonous whole,
Presented for the entire world
To see... And judge.

You have spoken to me
Using Holy Writ.
You have taught me
What really matters,
And this has brought me
To a place of rest:

But the Lord said to Samuel, "Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7)

Abba,
For my friend
Who is figuratively on the run
On multiple fronts,
Give her strength to run towards
The things worth running towards...
Give her peace to stop running from
The elements contributing to her leading
A fragmented life,
However small the cracking is.
Give her discernment and wisdom
To choose to run or stand
As You see fit!...

Petitions for the Year Ahead

Yom Kippur.
The Books close tonight, Lord.
Decrees are being made,
Paths set,
Threads woven
Before the Heavenly Books
Are sealed.

I recall to mind
And bless You for
All the mercies and faithfulness
And kindness and gentleness
You have showered upon my life
This past year.
You brought me to Arizona
And a new, full life there.
You preserved my job,
Enabling me to work remotely.
You opened doors to new friendships,
Most notably with the archer and the songbird.
I feel happy and whole,
Looking forward to each new day.

Lord,
As you set before us
The year ahead,
I humbly petition
For Your mercies to be showered upon
All those near and dear to my heart.
My sister. My aunt. My cousin and her fiancé.
My Adalheid and the king and the wandering momma.
My beloved archer.
The archer's family and friends.
The songbird, the choirs, the music ministries,
And the Mountain View community.
The Aussie. The classified team.
The publishing company as a whole.
Didymus, wherever she may be, and her family.
The manhattanite and her family.
My friends and mentors at New Utrecht.
Everyone's furry or feathered charges.
All those whose lives
Have intersected and are intersecting with mine.

Lord,
Be near me.
Guide me. Enlighten me.
Strengthen me. Embolden me.
Always, always forgive me
When I mess up,
Which is often.

Father,
Enable us to faithfully serve You,
To be Your ambassadors,
Your soldiers, Your children
As we walk upon this broken earth.
Protect and enhance our lives.
Help us help each other,
And see each other through dark times.
Walk in our midst,
Great Redeemer,
And for another year,
Inscribe us, O Lord,
In Your Book of Life!

Mobilization

"Those who do not learn from the past
Are doomed to repeat it."
Oh, how true
THAT expression is.

I remember...
Being that hypersensitive kid,
Always seeking my mother's face
For the subtle -
Or not-so-subtle cues -
That would signal
Her annoyance
Her anger
Her general displeasure.
My mother would work herself up
To the point of literally
Making herself sick.
There would be yelling, followed by
A generalized shutdown
Where she would lock herself away
For hours...
More often, a day or two.

Father, truly,
Has my sister imbibed
That much of the family mishegoss
That she, unwittingly or not,
Is exhibiting the same behavior?
The stewing, brooding, thought patterns...
The perseverating, intrusive thought patterns...
The dramatics. The narcissism.
The self-destruction. The depression.

My aunt is talking about
Reliving her past.
So, too, am I...
Like I've returned
To the scene of a long-forgotten crime...

Father,
You have the ability
To do anything.
Please break through to my sister.
Please make her see that
Now is not the time
To fall over beneath
The weight of her
Fears, doubts, sorrows, hurt, and grief.
Lift her up,
Up and out of the mire she's in.
Give her foresight,
Give her hope,
Give her strength
To get into action and move.
She needs Your Touch
To heal her from the inside out.
Please, my Lord, my King,
Do not let her fall!...

Ruminations on the Passing of a Brooklyn Rose

I place the rose
Upon the casket,
Whispering to its occupant,
"See you soon, my dear."

I weep. I smile.
I marvel at the fullness of life on earth
Led by my sister in Christ.
I laugh, remembering
My own run-ins with her.
I hug many,
The encouraging lights for my life
Found in the hallowed halls
Of New Utrecht.

Lord,
How many more passings,
Until my own?
How many more eulogies,
How many more seeing-offs,
Sending-offs,
Until you call me home?

You have called my parents,
And more people precious to me
Than I can count.
But you have brought me to places
Where I have found other lights
(Your doing, no doubt),
And so there has been a steady stream
Of earthly illumination on my path.
I hear You,
See You
Reflected in the love and warmth
Of so many others.
My life has been truly blessed.
Thank you.

Lord,
Place before me
The path I am to tread,
The lives I am supposed to intersect with,
The ways and means
To do things pleasing to You.
When the time comes
That You speak my name,
And call me to You,
Grant that I may be reunited
With all those lost to me.
Grant that I may once again
See Nanny's radiant smile,
Hear Daddy's high-pitched burst of laughter,
And feel the force of Mommie's embrace.
Grant that what is spoken of me
By the people I will leave behind
Is a simple,
"Thus departs from us
A child of the Most High God!..."

R'tzei

R'tzei Adonai Eloheinu b’amcha yisrael uvit’filatam, v’hasheiv et ha-avodah lidvir
beitecha [v’ishei yisrael] ut’filatam b’ahavah t’kabel b’ratzon, ut’hi l’ratzon tamid
avodat yisrael amecha. V’techezenah eineinu b’shuvcha l’tziyon b’rachamim. Baruch
Atah Adonai, hamachazir sh’chinato l’tziyon.

Accept, Adonai our God, your people Israel and their prayer. And restore the worship to
the inner sanctuary of Your house. [And the fires (offerings) of Israel] and their prayer in
love and favor receive willingly. And may the worship of Your people Israel be ever
acceptable to You. And turn our eyes again to see Your return in mercy to Zion. Blessed are
You, Adonai, who restores the Shechinah to Zion.

In my dreams,
I am at Temple Kol Ami,
At the concert heralding
The start of the High Holy Days.

On the stage stands
The songbird.
Eyes alight,
Her beautiful soprano
Rises up and out,
Washing over me in waves
That bring tears to my eyes.

The dream moves away from
The memories of that night,
And enters the realm of imagination.
The archer stands, walks,
And takes her place next to
The songbird on stage.
Her sweet contralto is a counterpoint,
An anchor against which
The songbird's soprano
Spirals, like the smoke of a burnt offering,
To the heavens.

I stare in bewilderment as,
From out of the shadows of stage right,
Adalheid joins the other two,
And a throaty baritone
Emerges from her lips.
The three strands of voices
Weave like a cord around me,
Enveloping my soul,
Singing in unison the message:

"Come home."

The R'tzei explodes out,
A kaleidoscope of praise and longing
Thundering to the rafters,
To the heavens,
Before the Throne of God.
I ride its wave
Up, and up, and ever up,
Weeping now,
Breaking in two,
Torn between
My own longings
And a compelling sense of duty.

Father,
Gideon asked for signs,
And you provided him several.
Please, I beg you,
Give me a sign.
Give me a few; I'm dense sometimes.
Signal to me
What are the right things to say and do
Moving forward.

The Heavenly Books are open, now, Father.
The decrees are being made for the year ahead:
"Who shall live, and who shall die.
Who shall be impoverished, and who shall be enriched.
Who shall fall and who shall rise.” *
I feel the weight of the next few days upon me.
I feel the weight of my prayers and petitions,
My hopes and dreams and fears,
Rising up
Before Your Throne.

Father, guide my sister
Through this time.
Give her hope; grant her foresight to see through
To the other side of tomorrow.
Let her feel Your Presence,
Your Blessings,
Your Hand in motion upon her life.
You have upheld,
And continue to uphold me.
Grant the same to her.
Give her life, and strength, and
Meaning, and purpose,
And faith, and hope, and love.

Amen, Amen,
A thousand amens before Your Throne,
Restorer of Souls,
Healer of Wounds,
Into Whose Hands
We commit our lives...

* http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/4762/jewish/What-Is-Rosh-Hashanah.htm

Into the Maelstrom

Jay Street-MetroTech train platform.
Waiting for the R train.
Like I never left Brooklyn.
Like the past six months have been
A phenomenal dream.
I left New York airspace
On March 19th...
I left Arizona airspace
On September 19th,
To return here.

My sister looks like a wraith,
A sunken, beaten-down shadow
Of her former self.
When I walked through the door yesterday,
She clung to me
Like I imagine a drowning man
Would cling to a life raft.

Lord, Lord,
Please.
I need help. I need guidance.
I have NO idea what to do here.

My aunt doesn't want to be burdened by my sister.
Her few friends all live at home with their parents,
So no "moving in with a friend" scenario
Is in the works.
Her ex-fiancé wants her out of his apartment
As soon as possible,
Knowing full well
That she can't support herself financially right now.
We still have the Upstate house,
But that seems too isolated a place
To simply dump her; then what?
She's at rock-bottom depression,
Feeling abandoned and forlorn
And a serious dose of sorry for herself.
I called her at 1 o'clock today
To tell her to get out of bed,
Feed herself and the cats.

"Don't be afraid
To pour yourself out,"
Terry had said.
But Lord,
Where does my responsibility to her end,
And my responsibility to myself begin?
What path do I carve
That lets her know that I love her
And support her,
But that allows me to live my life as well?

Father,
I have been so happy these past six months.
I feel alive inside,
Thinking about the Arizona sun,
The happiness of the people and animals,
The fullness of life being lived out
Within the Mountain View community,
And the loving friendship I have found
With the archer.
Grant that I may return there
With a peaceful conscience,
And the conviction of having made the best choices.

Is that selfish?
Is that wrong?
Am I simply looking out for number one
By saying all this?

Father,
Help me.
Help me
Help her.
Help me navigate through
This emotional maze of
Sorrow and guilt and grief and blame.
Help her get into motion,
And make smart decisions for her life.
Provide for her means and ways
To leave his apartment,
And to feel confident to resume
Normal modes of living.
Help her,
In the same gracious, miraculous ways
That You have intervened and interceded
In my life.
Uphold us,
Embrace us,
Protect us.
Make Your Presence known,
Heavenly Father,
Author Divine!

Ocean's Tide

There she stands,
The archer,
Knee deep in the ocean
As the tide
Ebbs and flows around her.

Ebb and flow,
Ebb and flow,
A slow tumult
Constantly laps at her.

I am sitting on the shore,
Waiting,
Listening to the waves,
Echoes of myself
In the peaks and troughs
Of her tide.

Archer.
My thought goes out to her.
Don't lose your way.
Focus on
The North Star.
He will guide you.

Father,
You are as the earth
Beneath the archer's feet,
And the ocean's current:
Timeless,
Unchanging in overall nature,
Reliable and true,
Encompassing all.
Remind her that no matter what,
You are the Rock,
The Eternal I Am.

As for me,
Here I sit,
Semper fidelis,
As the violinist used to call me.
Braced, vigilant,
I pray for readiness,
Come dead calm
Or deadly storm...

Nightime Conversations With the King

"Blanca."

It's the Anointed One.
"Please leave me alone."
I know He won't,
But it's worth a shot.
I roll over and close my eyes.

"You don't really want me
To leave you alone."

He's right of course.
I nod against the pillows,
Squeezing my eyes shut.

He pets Simba, then asks,
"Is this a pity party of one,
Or can Anyone join?"

I open my eyes,
And wonder what would happen to me
If I just got Him angry enough -

"No," He says aloud.
"I am not here to smite you."

"Elijah prayed for death." *
If Elijah could, why can't I?

"Yes, and instead,
He was strengthened
And journeyed to Mount Horeb,"
He reminds me.

Hmmm... I had forgotten
That part of the story.

He sits by my feet and waits.

I ask,
"Did You visit the archer at church yesterday?"

"Yes."

"And You gave her those messages?"

"Yes."
Pause.
"Does the content of the messages disturb you?"
He returns.

"Disturb me!"
I shove my face into the pillow.

"The messages weren't delivered to you,"
He reminds me.

"I understand that,
But the relevance was there regardless!"
I describe the burning, searing sensation
As text after text ignited through me,
A wildfire of being convicted in the Spirit
Of the very thing that I had known all along,
And had tried to sidestep and avoid.

He nods.  His face is not unkind.
I suddenly remember that I am talking to Someone
Who did come here in the flesh,
And did share in all the day-to-day sufferings of humans.

I forge ahead.
"I don't understand
Why I am the way I am.
The very components that comprise my nature
Constantly work against me.
I'm intense. I'm passionate. I'm emotional.
I'm stubborn. I'm willful.
I'm constantly probing, and questioning,
And pestering You every ten minutes asking why,
Or more accurately in this situation,
Why not?"

There is an extended pause.
Finally He replies,
"Yes, you are all those things,
But you don't see the purpose for them
That I do.
Your intensity keeps
The fire lit inside of you.
Your passion makes you love deeply,
Without being afraid to pour yourself out.
You're emotional so that you empathize with
And have compassion for
People from all walks of life.
Your stubbornness, under the right circumstances,
Blossoms into loyalty.
Your willfulness, under the right circumstances,
Makes you naturally tenacious.
As for your questioning,
I am the one who coined the expression
'Seek, and ye shall find.' **
It's when you persist
Because you don't like the answer given
That it becomes an issue.

"Blanca, all these things, in and of themselves,
Are not inherenetly bad.
It's in the improper manifestation of them
That they can work against you. 
Learning how and when and how much
Is a lifelong process."

I sigh.
I've been doing that an awful lot these days.

He continues,
"In all of this,
You have not thought to ask
What my Father's Will is.
There's a reason why the Scripture verse says
'Seek ye first the Kingdom of Heaven.'
The vertical alignment happens first.
Then comes the horizontal alignment."

I picture two intersecting paths and realize
That He just drew
A cross in my mindspace.
I shudder, feeling the weight of aeons
Of Supreme Sovereignty
Sitting with me.

"You still have so much to learn
About grace versus willpower,
And grace versus self-reliance,
And faith versus rebelling,
And faith versus pursuing
Your own pleasures and desires."

He's not harsh or bitter saying this to me.
He doesn't even sound disappointed.
He's got that tone of a parent who has,
Finally, broken through to
A difficult, hard-to-reach kid.

It's true,
And I know it's true,
But it still hurts to hear anyway.

"Calling upon me as Savior
Is not the same as
Calling upon me as Lord,"
He tells me.
I have to let that realization
Sink in a bit.
My English major brain dissects the words,
Seeing His Sacrifice in the first title,
And my relinquishment of self to Him
In the second.

"I never said that sanctification
Would be easy,"
He reminds me.

"No? The word 'cakewalk'
Doesn't appear anywhere in the Bible?"
Now I'm being silly,
Because I'm pretty much overcome
By yesterday and today,
And only sheer absudity will keep me
From complete meltdown. 

He smiles.
"Memorize Psalm 100,"*** He suggests.
"Four verses in total.
It struck a chord with you earlier."

Said chord resulted in me crying,
Reading that psalm
Over and over and over...

He rises to leave. Simba purrs.

As He's turning the corner of the door,
He looks back, and quotes Jeremiah 29:11 -
"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord,
Plans for welfare and not for evil,
To give you a future and a hope."

I groan inwardly.
It is the archer's verse.

"Blanca."
His tone is very soft now,
Very gentle.
I nod in reply.
I'm beyond speaking.

"I have a verse specifically for you.

"Behold,"
He's quoting Scripture again,
And the sound of His Voice is suddenly
Commanding,
Arresting,
Like the bells of Notre Dame,
Quaking through me,
Making me sick and dizzy
From the Power behind them.
"I am doing a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?"
I shake my head no.
"I will make a way in the wilderness
and rivers in the desert." ****

And He has spoken through me,
Through to the fears and longings
Of where my life's path will lead,
And will it ever intersect with another's,
Or am I destined to live
A single, celibate life
In service to God and man?...

God only knows.

... It's a comfort that Someone does...


*1 Kings 19
**Matthew 7:7

*** Psalm 100

Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth!

Serve the Lord with gladness!

Come into his presence with singing!

Know that the Lord, he is God!

It is he who made us, and we are his;

we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving,

and his courts with praise!

Give thanks to him; bless his name!

For the Lord is good;

his steadfast love endures forever,

and his faithfulness to all generations.

****Isaiah 43:19

In The Desert

On my bike. 2 pm.
It's 100 degrees
Beneath the Phoenix sun.

I am pedaling faster and faster
Around the Elliot-Warner Loop,
Trying to outrun You,
Trying to outrun myself.

I haven't actively listened to music
Since yesterday.
I have no desire
To finish tuning my guitar,
Or to practice "Here I Am Lord"
On the keyboard,
Or to read the documents
The bell choir director gave me to read.

Everything I touch is charged,
Wounding me -
Scripture *, devotionals, articles online,
The whole lot.
Everywhere I look is a land mine,
Sending emotional shrapnel
Through my heart.

The despair in me is so thick,
I can taste it.

I am angry, and hurt,
And feel trapped from within and without.
Although I am merely the pot,
I ask You, Potter,
Why have you made me thus?
Am I to be
A vessel for dishonorable use? **
Should a millstone be hung about me,
Dragging me to the sea's bottom? ***

I see no way out of this barren place.

ARGH, Holy Writ, get out of my head!
Leave me be!
But no, no...
Isaiah smashes through me, now, ****
And I am so messed up, God,
SO MESSED UP!

Is this the stronghold I wrote about in June
That needed tearing down?
Is this the tippity-top of that stronghold,
The mere beginning of many more
Transformations to come?...

* For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. (Hebrews 4:12)

** Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use? (Romans 9:21)

*** And he said to his disciples, "Temptations to sin are sure to come, but woe to the one through whom they come! It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were cast into the sea than that he should cause one of these little ones to sin. (Luke 17:1, 2)

**** ...and let not the eunuch say,
    “Behold, I am a dry tree.”
For thus says the Lord:
“To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths,
    who choose the things that please me
    and hold fast my covenant,
I will give in my house and within my walls
    a monument and a name
    better than sons and daughters;
I will give them an everlasting name
    that shall not be cut off. (Isaiah 56: 3b-5)

The Set Up

Only You
Are able to pursue me
Using Scripture
And song
And the Aussie
And books.

A little early-morning slapping around
With the September 3rd devotional
From My Utmost for His Highest
Never killed anyone, eh?

So, is that what I'm guilty of,
Among other things?

I withdraw my hand
From this loaded game of poker.
I'm not playing this game
Any more.

The Mole

So, Lord,
What's the best way
To get to me?

Send in a mole
(Albeit, an unwitting one)
To enter into my heart,
My confidences,
And all the deep recesses of me.
Then,
Once inside,
Use her to break me
(Albeit unwittingly).

Clever!
Much more effective
Than anything I could have
Come up with,
Even in my most self-destructive moments!

Hearing Your Word
Was a hundred thousand times worse
Than hearing it from her.

I'm throwing my hands up in the air.
Surrendering. Done.
Despairing now.
Not caring if that's a problem or not.
Convicted by the Spirit
From over two thousand miles away,
I relinquish all things, even hope.

A and B

A, A sharp, and B
The notes on the big bells
That I suddenly find myself
Playing in bell choir

The suggestion to join
Came from three different sources,
So I took that to mean
That maybe this was something
You wanted me to do.

Of course.
MORE involvement in the church,
So that now when I want to flee,
I can't, right?

A and B.
A is for...
Aberration - I feel like one right now
Abomination - judgment pronounced against many behaviors,
Including the thoughts in my head
Angry - yes, I'm that, specifically at You
Agitated - yes, I'm that, also at You
Arrogant - yes, I suppose, based on me even
Having this kind of dialogue with You.

B is for...
Broken - how I feel inside right now
Bound - tied up in things I don't know
How to break free of
Beaten up - see broken, above
Beleaguered - too many years of struggling
With this inner demon
Beaten - I'm done. I'm just... done.

...

A is for...
Abundant - the kind of life You have promised us.

B is for...
Blessed - to be called a child of the Most High and Holy God

A and B,
Chiming in my head,
Ringing death knells,
And songs of deliverance...

Crucible

It has been
A hellfire and brimstone kind of day.

Reading, reading, reading
Researching.
Seeking.
Wrestling with You,
Mostly to my own chagrin.

Am I putting my salvation on the line?
Am I putting someone else's also?

Are You allowing me to be tested?
And what if I fail miserably?

Lord,
Have mercy on me, a sinner.
Do not look at me and see me.
Rather, see Your Son
Who lived the life I could not live
And died the death I justly deserve...

Birdman

Lord,
I just got off the phone with the birdman,
The severely lonely, lost soul
You dropped into my lap a few years back.

His tumors are back, and growing.
He's losing weight.
His family is driving him nuts.
He's fighting cancer,
And potential homelessness
By himself in the big city.

I have often wondered about how
He walked through life without being married
Or having children,
But then I look at myself,
And realize I don't have to look much further
Than within myself
To find the answer.

O Lord,
Grant the birdman a measure of grace and peace
As he wrestles with this tough time.
Touch him, heal him, help him.
You are the god of the outcasts, after all...
Please take care of him,
And protect him from his rebellious body,
His ill-intentioned family,
And the moodiness, crankiness, and kvetching
That act as a barrier between him and others.

I fear a day will come
When I call his home phone
And no one picks up anymore,
And I will have no way of knowing
What has become of him...