It is early Sunday morning.
We sit outside, watching daybreak.
I am sitting in the rocking chair
That has traveled from the Poconos
To Brooklyn
To its final resting spot in Arizona.
He is walking barefoot in the grass.
"The lawn is coming along nicely,"
He comments.
"Yeah, the king is really great
At making things thrive."
"I know." He smiles.
"I created him that way."
I feel myself being searched
Beneath His gaze.
Finally, He asks,
"Do you want to talk about
What's bothering you?"
"No." I don't, but I know
I will wind up doing it anyway.
He wiggles His toes in the grass.
He walks a little further down the lawn.
He doesn't speak for one minute.
Two minutes.
Five whole minutes.
Finally, I can't take it anymore.
"What am I supposed to do
Now that I'm here?" I ask.
He blinks. "Do?"
"Yes! Do!"
I am exasperated.
Doesn't He understand?
He tilts his head a bit,
Pretending He doesn't.
"Come on, You know what I mean!"
I explain:
"I have no idea
What I'm supposed to be
Doing with my life
Now that I'm here.
I feel like I'm in limbo.
I'm still working for the newspaper
On a contract basis.
I don't know how long that will last.
Because I don't know that,
I don't know when I should start looking
For a new job.
I can't apartment hunt
Because I'm not settled in a regular job anymore.
I'm not even sure
I want to move out
Because I'm happy living here,
But that opens up a whole new issue:
What do I do with the Pugs?
I told their foster family in New York
I would take them back by September.
My brain is starting to spiral
With all the different issues
I have to address, and
I feel betwixt and between
About everything!"
My words hang in the
Early morning breeze.
He quietly considers me for a moment.
Finally, He speaks.
"What has changed so much
Between Brooklyn and Arizona?"
He unexpectedly asks me.
"I don't -"
I am about to finish that with
"Know what you mean,"
But I do know what He means,
And He's looking at me
With that searing gaze
That cuts through all my crap.
I complete my sentence:
"I don't feel You as much here,"
I confess.
"It feels like
I'm looking for You more,
And finding You less."
He smiles.
"There was an extreme level
Of interaction and intensity
As you were preparing your move," He admits,
"But I remain unchanged,
And just because I don't
Divinely intervene visibly
Doesn't mean that I'm not still
Moving and shaking and reordering your life
In the background."
He walks across the lawn
And sits down in one of the patio chairs.
"I seek you," He reminds me.
"I work according to
My own timetables.
I have the larger perspective
Always before Me.
What you ought to do remains unchanged."
There is a change in His tone
That compels me to look at Him.
"Pray," He says.
"You haven't been doing that as much
Since you moved.
I know that when you are stressed,
You tend to pray more,
But you must learn to pray
At all times.
Study," He next says.
"You were reading the Word
Every day.
Now, several days sometimes lapse
Between your picking up the Book.
I know your routine has changed.
You don't have commute time anymore.
Even though we no longer ride the train
Doesn't mean you shouldn't
Make the time for the Word.
Listen - " He taps His ear for emphasis -
"For instruction and guidance.
Don't get so lost
In the sound of your own thoughts
That you don't hear
The still, small Voice of God.
Have faith and be patient,"
He tells me last but not least.
"My Father and I know what you need,
And we know the questions
Behind your questions.
'Will I ever get married?
Will I ever start a family?
How do I serve God with my life and livelihood?
How will I take care of loved ones
In the years ahead?
How will it all someday end?
How will it all someday be renewed and restored?'
We are planning things,
And the Holy Spirit will give you forbearance,
But not everything bears immediate fruit.
Seeds have to germinate.
Everything takes time.
If you would be patient,
Our plans will continue to unfold
And become apparent to you."
He stands up, stretches.
"After all,
You are a participant in a much larger dance.
We do have other people to guide."
"Are You leaving?"
"Yes."
"Where are You going?"
He smiles.
"It's Sunday morning.
I visit the ministers, pastors and priests
Before their services."
"Which ones?" I ask,
Feeling a little mischievous with that question.
His smile broadens.
"All of them."
For further cheekiness,
As He's walking away
I hear him murmur
"Simultaneously."
I laugh.
I can't help myself.
I can feel the impatience and frustration
Lifting from me,
A foggy miasma
Of my own making.
I will pray, and study.
I will listen for the sound
Of Your Voice.
I will be patient.
I know You're at work.
I'm just going to sit here, now,
With my coffee,
And listen to the birdsong of the grackles...
We sit outside, watching daybreak.
I am sitting in the rocking chair
That has traveled from the Poconos
To Brooklyn
To its final resting spot in Arizona.
He is walking barefoot in the grass.
"The lawn is coming along nicely,"
He comments.
"Yeah, the king is really great
At making things thrive."
"I know." He smiles.
"I created him that way."
I feel myself being searched
Beneath His gaze.
Finally, He asks,
"Do you want to talk about
What's bothering you?"
"No." I don't, but I know
I will wind up doing it anyway.
He wiggles His toes in the grass.
He walks a little further down the lawn.
He doesn't speak for one minute.
Two minutes.
Five whole minutes.
Finally, I can't take it anymore.
"What am I supposed to do
Now that I'm here?" I ask.
He blinks. "Do?"
"Yes! Do!"
I am exasperated.
Doesn't He understand?
He tilts his head a bit,
Pretending He doesn't.
"Come on, You know what I mean!"
I explain:
"I have no idea
What I'm supposed to be
Doing with my life
Now that I'm here.
I feel like I'm in limbo.
I'm still working for the newspaper
On a contract basis.
I don't know how long that will last.
Because I don't know that,
I don't know when I should start looking
For a new job.
I can't apartment hunt
Because I'm not settled in a regular job anymore.
I'm not even sure
I want to move out
Because I'm happy living here,
But that opens up a whole new issue:
What do I do with the Pugs?
I told their foster family in New York
I would take them back by September.
My brain is starting to spiral
With all the different issues
I have to address, and
I feel betwixt and between
About everything!"
My words hang in the
Early morning breeze.
He quietly considers me for a moment.
Finally, He speaks.
"What has changed so much
Between Brooklyn and Arizona?"
He unexpectedly asks me.
"I don't -"
I am about to finish that with
"Know what you mean,"
But I do know what He means,
And He's looking at me
With that searing gaze
That cuts through all my crap.
I complete my sentence:
"I don't feel You as much here,"
I confess.
"It feels like
I'm looking for You more,
And finding You less."
He smiles.
"There was an extreme level
Of interaction and intensity
As you were preparing your move," He admits,
"But I remain unchanged,
And just because I don't
Divinely intervene visibly
Doesn't mean that I'm not still
Moving and shaking and reordering your life
In the background."
He walks across the lawn
And sits down in one of the patio chairs.
"I seek you," He reminds me.
"I work according to
My own timetables.
I have the larger perspective
Always before Me.
What you ought to do remains unchanged."
There is a change in His tone
That compels me to look at Him.
"Pray," He says.
"You haven't been doing that as much
Since you moved.
I know that when you are stressed,
You tend to pray more,
But you must learn to pray
At all times.
Study," He next says.
"You were reading the Word
Every day.
Now, several days sometimes lapse
Between your picking up the Book.
I know your routine has changed.
You don't have commute time anymore.
Even though we no longer ride the train
Doesn't mean you shouldn't
Make the time for the Word.
Listen - " He taps His ear for emphasis -
"For instruction and guidance.
Don't get so lost
In the sound of your own thoughts
That you don't hear
The still, small Voice of God.
Have faith and be patient,"
He tells me last but not least.
"My Father and I know what you need,
And we know the questions
Behind your questions.
'Will I ever get married?
Will I ever start a family?
How do I serve God with my life and livelihood?
How will I take care of loved ones
In the years ahead?
How will it all someday end?
How will it all someday be renewed and restored?'
We are planning things,
And the Holy Spirit will give you forbearance,
But not everything bears immediate fruit.
Seeds have to germinate.
Everything takes time.
If you would be patient,
Our plans will continue to unfold
And become apparent to you."
He stands up, stretches.
"After all,
You are a participant in a much larger dance.
We do have other people to guide."
"Are You leaving?"
"Yes."
"Where are You going?"
He smiles.
"It's Sunday morning.
I visit the ministers, pastors and priests
Before their services."
"Which ones?" I ask,
Feeling a little mischievous with that question.
His smile broadens.
"All of them."
For further cheekiness,
As He's walking away
I hear him murmur
"Simultaneously."
I laugh.
I can't help myself.
I can feel the impatience and frustration
Lifting from me,
A foggy miasma
Of my own making.
I will pray, and study.
I will listen for the sound
Of Your Voice.
I will be patient.
I know You're at work.
I'm just going to sit here, now,
With my coffee,
And listen to the birdsong of the grackles...
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