#73

There are mysteries far too wonderful

for me to understand,

and I'm grateful for the peace

of resting, beloved.

The world is complex and 

I am small,

Oh that You see me at all.

For those in the tree,

straining to see

Jesus,

consider the lilies, the sparrows, 

and be.

For those looking for His Bride,

step outside, not just your door,

not just your subdivision,

or even the places your passport still works. 

Look for the lonely, the slaves and the starving,

that's where the Church is always thriving.

The Church will live on with beggars and addicts,

whoever is willing to start new

and keep starting new.

But it's hard to jump with your ass glued to a pew.

Oh that our hearts were lamenting

the pain and oppression in our own streets

instead of the loss of singing hymns.

What do the hymns say?

Why must you wear you're finest

and sing unmasked,

when Jesus climbed onto the cross

simply because he was asked?

#72

 Life itself is polarizing, from the first anaphase

to the leaving and cleaving

of marriage

to the winnowing of wheat from the chaff.

We are swayed-

we are pulled-

we are influenced;

we are living.

And yet,

I need not agree with you

to love you well,

deeply from the whole of my categorized soul.

#71

 The coldness creeps into my soul

and I wonder if

hope will warm the world again.

#70

 Mother tell me the story, please

of how you met the messenger

and heard the Word so hard to believe?

What was the song you sang?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

How did you feel when you walked that long way

alone, still a girl?

What was it like to see your old friend,

your cousin, with child,

after so many years?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

How did it happen, your betrothed came around,

after the messenger appeared?

To know your child was set apart,

Holy, holy, holy.

Tell me the whole birth story again.

What was it like to travel again,

knowing well that your son could arrive

on the side of the road on your way to a town

you had never seen, your husband's ancestral home?

Were you weary of the family time,

or grateful to no longer be alone?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

Were you relieved or surprised

by the kindness of those who opened their home?

Did you feel Blessed among women

as each contraction tightened in the courtyard of a stranger's home

with their livestock as your nurses?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

How did you take it all in, Mother?

When shepherds nearby came to worship,

did you even notice?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

When the messenger spoke to your Lover, once more,

how did you feel as you fled from your home?

Did you have time to heal at the innkeeper's home,

or was it painful and terrifying on the Egyptian road?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

As the Son of God suckled on your breast,

did you worship the King in your arms?

As the Savior of Man cried out in the night,

did you sing him the songs of the Lamb?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

When the wise ones arrived from 

faraway lands,

following the Star to find your sweet Son,

what went through your mind as they

bowed down?

Tell me the whole birth story again.

Mother, I've sung of your birth story.

I've played with wooden figures every year I was a child.

I've studied your journey and sung your very song.

Tell me the whole birth story again.

I can't help but think that I've heard it wrong.

Tell me the whole birth story again.

#69

 It's dark and cold as we lean so far

away from the Sun, here in the North.

And the hope I was holding in my heart

for you

is extinguished (like an Advent candle)

but the hope for the Church

is alive and bright.

You could have arrived

on the longest night,

but you never materialized here.

It's not mine to know

if you're singing with angels

or if you were only a moment to throw me

deeper into the Father's arms.

Either way, I welcomed the very idea of you

with trepidation, yes,

but with so much hope.

That's the miracle of it all, I guess.

Even though you're not here,

HOPE is.

Even though it's dark and dreary,

cold and miserable outside our warm house,

hope is emblazoned on the souls of your father and me.

Hope is an anthem blasting from the soundbar under our TV.

Hope is the very message of the season that could have been

your birthday.

So whether you were born into Heaven,

like the cheesy plastic angel your Dad bought at the fabric store

(currently clamped to the top of our Christmas tree)

or if your soul is places I cannot yet imagine,

I love you little one.

Thank you for reminding me to hope.

*For Baby #3, due 12/22/2020

#68

 When every life matters,

Strangers find their way to your dinner table.

The conversation takes you to

daughter's middle names and

stories you can't quite understand

instead of questions about using.

My place is not to turn you over

to the deputy patrolling the neighborhood,

rather to really listen.

If you say you're hungry,

we'll find some snacks for the road

and if you're willing, we'll set a place at the

literal table.

That's how the Savior of us both

chose to dine without reservations.

Sister, I mean it when I promise to pray

and hope to meet you again in eternity.

#67

 It's too much.

This underwater rollercoaster,

Trying to fly.

My skull is caving in as my brain explodes.

There is no good option,

Only versions that are less bad.

The world is on fire and I'm drenched

In the samesame of inequity

Just like those I try to help,

Only a little less.

It's overwhelming.

It's consuming.

And the nightmare keeps unfolding.

#66

#65

When I talk about our son,
I refer to him as "our son".
I don't say he is "my husband's son",
even though that's true.
I don't call myself "a father's wife."
That would be unnecessary.

So, why do well-intentioned women call themselves
 a "pastor's wife"
or a "church-planter's wife"?
Because the male-centric church
considers women as second-class citizens.

We let our very language
decide our value
instead of listening to
the value awarded
by the Creator;
the value restored
by the Redeemer;
the value empowered
by the Counselor.

My husband cannot plant a church
anymore than I can plant a family.
We plant tomatillos and sugar snap peas.
We plant native shrubs to
keep our hillside from crumbling.
But if the Church grows in our neighborhood,
Scripture is clear,
it is the working of Jesus Christ.

So as I strive alongside
my husband and son,
sharing the Good News with everyone,
we watch our words,
the wellspring of Life.

#64

I'm going to mourn with you, sister,
And pray for a miracle bigger than
The sad circumstances of your story.

There's a candle at the Communion Table,
The holy altar within our home
And I'm praying for your soul's eternity.

I'm praying for your surgery, sure,
And the relationships intertwined in
Your home I can't understand.

My very being longs for you
To find the Family of the Saints
And the True Lover of your Soul.

I mourn your baby never born
And pray this tragedy
Brings your entire household home.

#63

How to listen to
those with no voice?
Quiet your mouth,
your soul,
your endless idol of productivity.
Stop and
look around.
Is everyone in the crowd
around
more like you than not alike?

Venture to the places you
deem dangerous,
for there you cannot
help but hear Wisdom:
She cries in the streets.
Wisdom is a woman,
even the wise philanderer scribed.
Wisdom is being silenced.
Lies are louder, more comfortable
more welcoming.

And yet,
your comfort and easy road
lead to death.
The crying woman is trying
to tell you of a better way,
but if you judge the skin she wears
you will not hear
and you cannot listen.

#62

In January 2019,
 our son created a game we still refer to as "bookshelf".

He systematically removes each book from the bookshelf. It's pretty simple.

I use the present tense because he's playing "bookshelf" right now.

Tonight, he reorganizes our theology shelf.
The dining room floor is covered with stacks of
hymnals, Bibles, commentaries and the like.
The made-sacred texts of different denominations mix in with educator self-help stories. Ancient classics piled with the freshly printed.

Luther and Nouwen get cozy in one stack.
Claiborne, Keller and Augustine in another.
But even then,
our book shelf is mostly stocked with the ideas of white men, living or dead.

It feels like the world is playing "bookshelf" right now,
with sermon notes and receipts flying out all over the place
and craving the words of the unheard.

#61

When I can only
Hear those like me, around me,
I lose the story.

#60

Before you try to tell me your position, stop and listen/
You're so busy using your voice that "Pro-choice is bad"/
You miss the lives impacted, ignoring children women had/
"Pro-life?" Great! Welcome a foster child into the home you own/
"Pro-life?" Yes! Shelter the alien seeking a home/
"Pro-life?" Preach it! Bless the families craving resources/
"Pro-life?" Feed and clothe, the homeless shooting drugs alone/

No woman chooses surgery just for the hell of it/
Don't make abortion illegal, make it irrelevant/
Listen to the women who are asking, no, telling/
Until equality is polity, the paucity's atrocity/
You're not really pro-life, but pro-control, pro-property/
The sanctity of life in utero is beautiful/
But loving the least is equally as dutiful/

I pray that my own babies would not have died in vain/
So hear me, evangelicals, our nation is in pain/
When you ignore the raped, the beaten, the escaped/
You reveal that sanctity is reserved for the saints/
When you chastise the teen, the illegal, the whore/
You value just the baby, nothing more/
Just try it on for size, see life through her eyes/
Is there hope within the Church or just bloody fetuses on signs?/

And when November calls, and you flood the polling stalls/
Think of her in the bathroom asking God what to do?/
If she has your number, maybe she'll ask you/
But if your daughter can't talk to you about sex/
I can tell you, Planned Parenthood is where she looks next/
And when that option is unlawful/
Oh sister, the outcomes are awful/

#59

In the beginning- WORD
Incarnation- WORD
Resurrection- WORD
Written to us- WORD
Returning glory- WORD
More than a slogan or a motto or a promise;
Not a prescription, regulation or practice.
Living.

Breathing.

Walked the world among us.

LIVING.

ACTIVE.

Transcending understanding. Upending oppression and possession
with confession leading to repentance for eternal satisfaction.

Bread.

Water.

Flesh at the table.
Come,
Feast,
all who are able
or be carried and healed.
Be married.
Be sealed.
There's wonder-working POWER every minute, every hour
from the start for your heart.
Listen now or listen later,
all will bow before the Savior
and its not about behavior.
Read the narrative, the arc
the WORD is light into the dark.
Hope and healing for the nations
an incarnate population.
There's timeless TRUTH and Glory
that's the WORD, the holy STORY.
Jesus Christ in every bar.


Creation. Redemption. Restoration.
Take it as a whole, the Gospel calls for transformation,
every tribe, every tongue,
every creed, every nation.
There is a better word:

Jesus Christ is Lord.

#58

the pink sky
reflecting in the water
is the kind of perfect
you have to admire in the moment

even if I had captured
a picture
the beauty was in the moment itself