As I sit down, a small brown stone catches my eye and I pick it up. It sits in my palm like a little leaden weight, pressing down – solid, sure, real. I roll it around in my fingers and move it from hand to hand, feeling its substance. Continue reading
Why do I play by the edge of this cliff?
It’s surely a dangerous thing to do …
But, there is really no other place to play.
The question is not danger or no.
It’s play or no.
And sometimes, you just have to play.
Besides, the cliff is beautiful.
You are my cliff, aren’t you?
And you call my heart to play,
knowing the risk – inviting it –
For that is where I fall into love.
And you catch me, whatever else occurs.
It’s not about finding safety.
It’s about finding you . . . and me.
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Or was it, perhaps, a sunset?
Same golden glow –
but where’s the hope?
The tenor of my heart is changed.
You read me, don’t you, Holy One?
You see my hopes
You feel my fear
You know the quick intake of breath that opens up my heart.
The thing is …
When you read aloud, as you sometimes do,
I hear the story, new.
It is as if I meet myself
Within those spoken words.
And – this is the mystery –
I like what I hear.
My story held in the timber of your voice,
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“I am the vine and you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will be fruitful.” – John 15:5
It seems a simple thing. Just stay with me. Just let me stay with you. And life will blossom.
It’s what I want. It’s what you want. And then my day begins and all clarity disappears.
What do you want of me today? What does fruitful look like?
I am a sweet potato, stuck with a few tooth picks, hanging on the top of a pint jar. My toes are in the water and my face is toward the sun and here I sit. I can feel the slight itching of the stem that reaches out from my side and unfurls its leafy fingers. My toes have grown into roots, slipping into the water and curling at its base. The sun is deliciously warm. And so I grow. I don’t plan the strategies for leaves or count the roots or calculate the candle power needed for a stem. I do enjoy the breeze and the alternating light and shadow. My woody heart is content and grateful. I’m stuck here, for a bit, but my leaves continue to unfold more and more across the window sill. Perhaps that is enough for now.
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