This Morning

Mist rises from the ponds and creeks
floating over fresh cut fields
and drifting up through branches
into October sky
The creamy pale moon
falls into the western sky
amid pink wisps of cloud
Across the horizon
the sun begins his ride
all fabulous and flamboyant
in gold and orange and red

Then why, on this lovely morning
do I mourn
Why do my tears at all this beauty
turn to tears of grief and sadness

In this small slice of ordinary time
boxes containing bombs arrive on
the doorsteps of unsuspecting targets
Mothers gather up their children
and leaving all familiar
head for hope and brighter future
Not believing that their arrival is feared
that they in fact are terrorists
That lies are truth
and truth is fake

This morning
I am mourning

10/25/18

For Naomi on the Occasion of Her Ordination

There was a child

First born, first loved, first held—in arms

and then within restraints 

First daughter to the church

She followed the rules

Sought love, affection, affirmation 

Always wanting to do better

There was a girl

Happy, helpful, loving, outspoken, 

avid reader, gifted soprano 

Wings clipped perhaps by church

still friendships forged

knowledge sought

There was a woman

Married well, mothered well

grand-mothers even better

Faithful, caring, loving, kind

the virtuous woman one could say

Always home, always church

always doing what was right

There was a pilgrim

Her heart pulling toward a different path

Stumbling, striding, doubting, eager

Digging deep into God’s word

Pushing through new doors

Probing deep into old wounds and held beliefs

Then stepping ‘cross the threshold

where opportunity was bound and packaged 

in acceptable and rigid safekeeping;

once more religion and patriarchal norms

held this now wise, knowing woman in restraint

She persevered

Hearts have been touched

elders lives been opened to new truth

spoken graciously, wrapped exquisitely in love

from a heart that knows God’s love so well

delivered with eloquence from the pulpit

and by the bed of a lonely saint

My own life and soul owe deep gratitude 

to this sister who once braided my pigtails 

Hours spent at Starbucks sharing

tears and laughter over tea and lattes

A shared communion of the deepest kind

The tie of family and the bond of pure love

And now, another threshold will be crossed

A door that begged to be opened

a necessary finishing and beginning 

So today, surrounded by family and friends

Those who love and have been loved

will bear witness to this glorious affirmation 

of a journey started with those first baby steps

A thread of grace and purpose

always drawing to this day, this moment

This “YES” from the Father who always knew 

this day would come

5.18.18

Nature Speaks

I've come to appreciate nature more and more; I hear it speak to me of God and goodness and love. I hear it cry and mourn and laugh and rejoice. Here are some of my nature reflections.


Trees Fall Down

Trees fall down

The wind is strong

And bears down

The trees crack and break

And come crashing to the ground

The new day dawns

With sun casting new shadows

The birds sing

The air is still 

A tree lies on the ground

3.4.18



To Dandelions 

Yards and fields

Of dandelion 

No longer yellow

Now feathery heads

Gone to seed we would say

The evening sun

Filters through 

The field of white

Transforming seeds to 

Delicate dancing fairies

4.10.18

Super Moon

I run outside in the frigid cold of early morning

To catch a glimpse of your golden beauty 

As you slip behind the trees

Oh may I never tire

Of searching the skies for your presence

Of gazing at your gorgeous-ness

At your simple amazing-ness

Unadorned ‘cept by a few strands of clouds

Hangers-on to the stand out beauty

You fill me, heart and soul

Oh may I never tire

2.2.18

Words Unknown

Sitting on the porch

In early morning

Reading something inspiring 

Trying to set the 

Tone for my day

The birds are so loud

I close me eyes and listen

And so my day begins

With song

And words unknown 

6.28.18

Mourning

The silence of this cloudy rainy morning is

broken only by the sad calls of the

mourning dove

What is her lament?

I release my drawn up shoulders

tight from the stories of pain and awfulness 

of mankind; drawn towards my

head filled with hate of the powerful 

and I give in to the lament of

the mourning dove

Perhaps I will, like her, begin

my days crying out my 

sadness and disappointment in

my fellow human beings

Maybe then I’ll find a measure

of relief

5.18.18

Moonstruck 

My love might be

An obsession 

This morning 

As I lay in bed

I arranged my pillows

So as to gaze

Out the window

Toward the West

At the setting moon

Slowly dropping

Through the branches

Of the trees

Toward the horizon

No words

Just sighs of longing 

At its simple beauty 

...Moonstruck*

·       *: affected by or as if by the moon: 

such as

a : mentally unbalanced

b : romantically sentimental

c : lost in fantasy or reverie

3.2.18

Lament for trees

A terrible thing

   is happening in

      our rural neighborhood 

A giant knife is

   roaring up and down

      the roads

Following the wires

   that crisscross fields

      and roadsides

Cutting through the

   trees—slicing off limbs

      and leaves

Leaving horrid piles

   and naked tree sides

      gaping swaths of bare

If their voices could be heard

   I’m sure the air would be

      filled with their screams and cries

And me? My heart weeps

   and breaks for what we do

      to protect our wires

Creation groans

8/14/18

Jubilee Garden

My walk took me by

Our garden

Grown tall with grasses

and assorted weeds

I’m reminded

of the Jubilee year

a time to give the

ground a rest

It’s not been seven years

but an accident 

gave this land it’s rest

I wonder what jubilee 

Is happening in

the untilled earth

What creatures call it home

what offspring started there

Will the tomatoes

be bigger next summer?

The squash more plentiful?

The collards more abundant?

There’s beauty growing here

Only now we see

July 25, 2018

Hay Fields

There’s nothing quite like

the mowing of the field

The earth smells that rise

The bugs flying up into the filtered evening sun

The mice, I imagine, and the bunnies

running thither and yon

escaping the giant machine

that lumbers through their world

And I look on in wonder

at the mystery of the moving of the world

and the passing of ordinary time

and the good smells

and the sudden fear

At the freshly mown hay

and the huge man machine

I sit and breathe and think

7.1.18

Evening

The sun sinks scarlet and gold into the west

Casting a light onto the eastern sky

That almost defies description 

A soft and delicate blend of pink and yellow and baby blue

The birds begin their contented evening song

Tree frogs chirp their loud goodnights

Conceding the night to the cacophony of the cicadas 

With their orchestral rising and falling

The world is good 

In this space and ordinary moment

The world is good

Let me breathe this in and sit a spell

7.1.18

Washing Feet—A Maundy Thursday Psalm

I remember the little room

Where I passed in front of men

Affirming my right-standing

With God and fellow man

Cleared then to enter the tiny room

Where tubs and towels prepared

Nervously pulling off pantyhose

Feet splashed with tepid water

By a sister or a sister

Then dried with white towel

Today I had a pedicure

Relaxed in a reclining chair

The young Vietnamese woman

Perched on rolling stool in front of me

She tends to my toes

Then rubs my legs and feet with lotion

Carefully painting each toe

The blue polish I selected for myself

It’s Maundy Thursday 

And feet washing happened here

5.29.18

Vacuuming

I sit with my coffee

And a good book

Throw back some Advil 

With big gulps of water

I vacuumed today

My least favorite household task

Thank goodness I left

Perfectionism behind

And I don’t feel compelled 

To return to this task

As often as I used to

I no longer fear

Dust bunnies 

I have too many things I’d

Rather be doing

Sorry mother...

2.21.18

Community of Yoga

Our mats, the pews
Our breaths, the prayers
Our stretches, poses and groans,
    the praise
Our yogi leader, our spirit guide
We gather faithfully
To work on body, soul and spirit
A delicate chime brings us
To seated prayer

Namaste

Then off we go
Restored and a bit sore
To calmly face the day
To do our errands
Prepare meals, vacuum and dust
We pause, drink tea and rest
Then unrolling mats
We practice again

Namaste

Belonging

I followed my heart
off the road
onto a well-worn path

Among the
quaking beech tree leaves
the swaying southern pines
the fallen logs
the leafy beds
the bird song and the wind

I fell into
that deepest truth
known from Eden time

I belong to all of this
and it all belongs to me

Black Panther

I went to see Black Panther

And once again my heart was broken

The sins of my fathers—my sins

Are so apparent and starkly portrayed 

We are thieves

We stole human beings from their

Families, homes their land

Their civilizations and potentials

We are white supremacists

We collected up lands and people and resources 

And made them our own

Without thought or regard

We are liars

We make up our stories to suit our cause

Stories of our godliness, intellect and goodness

To cover the truth of our hatred and fear

All this, carried out under the gaze

Of the Father who made each his beloved

Thinking if we use his name our sins

Will go unnoticed 

My heart is broken open as I watch the scenes unfold

The beauty and wisdom of those we call savage

There are not enough tears to cry

To wash away the wrongs that we have done

Black Panther 

Call forth the courage of your children

Call forth their beauty and their glory

Give names to those whose names we’ve stolen

Perhaps your time has come...

The First Sunday

It’s the first Sunday of lent. 

Jesus in the wilderness 

Giving up sweets and Facebook 

Trying to be closer to God. 

It’s the first Sunday after the release of 

   Black Panther 

A story so rich and sad and unforgivable 

Probability stolen from a whole continent 

Gone. Never get it back 

It’s the first Sunday that seventeen families

Go to church without the loved one 

That was gunned down with an AR-15

In a nation that worships at the altar of the 

    NRA

We sing

We share the peace

We kneel at the rail

We taste the bread and wine

I am angry 

and sad 

and resentful 

And disappointed 

and angry 

and sad

“Look with compassion, O Lord, on this your  

    people

That rightly observing this holy season,

They may learn to know You more fully

And to serve you with a more perfect will.”

What does it even mean...