Saturday, December 31, 2011

Thoughts Before a Morning Run

Amidst the frenzied activity of the week, taking time to reflect and be still is often like a drink of fresh water. As we usher in the New Year this weekend, I encourage you to reflect on God's deep love for you and His faithfulness toward you, even in difficult circumstances. Only He can provide you with a sense of worth this year, or any time. The poem below was born out of a difficult time in my life, one where God showed me His courage, strength, love, and patience in a way that I hadn't previously experienced. Enjoy.

Lord, how many mornings? 
Let my sensitivity to you 
be sharp and flavorful, 
drenched in joy, peace, 
a strengthened will, 

If I appear low, 
let it be in love. 

If I am trepsing a mountain's edge, 
barely trying to catch my dad, 
let it be in love. 

You quieted a little, 
African owl, 
Your love is so great. 

Saying to fear, 
You deceitful bag of air! 
I have and hold these, 

My own. I care tenderly for them. 
They know me, hear my voice. 
A voice of love that casts away all fear. 

In that demon's mold, 
instead lies a hope, 
rooted and established in love, 

It grows and changes, 

deepens and listens, 
opens hungry mouths to satisfy 
a muse for a dancer, 
an inspired measure for a musician. 

A tree so tall it greets the man in the moon, 
whom I was so intrigued to have met, 
from the tops of my dad's shoulders, 
on a turquoise summer night. 

Yet that height is even too short, 
he is a mere pit stop, 
left behind as this tree grows, 
soaring, roots shooting beyond, 
the earth's most southern axis. 

A tree which bore so much, 
taking unto death that which 
was meant for real, knowable life. 

And the wind about the tree, 
ensconces each leaf and branch, 

'Abba,' their hearts whisper back, 
We see you. 
We hear your voice. 
We cry out, 'Love that is great.' 
'And your palm will yet remain true.' 

The Sangre de Cristo Mountains, a place I love to hike with my dad.
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