‘…love of words’

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Christmas Haiku
(c) Dec 2008

“Love knows no
certain terms:” a warm breeze on a
winter’s day.

Someone Else’s Dream
(c) Feb 2008

I thought that life would be different by now
stable
consistent
sure
Filled with the stuff of ease.
Easy—maybe that’s what I’m looking for,
But it’s not,
(no matter how hard I try)
at least not that way.
On trying days, I wish it were.
Not really,
It costs too much.
No… not really.
Nothing costs too much
for love.
It costs what’s good.
That’s the problem.
It costs what’s most meaningful.
I value too much the assurance
that the sprouts we are tending have fertile soil to thrive in.
I treasure the certainty
that the sun only rises with your hand in mine.
And the durability of our
love…
hope…
faith…
Tough as it is,
And it is.
I’d rather chase our dream
than anyone else’s.

Footprints… A Brand New Dance
(c) 2006

One night I had a dream. It was a strange dream because although I was in it, I could at the same time see myself and Jesus walking down an uncertain road leading just over the horizon. As I stood astonished, looking at myself, I noticed that I looked winded as I walked along, barely catching my breath. Curious as to why, I took my eyes off the walkers and peered back down the way from whence they had come.

The sight that met my eyes is quite difficult to describe. From where I stood the ground dropped back steep, down a jagged path. The drop was so great and sheer that it made my stomach queasy just looking. I staggered, stumbled and would have fallen if my guide had not reached out to steady me.

I gained my composure and looked closer at the path Jesus and I had taken. The ground was loose like gravel, and I wondered how one could have kept his footing. Not to mention there were mud puddles and brier patches along the way and low hanging limbs that feign reached out to offer a hand but looked as if they would snap under the slightest weight. The ground was so moist I could see the footprints we had left along our journey. For most of the way Jesus’ footprints went along steady, sure, consistent (I could tell they were His by their size). Mine, on the other hand, zigzagged, stopped, back-peddled and even turned around on occasion.

As we went along my ability to follow His lead appeared to improve, which was a good thing because it was just about then that the path narrowed and the road steepened. To add to the perils of our path the rocks perched high above seemed to rain down sporadically. For a while I could barely discern my footsteps because they overlay His. Where He stepped, I stepped in sync on up the mountain, until it seemed the road grew most treacherous at which point it appeared that my steps were all over the place. There were starts and stops and circles and deep gashes every which way in the soft earth. I wondered, “What could I have been doing?”

It was then that I turned to my guide to satisfy my wonder. “What on earth happened?” I asked. “We were getting along pretty well—I was growing in Him, as well I should—then it looks like I lost my mind. And it looks as if I would have killed us both if He hadn’t regained control.”

My Guide looked at me and said, “Don’t be deceived by what your eyes think they see or what your head thinks it knows about the way our journey should unfold. As long as I am with you, I am always in control. Speak to your heart; it knows the truth. Did ever you desire anything other than to walk with me? Then don’t think it strange that sometimes the Way leads off the usual path. What happened, you ask, when our steps seem uncertain? It was there… we DANCED!”

Unfinished
(c) Feb 1999

When Love . . .
Like cooling cascades
Conjures fragrances of
Days twice forgotten
Willow wisps of whimsy
Wafting through an open window
Wistful scents of smiles
and tears
Bathing the bleeding hands
of two unskilled gardeners
Crushed Rose petals perfume the air
As one asks,
“Will you still have me?”

My Rose
(c) Jun 1991

I hold in my heart a Rose
Bright and Beautiful
It did not appear in all its glory
Nor has it reached the pinnacle of its delight
It began as a tiny seed
Almost unnoticeable
Now it is blooming
Day by day each petal becomes more visible
In each more happiness I find
I look at it once
And see it as it is
Bright and Lovely
Fresh from the womb
I look at it twice
And see it as it may be
Rain soaked yet radiant
Through the drops
I se more clearly its reason for being
I look again
And think of what it will become
More and more special to me
As time goes on . . .

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