Reflecting on Stained Glass Masquerade

You say, "Come, weary one"
but I plug my ears and silence Your voice.

You say, "I love you unto forever"
but I avert my eyes from seeing Your truth and grab hold of ethereal, biting lies.

You offer me sufficient grace and mercy anew
but I choose to drag around damning condemnation.

O stubborn, wretched heart and mind, rest in this moment,
simply abide in the truth of the eternal Father, and accept his forgiving love.

Let it be said

Behold. Here it is!
This is how I want to be remembered.
Let it be said that I am she who loved well.
Devoted to The Creator, Yeshua, and the Spirit Who Comforts
because He first loved me well unto ultimate sacrifice.
Endowed with His seed, incapable of stopping the storehouse
of compassion and grace from Him deep within from being locked inside.
Thus, obeying and loving fellow humanity well, in service and sacrifice also.
Yes, if I am to be remembered at all, let it be said
that I am she who loved well one day at a time.

The Passion Week

You borrowed a donkey's colt
for your triumphant entry and returned it
Then, you cursed the fig tree, made it wither,
because it did not bear fruit
And as you entered Jerusalem's temple,
you redirected foot traffic and household goods reinstating Your Dad's house of prayer
By trickery and intent, the scribes, elders, and chief priests came to you
their intent spiritual treason
But you saw their hearts and knew of their hypocrisy,
and so, you blasted through their questions
With parables and determined force, you showed that love was
your greatest intent and our primary eternal calling

Letter to Yumi

My dear, dear Yumi,
I know it has been a while,
but you are still my friend.
Stop in for a quick coffee a week ago, fed a tidbit of news,
and my world is as changed as your country.
Precious hours go by before I can hear and see more.
It disturbs and devastates me. Deep sorrow enters in.
Buildings shake. 9.0 earthquake.
Tsunami. Towns washed away.
Others washed up on shore as the decomposing deceased.
Whirlpool swirling for days.
Ships are dashed like the dreams of many.
How will Japan recover? Are you even alive?
I cannot account for you though I try many times.
Are you among the current 11,000 missing or 8,000 dead?
My heart is truly broken.
I don't know how much more I can watch or hear.
But even if I plug my ears and cover my eyes,
still you and the destruction will haunt me.
Soon, if not already, the radiation will drift its way here.
Already lives are being lost to nuclear exposure
just to keep Daiichi from exploding.
Even now the shamed scavengers hunt for food
for their kids and elderly parents.
Children search among the shelters for their family
resolute in returning tomorrow to continue the search.
Dear Yumi, please write back soon.
My heart cannot take wondering your fate.
My mind cannot rest. My eyes fill with tears again.
And so, I pray again for your safety,
for your country's peace,
for love and mercy to be tangibly felt in your nation.

Beauty in Transit

Crowded train this morn. Weekend track construction to blame.
My eyes journey down the car's path.
I see beautiful smiles, some hiding, barely poking out,
on the faces of the few children amidst the adult throng.
It is a lovely joyous sight, captivating.
Brown skin. Yellow skin. Mixed languages.
This is why I chose not to drive in the city years ago.
Me, alone in a car, fighting my way through
frenzied taxis and undisciplined drivers.
Or this child-like joy --- delighted recognition
and appreciation of God's face in these I see now.
There is abundant beauty in moments like these.

Pinesol Up My Nose

The mop and bucket have come out. Chunka-chinka-swish.
It's time for night jobs here.
My conversation with friends is disturbingly interrupted now
because Pinesol is up my nose.

My face wrangles all up.
My nose is atwitch. Expressions change bemusedly.
"What's the matter? What's the big deal?" ask my friends.
"I've got to go now," I tell them, "because Pinesol is up my nose."

"Whaaa?" says one friend.
"It's just Pinesol, not a big deal," says the other.
They clearly don't get it, though both are well-meaning.
See my senses are hypersensitive, so my vibrissae are disgustingly attacked by attached aroma
because Pinesol is up my nose.

Breaking Boxes' Borders

YOU were not meant to all boxed up, for your limits stretch beyond those boundaries.
By your very hands, creation's confines were established.
Sun and moon and stars. Galaxies to subatomic particles.
Your hands and mere words breathed them into existence to bring wonder and delight,
pointing us back to YOU, to fill and extend beyond.

It is a wonder that captivates, how you are so grand and yet intimate.
Let this knowledge be the death of constricting legalism.
Embracing transcendent love that sifts through like hour glass' uncapturable grains.
Moving us to endow familial ardor upon the mortals YOU cross our paths with
in devotion and recognition of mutual divine seed with sincerity.

The Shore of My Heart

The waves have rolled in upon the shore of my heart
striking with jellyfish tentacles, searing a bit of poison upon the surface
I take the poison, emotion arising, and let the ebb continue
Thought, thought, perchance mindless thought,
the waves roll on bringing the tides of indecision, hurt, forgiveness, contentment.
Come walk with me upon the shore.
Leave your criticisms and disappointments behind.
I simply want you to enjoy this walk with me free of judgment, free of sorrow.
I am not the rock for you to build your foundation upon.
Sadly, I will fail you. It is mutual. It is normal.
But if love covers a multitude of sins, why can't you see it?
Do not dam up the ocean. Let the tides of forgiveness, acceptance, and love flow.
Come walk with me upon the shore.

Throne Room

No pretense.
Your scepter extended to me.
In your throne room.
Accepted.
Beauty in stillness.
Quiet praise.
In your arms and love.
Rest.
Freedom.
Your fragrance, intoxicating.
Complete peace.
Hope.
Abiding presence.
Delight.

Harmony

Melodic beauty permeating
Above. Below. Around.
Ringing in my ears, in joy
Symphony of sounds
I take it in
I harmonize, in appreciation
Of vocal variations
And song-prayers
In tones needlessly correctly pitched
Merely joyfully offered

There's An Angel In Our Midst

There's an Angel in our midst,
not the kind with wings and white flowy robes,
but one with the most radiant smile
and a kind and generous heart.

He fills our home with laughter,
freely giving to all who are patient enough to listen,
and ample amounts of love
that would warm even the coldest of places.

He is my friend and brother,
funny how all this happened so quickly,
who tells me that I am part of the half
of women who are not troublesome.

He leaves us to return to his family for a time,
and will be missed greatly here,
before moving on with his life
to live simply in service and solitude.