Faith

When one acts in faith, she leaps, and then God gives her wings. Faith the size of a mustard seed can sprout and grow into a kingdom. When I try and wrap my mind around this idea of faith, I often encounter faith's greatest obstacle: fear. Debilitating, stinky, rotten fear. Fear and faith cannot coexist and I'm reminded of this every time I try to do things on my own. My feet start moving, but soon get stuck in the mud of fear. God wants me to spread my wings and soar! His Spirit in me provides everything I need. His perfect love casts out all doubt and fear.
Faith! We can move the mountains! We can do all things through Christ!

Old friend

leftover fears wrapped in aluminum
sitting on the back shelf of my mind
unwrap it and it smells,
but halfway tempts me, as I wonder if this
comfort food could still satisfy
I know stinky, rotten, old fear
gives me a stomachache, but I'm hungry for something...
Something familiar?

Country Girl in the City Girl in the Country Girl in the City

For those of you who do not know, I was born and raised in the country and am growing up in the city. Strong roots dig firmly into the rich soil of the Blue Ridge Mountains, as long branches reach out and frame a streetlamp in DC. A lot of my poems reflect this meshing of two worlds.
This first one I wrote upon returning to my home in DC after a trip home to Madison.

As I leave, my senses linger behind, hanging onto their last encounter.
For my eyes, it is the sight of my family, set against the backdrop of beautiful mountains and trees.
For my ears, it is the sweet silence, interrupted only by low whistling country wind or chirping birds.
My nose longs for the smell of the wood stove smoking as it melts off the fresh snow that had fallen on the locust logs within.
My mouth stays behind for the taste of comfort food, like biscuits and sausage gravy from my Nanny's kitchen.
My skin longs to feel that sense of warmth that cuts through the bitter cold of winter and wraps me in a lasting embrace.
My senses continue to indulge in their last impressions, leaving satisfied enough until their next retreat.

This second poem talks about the injustice found in all parts of our country. While I recognize these unfortunate realities more readily in the city, I know they exist in my sleepy little county, as well.

The Alleged

I saw the alleged tonight
He wore a long, dark shadow of oppression across his chest
On his lower half he stepped with freedom wrapped in
colored cellophane, giving off a false and cheapened glow that
lit his rocky path
His kicks were hard-knocked
Tattered, yet binding, restricting forward momentum
but prone to impulsiveness
Institutionalized racism hung on his head like an old hat
Over his eyes he donned shades of despair that hid the
reality of the broken kid inside
He presented the hard shell of a man to the onlooker

His weapon of choice was accepting this as a rite of passage to manhood
(The same weapon used against him, whose residual effects pounded on
a weak and wounded soul)

We handcuff him with miseducation and justification for our actions
We roll him in and lock him behind the bars of our
easy success and leave him with the only promise he’s known: utter failure
We sentence him to rot in our filth and convince him it’s his fault and
the only way there is
We feed him a meal of lies–porridge in the pot hundreds of years old
that’s crawling with maggots and carries the stench of injustice
We force him to urinate in his bedroom
Making him smell his own waste
While we convince him he’s another wasted life
We choose his path and assign him to a life rotting in the pen vs.
Rehabilitation
Stamp him with the life-long label of felon and failure
Destining him to circle back into our hands again and again
Supporting our big business of crime
While we enjoy our habits and lifestyles with the money
we earn from the blood on his back–
Blood that stains the patchwork quilt of peace

Be Still My Soul

The timelessness of the message of Jesus--As my eyes followed and my mouth sang each line in the hymnal, layers were being peeled away. I saw Your love clearly through my blurry, teary eyes. I was moved to the point of sobbing.

With these lines, You pulled away at that lie that I'm going at it alone, that I cannot do it, that I should be choosing my own way:

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

With these lines, You reminded me of Your faithfulness through the years. You reminded me of how You care about the things in my life:

Be still, my soul; thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence, let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

I did not quite make it to this last verse as I sang this past Sunday; however, You remind me through the lyrics of this beautiful song that You have overcome and that the victory is won!

Be still, my soul; the hour is hastening on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul; when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

Be still my soul. Resist the urge to be the do-gooder who lets all these things get in the way of the greatest thing. Busyness and relevance in this world are the enemy's strongholds. Be still, my soul. Leave to thy God to order and provide. Amen

Regrets

I saw life sitting on a park bench
And I walked right by
Again, life sat at a picnic table
Meeting with friends whose conversations bobbed
and flowed with the rhythm of the music playing
Swiftly, I walked on
My tail tucked in fear

Life hunched over in a corner, barely noticeable
Her presence blatantly obvious to the curious conscious
I looked away, focusing my eyes straight ahead
As I searched for justification for ignoring her
Moments passed and so do those
Feelings of half-guilt and quarter-regret

All these moments add up
Create a blur at the end of which I question,
"Where did life go?"

She's dying of exposure
The music's fading
She's sulking further into the corner

I have a friend who regularly embraces life
Welcomes her in nervously, yet graciously
With genuine excitement and hunger
Life often invites her friend adventure
The two steal my friend away for a time
All the while, I sit and complain
"When will life take me out?" I ask
"I never get taken out!"
Next time, Stop,
At least give life a "hello"...

Roaring Twenties

America had never seen a decade like it. Neither have I...

It's ferocious appetite for adventure is insatiable
Sneaking about moodily as it seems to stalk an eternally-elusive prey
My "roaring twenties" seem like an exercise in futility
How many rounds of trial-and-error does it take for the lion to become king of the pride?
How many practice roars do other members of the pride endure in the attempt to perfect the sound?

New beginnings of who knows what roll off the assembly line in Model T fashion--taking my world by storm in a cloud of idealism and innovation, for the moment...
As I joy ride my Model T, the flapper-rebellious side emerges through tests of self-expression,
tests of society's limits
I stroll about without a care in the world--
in the beginning certain that I'm the fliest thing this world has beheld
But then, there's always some sort of sobering event that crashes my "T"
and puts me back in the buggy...
I struggle with true forward motion and progress, but at least it's fun
Learning to be a lioness

I know also that I'm not alone in this era
What seems meaningless is actually covered by the grace shown in the sacrifice of the
Lamb of God, the one who can tame this spunky, oft-irrational feline.
The hope for this moment--and every other--is that
I can come in like me and go out like Him.