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Was there ever a time when “poet” was a legitimate job description? Maybe, centuries ago, you could get a gig as a court poet, or have a de Medici support you as a contribution to the arts. Sadly, today, the de Medicis among us have very little use for poetry. It is a gift, but not a commodity. And spiritual poetry, alas, with its propensity to probe and question, comfort yet cause unease, is relegated to the bottom of the artistic heap. This can disheartening, yet I can’t stop an intense desire to live within the world of words (however imperfectly I receive them) that God supplies so temptingly and freely.
I ask for tongues of fire:
Underneath there is heat,
to melt me to the bone.
If I could bury myself in poetry,
I might burn righteously,
pure as glass, pious as
a Lutheran steeple.
But poetry is no place to live,
even for church mice.
No one subsists on words,
even if they roll off the tongue
like buttered toffee.
I must be content
to live in the world of man.
Secretly, however, I burn.
A bit of colorful inspiration for the day. How are you going to live your faith?
Spread joy when others are sowing disharmony.
Well, I woke up this morning feeling tight. My son and I have been dealing with a problem, and it’s the same problem we’ve had for years. It left me with the feeling that we’ve been running in place. Getting nowhere. But something happened as I stewed. I scrolled through posts from my spiritual support team, and it felt as if a weight was lifted.
Lori’s prayer-poems take my breath away, and then I find I’m breathing easier. SueBE can really tell a story from the heart, and then I find it’s got me thinking. We’ve gotten through some things, like this poignant remembrance of Lori’s first Christmas without her father. And SueBE’s inspiring post about the loss of her friend, and how it reminded her of losing her mother.
We’ve lived through some things individually and collectively. We got through, and got each other through.
We’re all still here, writing this blog that started as a reaction to the ending of a writing gig that was wonderful/awful. Well, a lot like life – it wasn’t what we thought it would be, but we got each other out of it.
The best way I can do anything positive for my son is to be content myself. To do the things that make me happy. To create a warm, welcoming home. So when I get up, I look up. When I get dressed, I remember I’m blessed.
If I could, I’d like to solve all my son’s problems. I’ll settle for not causing him problems with my constant reminders to him that this problem needs solving.
I’d like life to be laid out in front of him, and all the right choices to be glaringly obvious. I’ll settle for: I’ve raised him the best I know how/I trust he’s got the know-how to find his own way.
I’d like to be wise, but I’ll settle for blessed.
Just as I’m grateful for faraway friends who are close to my heart. Just like God’s grace. I didn’t earn it, but in quiet moments of repose, it restores my soul and keeps me going.
Prayer in action…
Well maybe not this afternoon, but certainly tomorrow. Interesting that this post is the one queued up and ready to go right before Easter. Christ’s followers felt lost without him. Their beloved teacher and brother had just died, hung upon the cross like a common criminal. Imagine what they must have been feeling?
But they just didn’t get it. Christ was coming back and he was coming back soon.
We are Christ’s Easter people. How does this effect our lives?
We are free from the legalism that had overtaken so much of the people’s energy and lives. Yes, we will make mistakes. Yes, we will sin. We are, after all, human. But we don’t have to buy our way back into the temple. There is no one waiting between us and God with their hand held out waiting for the coin needed to purify us.
No one is standing between us and God. There is no longer a high priest. We can approach God directly. We can speak to Him and listen for his word.
We are his and he is ours and he is there for us all. We just need to pray and to listen.
Have a Blessed Easter everyone!