Poetry was the medium

“Poetry was the medium of their deepening love affair with God.”  -Calvin Miller, The Path of Celtic Prayer (39)

I am done

Christmas reminds me of
My last year's hopes and all I thought
Would be 
But is not yet and
The ache and grief 
of that.

I am done 
With what I thought faith 
Was
I am in doubt to who I have
Become
I am in debt with all that is 
Undone

All I thought would be different-- but still hasn't changed.
Being still
I still await.

A moment of worship after service, together

Light poured in like golden honey
Wrapped in radiance I bowed
Warmth of home, love
Belonging and family
Faith expectancy
I looked up toward flaming windows,
Each pane afirey brilliance
His presence surround,
Glory!

The body

Inhabiting

Dust, flesh of rust

Habit of forgetting 

Or regretting, 
Judged as less-than, sin-corrupted flesh

Punished, diminished

Pushing through until unraveling
Sabbath-less striving 
Restless contriving

I was made to love you 
IN

This body

(Exhale)
Now aware
To care, listen

Breathing with heart-pumping blood 

Spirit embodied mystery 

Flesh entombed history

Shaped to host the presence of God 

A Living Temple 
Holy Essence, bodily.