A follower of God

To be a follower of God isn’t to exchange a life of sin
for a life of safety.

It is to know the fire that birthed the universe,
to be transformed from an image breaker to an image maker,
co-creating with God.

It isn’t to celebrate history and ritual
but to dance so hard with a celebration of life
that it stamps upon injustice
and calls out the celebrant in others.

To be a follower of God
is not to build walls around a belief group
but to be part of the community of creation.

It isn’t to expect beds of roses without thorns
but to know that beds of thorns will have roses.

It is a prophetic call to see and hear,
to respond with compassion and not fear anger.

It is to change the world by changing my life.

It is to be the face of God in my time.

The emotions of God?

What are the emotions
of God? What are the tides within
the navy night of soul that carries
God’s name? Do they feed
each other, joy playing banjo
on sorrow’s strings while love holds anger
like a crown?
What are the swellings of breast that charm
the bees upon the blossom, that fire
the voyagers’ return?

I have heard it whispered
that night after night
God sits holding tenderness
on soft knees
while murmuring our name.

Mystery

Scientists and theologians have a lot in common.
They see, they question, they explain.
Theories and theologies, boxes in which to fit reality,
seen and unseen,
a comfortable, controllable world.
But if there is no mystery
it doesn’t feed the heart.

Mystery is as much part of the universe, and God, as fact –
breath and bones, shadow and substance,
secret and revealed.

To know someone well is also to know
their difference from me,
to respect their secret places.
It’s the same with God, and with our planet.
Approach both with awe and wonder as well as
science or certainty.

For some things candlelight is better than spotlight
and not knowing is better than understanding all.

Trusting

I passed
this small fall before
and now here I am again
in the darkening night,
the stream still flowing and talking,
still breaking and bubbling white
and will be all through the night
though none sees or hears,
the rock cradling the brown waters
as they hang smooth as beer
then fall laughing and frothing
over its bony arm.

In another place
the dark is hiding
the soft contours of my children’s faces
blown by sleep,
breathing the seconds of the night
as they pool in dreams
then rush sparkling away.
And I must trust
this flow will not fail
though I do not watch or wait,
held by arms I cannot see,
carrying secret memories.

Today

Welcome to the gift of today.
This is a day unlike all others and when gone
it cannot be retrieved.

This is a day when I can hold the interface
between change and routine.
This is a day breathed by God who shines
in all its possibilities. This is a new day.

This is a day to leave behind the regrets of yesterday
and start again, fresh and absorbed by hope.
This is a day for me to make my own.

Today I can choose to not just see the grey,
to not let busyness cram every corner
or boredom kill my creativity.
Today I can notice all the blessings that lap at my shore,
or look for opportunities to quietly bless others.

I can count the smiles, see the ever-changing shapes
between leaf and tree, between earth and sky
and as I see them, they are mine and can enlarge my soul.

And even if today holds great pain
or the death of those most precious,
there are gentle hands to hold me
and carry me through to tomorrow.