I stand at the shoreline and relish the feel of the cool sand upon my bare feet. I look out over the early morning waters and take a deep breath. The breeze washes over me and reminds me of the long ago time on the Oregon coast when the birds sang low and the bonfire of roses burned. Now I have no such stark reminder of the sacrifice that has been made for me. Instead it is only my inner muse that chants the song and keeps my hands steady in anticipation of what comes. I lift the lamp to my eyeline and let it hang there a moment or two. It swings slightly and the flame bounces merrily to and fro. There is still oil enough. I have prepared. I have done what I can. Though nothing I have done matches what was done for me. I lower the lamp and shift my stance slightly. It has been a long wait, though not as long as the walk that came before. Over mountains and across prairies and on paths bordered by wild grass have I traversed this long night. Now for some reason I do not tremble. I have been given food to eat that has upheld me body and soul. My last sandwich is in the pack and I do not plan on eating it. It is a sacramental reminder, turkey and swiss and mustard on good rye bread. Now I do not need it. A gull cries. I open my eyes and see a boat break upon my sight. The waves lap against it and I need no further call. I step into the water as my eyes begin to fill with tears one last time.
Tag: love
Haunted Moors
Hello friends! Writing a few words this Sunday evening. About to perhaps attempt to write something flowery and ridiculous and ethereal and grey in its beauty and majestic wonder. Shall I succeed? Who knows, who knows. While I write now, listening to an old playlist from a few years back – “windswept queens of the haunted moors”. One of my favourites, it is darkly beautiful even though its lyrics are at times agonizing in their pain. Yet, at times the melancholy calls to me and this playlist, while not for the faint of heart, still sings. If you want to listen…well, I’ll link it here. Only if you wish.
Leaving aside the dangerous musical madness of my past, what now stirs my heart? I feel as if the days and weeks have been busy of late and my heart is weary. Yet what does that signal but that I am still trudging on? I am grateful to my God for holding my hand as I walk this path. And I’m grateful oh so grateful that I am not alone. I wish I had more time. I wish at times the things of this world didn’t take so much time and that I had more time to write and dream and wonder. Ah my thoughts are too messy for this mundane of a post. I will attempt to channel into something creative. If I give up, will just move on to making dinner! Leftover meatloaf is the plan. Also going to fry up some broccoli and make some mashed potatoes. Will be a good Sunday dinner, so says I. Now, I’m off, to write. I hope. I sigh and roll my eyes as I think on the likelihood that little of the beautiful shall proceed forth from my pen. But sometimes a leap is necessary. Farewell, my friends.
Father’s Day
Happy Sunday, friends! Hope you are having a most wonderful day wherever on the world you find yourselves at the moment. I very quickly will be transitioning into reading time here since I just realized it’s already past 5pm, but I wanted to write a few words first. Because besides being the height of summer (well, at least the longest day of the year and the point at which I realize that yes, summer is here), it is also Father’s Day! And so thought I’d write a few words about my dad – yes here in a public forum and all. I mean, I write enough about myself that I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising.
How do I start? I’m grateful to have a dad that I love talking to every day. I am now past my 39th birthday and headed to my 40th (which is strange to think on), yet still one of the highlights of my day is in the morning (almost always around 7am or so) when he calls or I call and we chat for a few minutes about life and sundry. It may be about sports or food or family or politics or Scripture or random life drama. It may be for only a minute or two or it may be ten. But nonetheless, it is always oh so much a joy just to get a few minutes chatting to Dad. I treasure these moments much. Because alas, we do not live nearby and it’s only a few times a year that we actually get time together in person, so of course our phone time is precious.
But that’s just current state. I look back at my life and while I could spend far too much time talking about various moments of my life and the people that impacted me, it would not be surprising for me to say that one of the people who’s impacted me the most throughout the course of my life has been my dad. I of course have memories of all the fun things we did together as I grew up – going to baseball games in Baltimore, playing football in the park, going to the beach for vacation and playing all kinds of random games, so many cards games! – but those aren’t the memories I hold the fondest. No indeed, I think on the life my dad lived and the example he has given me. I remember growing up how he prioritized his walk with the Lord – this walking being both literal and metaphorical! – and I remember how he talked about God in such a way that I had no doubt God was real. I remember the deliberate time he took to go outside and walk in the woods and pray to God almost every day when we were small. I remember how he made it a point of focus to lead my family in Bible-reading and singing and prayer almost every evening before we went to bed. At times I’m sure I wasn’t excited about it or didn’t truly understand all that was going on. Yet one thing I did get. It was important to spend time meditating on God’s word and worshipping him in spirit and truth. I had no doubt that my dad loved God mightily. I had no doubt that the faith of my dad was real.
But yes, even as I got older I made the realization all kids someday make. Wait…my dad isn’t actually perfect, is he? Yet even that was a lesson to me. I saw how Dad leaned on the Lord and cried out to him and made God his support and strength even in his very own weakness. I witnessed my Dad’s utter reliance on God in the valley of the shadow of death and his steadfastness even when life was ever so hard. I think of one word when I think of my dad – faithfulness. Throughout the travails of this life, he pressed on to know the Lord and be faithful in the day to day. Oh that has been an inspiration to me and even now it is something I often think on. I have no desire for great things in my own life. I simply want to be faithful to my God no matter what comes. My parents had many trials and tribulations they passed through (and are still passing through!) yet I witnessed my dad’s faithfulness to His Lord throughout. My dad spent the last twenty-six years of his ministry as a pastor of a small church and times were not always easy or fun in this ministry. Still yet? Dad was faithful in the strength of the Lord. And beyond that? I witnessed his love. I sometimes fear my own love is cold and not what it should be and I cry out to God to soften my heart. For I remember the example of Dad and how he loved others – he loved the weak and the downtrodden and the poor, the people in this world who most would despise and think little of. My dad loved them in real and tangible ways, with time, money & emotional energy, seeking day in and day out to show the love of Christ to those people around him who needed it. Oh that I might model such in my own life, loving others as I put their needs before my own!
And wrapping this up, as I know I have written too much already. I see the love Dad has for my mom and for us his children. Even now as I seek to love my own wife, I remember how Dad loves Mom and puts her needs and wants before his own and how he does all he can to protect, honour, love and cherish her in the mundane of the day to day. Oh if I could love Dani only a fraction as well as Dad loves Mom, I’ll be grateful!! And I see how Dad loves us his children. Yes, he loved us in raising and providing for us and giving us fun times. But also? He loved us in disciplining us and training us in the way in which we should go, teaching us the things of the Lord and mightily modeling what it is to be a child of God. He showed us true humility, what it means to be a servant of all. Dad showed me that only through daily going to the Lord in His Word and in prayer would we truly be able to thrive and rejoice in the trials of the everyday. Even now, as I seek to read the Word each and every day in the knowledge of how much it benefits my soul, I thank God that he gave me such an earthly father, one who points to my heavenly father.
Yes, I know that Dad isn’t perfect. He’s a man, after all. Yet by the grace of God, he’s a redeemed man, one who God chose and blessed and called in ministry to serve him all the rest of his days. And so as I think on my own life and recognize my own follies and frailties, I thank God for the gift of my earthly father and how God has used him to bless me so. I thank God that through him, I am reminded of what it is to be a man of God. I lean on my Lord in quiet desperation and in fervent hope look above to what is to come, that day when we shall be with the Lord and see his face. I know that this too is what Dad longs for. We look to that day when we will be in the presence of our heavenly father and we worship together as brothers, forever.
Forty Eight
Hello friends! A Sunday afternoon post here. I am freshly showered and feel cool and clean and it is truly delightful, especially after the last hour I spent outside sweating vigorously in the glorious steam bath that is our weather here in June just now. Not sure why I’ve been in such a walking mood lately, but that’s now two walks for the day. Went for my usual Sunday walk immediate upon waking this morning. The sun wasn’t quite peeking over the trees yet still the humidity bid me a hearty hello. But I did love the walk and it did me good before I eventually came back and had my pre-church coffee and reading time. Then this past hour? I could have and probably should have just sat down and enjoyed the cool of the flat this Sunday afternoon. Instead for some reason I was itching to move and be outside and so I went out and let my legs stride on. A little 3 mile walk, ho hum. But it was good. Chatted with Earnie on the phone the whole time, which was glorious indeed. It has been oh so long since we’ve had a proper chat and it was very much encouraging to my soul. Now? I think reading time approaches. Candle is already lit and flickering on the table and soon I shall turn on some music. No more World Cup games on right now, alas!! I have been much enjoying all the World Cup action lately. Group stages which means multiple games every day and it’s just fantastic! The US team (surprisingly somehow) played a very adequate opener game against Paraguay. 4-1 and 3 points, hurrah! On to Australia. Yesterday Dani and I went went down with Angela and Lauren to a downtown bar that was swarmed with Brasilians and we cheered on Brasil with all our might. Alas they managed only a draw against Morocco. Well, Morocco is a strong team. Or at least that’s what we keep telling ourselves. And last night, Scotland grabbed 3 points against Haiti!! Oh Scotland let’s go!!! Though I don’t have high hopes of them going deep (especially with Brasil & Morocco both in their group), I’m hoping they make it to knockouts. We shall see. But that’s enough football talk for now I suppose. I do love the World Cup though and it makes me so happy that we have so many games upcoming these next few weeks!! Even today, there was a game actually played in Houston! (Germany vs. Curacao) Just wish the ticket prices were slightly less expensive. Ah well. Now I’m off for real. Sorry for all the rambling, maybe I shall write something more substantial in a bit. Peace and love, my friends.
Breakfast
Hello friends and happy Friday! It’s been a bit and thought I’d bring back that old classic – an early morning pre-work post! Not promising I’ll say anything profound of course, just thought I’d dash out a few lines and say hello. I’m ever so grateful for a work-from-home day this Friday. Been a busy past few days at the office and so to have a day at home today is truly a joy. Already about done with my first cup of coffee and thinking it’s almost time to brew my second. But right now, enjoying a few quiet moments of peace.
It is good to be still and silent and meditate on life and all that has come before and all that now is and all that is yet to be. At times I feel we can be oh so busy dashing between this errand and that appointment and this event and that outing that we have no time to reflect and ponder. I confess that is not usually my weakness – some could say I have too much time to think and write! Yet I would still argue that we do such a good job filling our time that there is not those in between spaces that are so valuable to the health and growth of our own minds and souls. Those in between spaces are when our minds wander down those little paths and think thoughts that may turn out to be ever so fruitful. Of course not always. Sometimes we let our minds dance into thickets and briar patches that are not quite as amenable to our thriving! But still the point stands that we need to be careful how we are filling our time. Or how we are allowing our time to be filled. Even think of that ever present quite helpful device the phone. When we are at the store in line or in the elevator or just on the couch trying to read…how often do we pull out the phone on autopilot idly scrolling away at whatever the algorithm has decided to present to us that moment? And so we allow our minds to be filled and occupied by much that is not ideal. I am attempting to be more purposeful on what I think on. Ought we not think on what is good and true and lovely and meditate more on the real and beautiful instead of letting our minds pick at the vacuous fripperies that are shoved our way?
So today let’s think on the beautiful. I want to ponder how much I have been blessed and meditate on the God who made me and all things. I want to think more of Christ and the beauties contained in his work and word and all the glories he has brought me as he bought me with the blood he shed oh so many years ago. I want to think on that greater story that makes all else fade as I consider the solidity and reality of the fact that I am a child of God. What a wonder it is to consider the anchor that holds me fast as I know I am held and loved by the God who calls my name. Though too often I fear the storms of life and let anxiety fill my heart as I wonder what is to come, I need not fear. The storms may howl and the winds may wail yet no matter all the water that slops in the boat, I am confident that this boat in which I sit will never sink and that it will never run aground. Only someday I look forward to when we land on that far shore and I step out on the beach with heart exultant, eager for a good breakfast of fish and toast and communion with the one for whom my heart longs. Now we know in part – one day we shall know fully just as we are fully known. Peace and love, my friends. Peace and love.
Sabbath Meditation
I sometimes wish I lived in a little cottage at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea. It sounds picturesque, does it not? Imagine hearing the waves crash ceaselessly against the rocks far below. Look far out across the grey sea and smile as you imagine the sunset that is soon to be. Take a walk in the garden and feel the wind whip against your shoulders as you hear the gulls cry in melodious cacophony. Well, perhaps strike that last. But still, can you imagine sitting on the porch of your little cottage watching the soft rain fall and with a book upon your lap breathing deep the sea air? Perhaps you have a little lantern next to you for that light which becomes necessary as the sky slowly darkens. And inside you know the pot of tomato sauce bubbles away and perfumes the air for the moment when you shall step back inside to stir and inhale the scents of garlic and oregano. I think of what it would be like to have a cottage as I have described and I smile. Maybe someday. But also I know there are drawbacks to such a life. How far away the grocery store, I wonder? Perhaps thirty minutes, perhaps more! And if it is storming, of course I would not risk the muddy drive. And where are my closest friends? Perhaps not nearby. I would be lonely at times, lonely enough that my heart be sore to hurting. And the nearest library would be quite a distance away and I would know all the books on all the shelves by the sixth month, surely. But then, I suppose in this little cottage of mine I could build quite the cosy little library, could I not? So no disadvantage that.
But still my heart yearns for a quiet little home on a cliffside far away. Though at times I would miss those whom my heart holds dear, still it would do me good to gaze upon the beauty of that wine-dark sea each and every day. There is something in my soul that craves such. I would love to walk the garden path and lift my eyes to the stars above and pray to God aloud and relish the fact that He hears me true and sets his hand upon me in firm affirmation of my place at his feet. But then, I suppose I need not a cottage for that last. I can even now on my couch in this little city apartment raise my eyes to heaven and cry out to the God who knows my name. Maybe someday I’ll have this cottage to call my home sweet home. But for the now, I smile and rest in the fact that eternal life is mine no matter where this feeble frame resides. Someday I shall receive the call that even now eternity in my heart prepares me for. Someday I shall walk the garden path with the God who knows my name. Someday soon even I shall see that perfect beauty for which my soul longs. Someday I shall look into the eyes of Jesus.
Precipitation
I have been procrastinating writing all day. It is truly tragic, is it not? One has time to write and write finally for the first time in a long time and then for some perverse reason the will decides to keep choosing other things to do instead. It is maddening, truly. So now the afternoon winds on and I had almost decided it was time to do some dinner prep but then I told myself no that it would not do and that I would write something, even if the output turns out to be quite execrable.
I really wish I could go for a nice walk. It’s been a few days since I’ve stretched my legs properly and it irks me that I feel oh so sedentary in this moment. Yet the rain has been pouring and pouring and though now it seems it’s stopped, I do not trust the sky and I shall not risk the walk, quite certain that more storms shall be rolling o’er head shortly. So. I write! What shall I write? It’s been a long week, what with me and Dani being properly sick and miserable. It’s a garden variety cold/cough for me, but Dani’s been hit much harder. Right now I’m just grateful if she’s able to keep any food or liquids down. Praying for her recovery – oh please Lord, heal her. I suppose it’s normal after a vacation for the body to finally collapse upon arriving home again, mm? Definitely our bodies have been through a lot these past few weeks, what with traveling to Italy (Rome & Positano!) and Greece (Santorini!) and I am quite a terrible chronicler in that I really should detail some of our adventures in the aforesaid, yet I can’t quite bring myself to open the spigot. Instead, I’ll close this little post and then ponder if my creative self can decide to write anything more poetic and dreamy than the dreary prose that has trickled forth thus far.
I really am in a mood, aren’t I? Yet I do long to write something beautiful. I am not quite certain if I can. Yet even if I can’t, it is good to sit here at home, dry and warm on a day when outside is damp and stormy. I will perhaps do some dinner prep now – classic burritos with tomato/avocado salad! – and then see if any writing is to be. Peace and love, my friends. Peace and love.
In All of Time and Space
A momentary beauty and a fundamental truth encourages me in this day that feels so real and present yet I know by tomorrow it will be yet another wafer thin page quickly fading in my memory to mist. But does that fact that the existing moment in the present is quickly shoved aside to become ever less important in the grand scheme of the timeline that rushes stubbornly in one direction mean that moment is in actuality less important or is it only a trick of perception? I would argue so though it is difficult to state my case when I can say for almost certainty that if this earth still spins a few hundred years hence there will be no one left alive who remembers my name (and certainly not my face). I’ve had the thought myself when looking at old photo albums – who is that? No clue. Turn the page. Page turned and accomplished and we move forward in swaggering sureness of importance of self. Hard to think otherwise when one exists as one does and can only reference to self because well one thinks as oneself does one not? Oh pardon me for this angst induced overly indulgent existential rage. I am proud and selfish as most of us tend to be, us mere humans scraping through the rubble of our shattered dreams attempting to salvage an idea of the grand reality that was promised. Does your heart thrill to that thought too? Is there a true myth that causes your heart to skip a beat and the hair to rise upon your neck as you put your hand to your lips as unconsciously you yearn for a taste of the miraculous? Or is it only again the scrabbling through the ashes of the forest attempting to construct a mansion out of trees that never could bear the weight of expectations as you turn your face aside to cry? I ask for your forgiveness, friend. My thoughts dance ahead of my reason and I fear the turmoil of my heart is now bare for all to see. What is this lot of mine, this suffering? Do you hurt too? I ache for that weight of glory. I beg for the veil to be removed. I crave to live in a real house someday. I can’t bear this tent much longer, surely not. But there is a sense of something beautiful in the corner of my eye and I rest my hand upon the truth that truly never lies. Someday resurrection will be seen face to face. For now though I see not, I believe. I can’t help but otherwise when the fire burns within me so.
Big Air
Hello friends! At the coffeeshop this gorgeous mid-February day! It is such a nice day out – one of those rare Houston days that causes one to rise up and take notice and nod slowly in approval – that it is really almost a shame to sit indoors at the moment, but I do crave some writing time. And I don’t feel too guilty for wasting the beauty of the day since it was well enjoyed earlier today. Had my traditional early Sunday morning walk down to the bridge and it was simply lovely breathing in the fresh air and observing the fresh-washed surroundings after our downpours last night. And then after church, Dani and I thought that this weather simply demanded that a picnic be adventured. And so it was. We grabbed some poke bowls from HEB and proceeded on our standard MKT walk, ending up at a little picnic table where the poke was enjoyed in the open air, with the people walking by serving as entertainment and the various conversations and children’s shrieks serving as our background music. Bit better than a couch in front of a TV, mm? It was beautiful, all the more though because it was with the Dani and mid-afternoon on a simply sublime day. Can my heart repine? I think not.
So now at the Antidote and I am enjoying sitting in my tall hard-backed chair and typing furiously away on this keyboard as I raise my head now and again to observe the patrons that sit around me. There’s an older couple sitting in the central couch, enjoying the Sunday paper and a magazine as they now and again whisper smiles to each other. The woman’s long hair is a gorgeous silver and the man looks quite happy with the little comments he tosses her way now and again, her breaking out into laughter at his last. I look forward to the day when that is Dani and I! Then the majority of the rest of the people inside here are mirroring I (or am I mirroring them?) and on their laptops, some with headphones/ear buds, some with the naked ear exposed for all to see. Scandalous! And I sit here, writing about all and sundry as I sip slowly on my smolderingly hot decaf americano. Yes, decaf. It’s approaching 5pm, after all! Now? What more shall I write about? Well I think this chatty post has about served its purpose, warming up my fingers and stretching the thoughts of my muse to the point where it is about ready to burst forth into spontaneous song. Pardon for what may follow. But for all of you wherever you may sit and whatever you are doing, thanks for reading a little bit of my nonsense. Peace and love.
Ceremonial
In that moment at the table he lifts his head and looks directly in her eyes. She blushes and stammers a response to his question and then waits with indrawn breath for his reply. He pauses. His head inclines to one side. And then he smiles. In that smile his eyes change from grey to green and she feels as if the earth has tilted and she doesn’t quite have as sure of a footing as she thought she did before this moment. And to cover for her confusion and her loss of place, she grabs for another piece of garlic bread and proceeds to stuff her face. The smile that has been slowing spreading now erupts into a hearty laugh. She likes hearing it and she at once decides to make it her life goal to provoke it as often as she can. As she is still chewing and pondering the newness of this life, she watches as he twirls some more pasta around his fork and join her in consecrating this moment that has made them anew. There are ceremonies and then there is ceremony, and this is most certainly the latter – a type of ritual that she isn’t sure will or should feature prominently in the tales they will later tell. Or maybe they will. For who else can tell their story and say that in the moment they knew their forever that they both couldn’t talk because they were eating spaghetti and garlic bread? And now Isabel laughs out loud and says, “My love – can I call you that now? I just wanted to say, this spaghetti sauce is divine. And the meatballs are better than the ones I had in New York.” And he takes a sip of wine and his rejoinder comes, “I hope so. For you’re stuck with my cooking forever now.” Her breath catches as she considers anew the promises they have made that night. It is startling to realize how the infinite can be compressed to such a small solitary point, a point of such concrete firmness that it is almost bewildering to realise that this communion is held together by a presence outside the two of them. In that reassuring thought she lifts her glass and calls for a toast. He agrees. And their words spiral up and around like smoke upon the November breeze and their words turn into a prayer. They are blessed and they know it well. He lifts out a hand and takes hers in his. And it is very good.
Something Weird 