Prayer for the Healing of the Earth

May the deaths and losses of this pandemic not be in vain.

May our forced inaction create space for the element of air to reclaim. May our withdraw into homes and neighborhoods, cars sitting silent on driveways, the roar of airplanes muted, the humming of production plants at last quieted – may this moment allow space and time for full breaths, the first in decades. May the air sneak back in behind these enemy lines, infiltrate our busyness, our flurries of activity, our distractions, and slip right past it all until it succeeds in flowing right into our aching lungs. May the air reclaim dominion over us.

May the gaping wounds of the earth have time to scab, with assistance from the air. May the bleeding forests come to rest. May roots grow deeper and stronger into the earth. May the element of soil reclaim the landscape as the human virus retreats. May we repent from our selfishness, becoming our own vaccine, creating immunity for future generations. May we work together to cover the earth with blankets of healing, compresses of soothing salves and fragrant balms. May our touch bring life once more, instead of death.

May the rage of the element of fire, angered by our temporary betrayal, be assuaged. May it calm from its consuming warpath, and shrink back to itself, taking its rightful place in the order of creation. May it set our souls on fire, reigniting passion for our newly reclaimed identity as healers and caretakers.

And may the waters rejoice. May the tons of death-dealing plastic and waste be filtered out; a baptism of renewal. May the coolness of the sea relax and release its hidden tension, settling at last into the rhythm of ebb and flow.  May the rains wash away the last vestiges of human arrogance.

May we return to ourselves. May we examine the damage we’ve inflicted on ourselves and on our home and weep. May we return to our maker, mother divine, and rejoice in the wholeness of creation together. May Christ dance with us on the Earth’s scars, reminders of a broken past and a restored future. May the spirit of life sing with us a new song.

Come. Let us return to the Earth, this wild and precious gift from the Creator of Life.

Water Cycle

When I throw my fear
on the one who cares for me,
it evaporates,

as the water pulled
from oceans of dread and doubt
rise to form the clouds.

From the clouds, a mix
of heavenly breath and tears
rain down: life’s water.

Like all things, it is
a cycle, never ending,
only always new.

-1 Peter 5:7

Lowliness

There is a time to walk confidently,
head held high so the sky is seen,
a vast expanse of open possibility –
the limitlessness of Creation elevating
your Spirit past the clouds and stars
toward God.

However

there is also a time to inspect the ground
and the lowliness of things,
things gone unnoticed by pride
brought suddenly into focus
by the shame which pulls your eyes
down to your feet.

Be satisfied with those feet.
For just now they are clouded by tears,
but soon they will take you walking
through the world again.

And this time your head shall remember
the highs and the lows
and be thankful.

Luke 12:22-31

I wonder
if we’re in a refining fire –
if the world’s heart is hardening
or softening
against the onslaught of “news” –
if cleansing means repentance
or death.
Or both.

I wonder
about all the babies born
day after day, night after night
under the same sun and moon
in the same bath of blood.
Will they yearn for peace
like the pillow’s coolness?
Or will they only know heat?

I wonder
about my worries (Are my children safe? Should we stay? Can we cross the desert? Will the floods come? Are there arms somewhere out there to welcome, comfort, feed us? Or shall we be met with walls at the edge of safety?)

And then I wonder
if I am but a lily
reaching toward a sun
hidden behind the mountain
vibrant from yesterday’s light
yet dying, even
as I call forth the bee
that will carry on my legacy
(so long as the field’s not torched), even
as I watch
the birds of the air
soaring above me
reaching the light
with not a care in the world.

39w4d

The crib is set, the nesting’s done,
Yet still this stubborn babe won’t come.

So onto spice, and leafy tea!
(He must be set on thwarting me.)

Let’s try dancing, yoga too!
He says, “Oh no, not leaving you!”

“I’ll walk,” I say, “I’ll walk you out.”
But he just laughs, I have no doubt.

I yearn, I pray with all my might.
Still he remains just out of sight.

How long, O God, how long to wait?
Must this birth you so belate?

The house is clean, the seat’s installed.
Our bags are packed! Prepared is all!

Family, friends, and strangers too
are standing by with gifts of blue.

I jiggle, bounce, and swish my hips.
Oh Lord that I may kiss his lips!

May he be whole, in perfect health.
Then I’ll know the truest wealth.

The love of one so soft and small.
He’s worth the wait, after all.

Our Love

Our kisses are not the stuff of movie magic.
Our embraces do not make heart-sick teens swoon.
Our banter will never trend #relationshipgoals.

But when you send our toddling daughter,
grinning with mischief,
into the bathroom where I’m trying
to have just one moment of privacy
(on the toilet!)
and I hear you laughing like a madman outside the door,
I know you’re really saying, “I love you.”

The fire’s no longer pulsing with the blue heat of newly ignited romance.
The fresh-felled logs of youth are drier and more brittle.
The burn is slow and perhaps
unremarkable.

But the embers are keeping.

And when I wish for the passion of a green heart unmarred
by the constancy and lunacy of such a thing as marriage,
when I yearn for the fireworks of decades past, I look
into the steady glow of our unremarkable love and find
gratitude.

For where else but within the confines of an unremarkable marriage can
a bowel movement spoiled
become a moment of sparking flame leaping
with joy, lit with magnificence against the backdrop of a starry sky?

Note to Self

Remember to

floss daily
change the air filters
get the oil changed
make the dentist appointment (has it really been 3 years?)
drink enough water
exercise and get your steps
balance the budget
schedule the autopay
invest in retirement
give the kids enough veggies
save for the kids’ college
bathe the dog (does he need his shots?)
keep in touch with family
do the laundry/dishes/shopping
meal plan!
donate to charity
water the plants
bring the snacks
Purple day at school
buy diapers
daily devotional
make time for self-care
make time for family
make dinner
make memories
make it happen

Remember

ALL the birthdays, anniversaries, due dates, deadlines, check-ups, check-ins, check-outs, happy hours, meetings, conferences, events, what am I forgetting…

And definitely don’t forget

the sex
the 746 passwords and PINS
to be kind
be gentle
be a model for your kids
be a good parent
be a good wife
be a good daughter
be it all

But don’t be hysterical.

…and don’t snap…

Sounds of Songs

November rains bring winds swirling,
twirling yellow leaves to stick on the windshield.

Thunder grumbles on the drive,
the morning radio for once silent as we listen –

the squeak of wipers
tires wet on pavement
whirring warmth of heated air
blowing on the glass.

I see her in the rearview, sitting in her carseat
troubling with her shoes as always.

Then I hear it, the wisp of a song,
not quite a melody, not quite a hum
but more than a word, more than word!

I’ve never heard her sing before.

Composition

Hush now –
do you hear it?
There’s a melody beneath the ink.
There’s a song in your pen.

Lay out the words
but it’s only half done.
The music needs uncovering.

It dwells under your touch.
It sinks into your skin,
closer than your heart.

It’s humming up behind you.

Hush now. Be still.
Be patient.
Let it flow and
do not wait to see the notes
and fail to hear the sweetness
of chords dripping with abundant “Yes!”
to your words.

They strike your ear hard
pounding out a beat so ancient
so new
so joyful to be free of that voiceless place
where unspoken thoughts
go to die.

Change

The aged tea tastes the same
today as yesterday – with a squeeze
of honey. But the tulips
now, those are wilted.

More open, yes, but drooping,
the fresh clear water of last
week gone murky. Slimy.

I am older, happier, sadder, fatter
than this time last year. And
the day broke cold and rainy
this morning. But
the tea tastes the same.