Keep watch, dear Lord

And so the bedtime prayer begins. Both children are mostly grown, if anyone is ever mostly grown. I anticipate this begins a series of reflections, but then again, I never know. I, too, am mostly grown.

It is mostly a comfort

To ask this,

To name the One who watches:

Lord;

To know Someone

Has Her equivalent

Of a baby monitor

Next to the bed.

Heck

She doesn’t need such things.

Her Mother’s ear is tuned

To the world,

Her Mother’s eye

Catches everything

In that way

Good mothers do.

She has eyes

In the back of her head,

And in front.

Her peripheral vision

Is next to none.

Heck

She invented peripheral vision.

Keep watch, dear Lord,

The way only You

Can do.

Unlikely dreams

When wonderful things happen that surprise me completely... I am glad not to be in charge. When terrible things happen that horrify me... I am also glad not to be in charge. But still... sometimes in the morning dreams, it seems God puts together so many disparate dreams that I am ready for what comes next. I cheer in the stands. I march in the streets. I protest what I must. I pray... through it all.

It seems lately

I wake up from a series

Of unlikely dreams.

They flow

One into another,

Not unlike this wakeful time

When unlikely dreams

Prove true.

I know they are true

Because there is protest

In the ranks,

And cheering

In the stands.

I could only hope

I could only dream

This succession of unlikely dreams,

But never

But never

Could have predicted

This.

Cancelled

So much happened yesterday that it took an extra day. It almost seems as though today will be dropped from the June calendar. Hard to explain... but there it is. 

It’s as if today

Got cancelled. As if today

Will come tomorrow.

Two Brothers

Jesus said: It's like this... two brothers, being asked to work in their father's vineyard. One said yes, and did not go. One said No, then reconsidered. Which one did the father's bidding? Not so hard to figure out what the right answer is... right? Two brothers, related by blood, related by blood. Still brothers after the yes. Still brothers after the no. Still brothers.

So many ways we have

To dismiss the world:

The real,

Even

The potential real.

So many ways we say

Not now

Meaning

Not ever.

So many ways we say

Yes

When we are really saying

No.

Oh we who dismiss

So many things

In God’s name.

So much better to struggle with No

Then reconsider

And reconsider again.

Hard-won things

Are often heart-won things:

Meant to be held lightly

Meant to be cherished

Meant to be held up to the light

Meant to be understood now

Only in part

In a mirror dimly

And then,

Only then,

Fully known.

Pollen

It is a huge pollen year, more than enough for all of us. Everyone I know... with allergies and without... seems to be afflicted. 

I wake up sneezing.

Pollen has been

The underlying thread

In this summer weaving

Of the whole;

The common denominator

In our body politic;

The unitive breathing in

Of that substance

Which would be better off

Doing the work

It is meant to do:

Flower to fruit

To food on the table,

Except now

We wake up sneezing,

More than enough pollen

For all purposes,

Even enough

To provide food

For conversation.

Forgetful

My beloved's mother called last night: Happy Anniversary. Anniversary? my beloved said, looking at me. Oh, are we ever pathetic! I said. Simply pathetic. We laughed the rest of the evening.

There are so many things

To remember in June

My beloved and I

Forgot our twentieth anniversary

Both of us

Yes

Both of us.

It’s like we’ve been married

Forever.

In a good way.

Married forever.

Maybe we’ll go bowling

This weekend.

Brownie Wednesday

Thankful for frosted brownies.

It’s Brownie Wednesday

At the grocery store.

I find this out

As I check out,

My cart filled with produce,

Organic eggs

And dairy.

My beloved tells me

I wouldn’t like those brownies anyway,

They all come with frosting.

Frosted brownies

Are too much,

Doncha know.

Scratch

Every Monday I receive Tiny House Swoon in my email. Tiny is appealing, even as I sit in my own not-so-tiny blue recliner from This End Up. I bought it almost thirty years ago now. It has seen me through A Lot, this chair. It is part of my Scratch. I do some of my best mining here.

I think I have to
build it all
from scratch.
Scratch
is all I have anyway.
I stare at tiny houses
Think life would be so much better
Were I to live in one
I had built
from scratch.
Scratch is all I have.
Dig down deep:
Scratch
Listen to the rain:
Scratch
Sit in the blue recliner
from 1989
Scratch
So much scratch
There is treasure there
Somewhere
A pot of gold
This side of the rainbow.
Scratch.

Falafel

I love such conversations. I am glad my beloved teaches at Northeastern IL.

I was reminded again

Of the United Nations

My beloved teaches,

My beloved serves.

In the middle of the packed party

The woman

In a white hijab

Tells me falafel comes from

Saudi Arabia.

I have heard so many countries claim

Falafel.

I went to a church

And asked if I was welcome

She said.

I was told

Only people who love Jesus

Are welcome.

Oh well then

She said

That is fine.

I too love Jesus.

Sixty

For Sue, traveling the West Coast; for Lise, writing screen plays in Texas; for Anne, auditioning for plays in Chicago; and for me. 

I wondered what sixty

Would be like

Oh

Oh

It’s not what I imagined.

It’s better than I thought.

A friend takes a road trip.

Another writes screenplays.

Still another auditions

For plays.

Me

I drive when I can.

I write when I can.

I try out

For new roles.

Sometimes I achieve things

It never occurred to me

I was trying

To achieve.

Surprise.

Surprise.

Sixty.

I wondered what sixty

Would be like.

Evidence

Windows open, cat sleeping in the sun, cardinal singing his heart out, I wonder what evidence I will draw from today. I laugh at all the evidence-based therapy skills I have learned. I know they look different applied in my particular office.

Each one of us

Has her own interpretation

Of what she has learned.

We think

We apply it

Purely.

There is no such thing

As pure

Only

Well-intentioned

Maybe

Recognizable.

It’s a secret,

A not-so-well-kept secret:

The evidence is important

To be sure

But in its purity,

It’s only

Where we begin.

In and out

Moving in and out... like the sun.

Watching the sun

Go in and out.

It is an in and out

Sort of day.

I make a list

Of people

Of things

Which call for a blessing

From me.

What do I notice

Today

As the sun finds clouds

To hide behind

And then finds space

Between them.

It is an in and out

Sort of day.

Me and the sun.

Home in the rain

Today I see individual things and marvel at them. 

The elderberry bush

Has three clusters of flowers

Where last year

There were two.

The cat sits in a favorite spot

Under the rocking chair,

Absent the sun.

It is rain this morning.

I am home

An entire day;

Home

To see the rain

The cat

The elderberry

Delight in it all.

Years and years

This is not a haiku, in the traditional 5-7-5 form, but then again 5-7-5 is an approximation anyway. I was going to write more, but this seemed to sum it up.

So many things take years and years.

All the while

We want it now.

Maintenance

The fourth stage of change. I would name it something other than maintenance. I would much rather see it in terms of connection, of weaving it into the whole. This is perhaps a more spiritual way of looking at it, but then again, I am a priest, and this is the way I come at things. Maintenance is the final stage of change. I wonder if there should be a fifth stage which carries it even further.

What a boring term

For the final stage of change.

I would name it

Perhaps

Weaving:

Finding the place

In the warp and the woof

Where this change fits;

Finding the place

Where the weaving is not whole

Without it;

Finding the place

We would miss

Were it not present;

Finding the place

Others would say

You

Are not You

Without it.
This is way more than
Cookies and milk,
Way more than one or two
Atta boy
Atta girl
This involves
A whole community
Gathered around the table
Woven together.

Action

Action. Stage three. The first stage others might see, even though we have been considering it a long while. This is the stage for which the world gives some credit. Action is the only stage which allows reimbursement of most any sort. Two cookies and milk. So much work already under the bridge, over the dam. So much work to be acknowledged. Two cookies and milk.

The first step

Outside the box 

We have been living in;

Or perhaps the first step

Outside the box

We have been dying in;

The first step other people

Might see

When they are watching.

Of course we started

So long ago

And now

And now

Perhaps we hear

A duet or a trio

Of

Atta boy

Atta girl

Two cookies

And milk

And then

Keep coming back.

Contemplation

The second stage of change. Note that nothing has happened yet externally, yet really this is letting in the possibility of change. We all do this. All of us. All the time. Watch the questions come and go. Answer some of those questions, yet most will not be answered until we approach stage three.

Maybe things might be different.

What would they look like?

What would they sound like?

What would they taste like?

Smell like?

Feel like?

What if I fail?

What if nothing happens?

What if I succeed?

What does success even look like?

Sound like?

Taste like?

Smell like?

Feel like?

When do I begin?

What about next year?

Next month?

Next week?

Tomorrow?

Now?

Atta boy

Atta girl

Two cookies

Let’s meet next week

How’s next week for you?

Pre-contemplation

This is the first reflection in a series on the Stages of Change. The Stages apply to any change we make. It is often used in the addictions field, but really it's about any change we make. We are all recovering from something. We all begin here.

The first stage

Is thinking about thinking about

The possibility

Of change.

Everyone starts here.

Is it worth it?

We ask

Is it really worth it?

Everyone starts here:

At the beginning.

This first stage requires

A very quiet

Atta boy

Atta girl

A smile

Perhaps a cookie

So the beginning

Continues.

New brain

Three days of continuing education. I am home with a new brain, having met several new people, spent time with a cross-section of addictions counselors and people in recovery. I learned that CMA does not only stand for Country Music Awards, but also Crystal Meth Anonymous. I have also now been trained to administer Naloxone by auto-injector in case I am with someone ODing on opiates.

I am home

With a new brain.

I feel like Scarecrow

In the Wizard of Oz,

Given that diploma

Of possibility,

Head still stuffed with straw.

Perspective

Beckoned me

Off the pole

In my particular cornfield

To dance with friends

Down the road.

Now I am home

With a brain

Still stuffed

With straw

But also

New with possibility.

Wristband

I couldn't figure out what to name this one, so I settled on Wristband. It might just as easily been Designated Driver or Special. Saturday was the Craft Beer Festival at Morton Arboretum, part of the birthday gift for my beloved. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow was, is and will be continuing education. I do not know what color the wristband will be today or tomorrow. I do know the CADC crowd is special, just as everyone is.

I wore a red wristband

On Saturday.

It allowed me to drink

Designer soda,

Be the Designated Driver

On the way home.

I felt special.

Yesterday I wore a red wristband

Like everyone else.

It meant we all were eligible

For lunch.

Today I expect

The same

All of us with our wristbands

Will eat lunch again.

All of us

Special.

Full day

Today holds a conference, new faces, perhaps some old; a client; and a closing birthday dinner for my beloved. Right now it holds coffee, cat, flowers and sun. A good beginning.

I face a full day

The cat

The flowers

The sun

Call me forth

Into the promise.

Exponential

Some days it feels like my heart grows, like the Grinch, at least three sizes. Sometimes way more. It's not one thing that does it, but several, some things I can name, some not.

My heart grows,

Sometimes it feels

Exponentially.

I wonder where things

Will fit

With a bigger heart.

I wonder

When I sit in back at church

See baby faces smiling backward

Check the restless children

Feel the Spirit move

Watch everyone raise an arm in blessing

Myself included,

Hold the hand of my beloved

As we pray the Lord’s Prayer.

Exponentially

My heart grows.

I wonder where things will go

From here.

Peripatetic

Sometimes I wander, and sometimes I am content to watch the wanderings of friends.

I ponder my friends

Peripatetic and me

Finding the world through them.

Coffee with a friend

I'm not sure what vehicle I am riding these days. Certainly it varies from day to day. Coffee or lunch with friends, old and new, is a treat, always, no matter if I am driving, walking, or sitting still. Next year? Really? I have no idea where I'll be next year.

Coffee with a friend

Last fall:

In my perspective:

Lovely.

We must do this again

Next year,

She says.

We

All of us

Ride different cycles:

Unicycles

Bicycles

Tricycles

Some with too many wheels

To count,

Hamster wheels maybe.

Some walk endless treadmills

Wait for a power outage

So they can stop

Finally stop.

Coffee with a friend.

We must do this again

And again

And again

Before next year

Before we die.

Perception

Discovering more and more what is meant for others.

We never know

If what we hear

Is meant for us

Or perhaps

For someone else.

This is distinct

From giving advice.

This is different

From naming the mote

In our neighbor’s eye.

This has nothing to do

With defining the thunderclap

As a sign of God’s wrath

Against someone else.

We never quite know

If the purple columbine we see

Is meant for us

Or perhaps

To be shared

And then shared again.

Meteorology

This is a haiku (sort of). I am stunned at the rapidity of change in the acceptance of gay marriage (in Ireland!) as well as the growing acceptance of the reality of transgender folk who encompass the same wide range of sexuality we all do. Today the sky is bluer than it's ever been.

On certain fronts

The weather changes faster

Than others.

Day off

Although my work structure has changed into something more fluid, I well remember the "day off mode." 

On the days

He’s not supposed to be there

He parks on the street

And locks the door.

He does not dress

For work,

But works instead

In his gardening clothes.

We all play like this

As if God will not notice

Our transgressions,

Find out we are working

On our day off.

We all play like this

As if there is such a thing

As hiding from God,

As if God does not understand

Working

On Her day off;

As if God does not always work

In her Garden clothes;

Even on the Sabbath

She is available

In Her Garden clothes.

We forget sometimes.

We park on the street.

We lock the door.