Father's Day

Kitten has given up, but grandfather cat is still twitching his tail. Hopeful?

Grandfather cat would prefer

Not to play

His grandfather part

On this Father's Day.

The kitten

Has been banished

With a hiss

And the swish of a tail.

This is

Of course

Until the kitten returns.

The kitten always does

Return

And sometimes

Often enough

The grandfather cat

Changes his mind.

Kitten joy

There's something about living with a kitten.

We live with kitten joy:

Ever hopeful

Her milk ring

Will be discovered

Where she found it

Four days ago.

Last night she dropped it

In the open dish

Of parmesan cheese.

Only by chance

We opened the container

Before putting it away.

There it was.

Milk ring

Oh milk ring

Oh plastic milk ring

Such simple kitten joy.

She knew

We’d find it

Where she left it

Just as she knows

There are milk rings

Under every cushion

If we would but only

Look.

Pussy willows

Years ago now, I would buy "statement" pussy willows, gigantic pussy willows, six feet tall, they barely fit in the car, for the parish I served. That florist eventually closed. I have not seen "statement" pussy willows since. 

Pussy willows have arrived

At the local

Flower stand.

So many of my friends

Ok

And not-so-friends

Are in desperate need

Of pussy willows:

THE sign

Spring always comes.

Place them in water.

Watch them sprout

In February.

I know

This is not soon enough

For some,

Even for many.

I know

It is so hard to wait.

Pussy willows

Have arrived

In January.

There is hope

For February.

Two-step

We all go as far as we can go. Sometimes we are propelled forward...despite ourselves.

A person near and dear to me

Got stuck at step two.

He was powerless

(He knew)

Somewhere there was hope

(He knew)

He never got to surrender.

Yet

He continued that two-step

Until he died.

I believe he gets it now.

I believe he was launched

The rest of the way.

Now

He gets it.

Holding hope

So many things I might write today. This is what arrived.

The seeds arrived in the mail

Yesterday:

A butterfly garden to be sown

When the warm comes.

The robin searches out worms

In the backyard

Hop

Hop

Listen

Hop

Hop

Listen

He will feel that first hint

With his feet,

Hear the whisper

Of worms surfacing.

After all

Light is on the winning side

Today.

The worms must not be far behind.

The robin holds hope

Hop

Hop

Listen

The seeds are packaged

On the kitchen counter.

They hold the hope

Of butterflies.

Now is later

Still working on the puzzle.  Last night I dreamed about hopeful things, a rather odd assortment of hopeful things.  I know they fit in the puzzle, somehow.  Some of them seem to touch on being edge pieces.  I figure I'll find out eventually.

I wake up and remember pieces

I placed aside::

Not quite sky

Not quite ground

Not quite edge

Except maybe

One of those barely edge pieces

That only touches

The area outside the puzzle.

I dreamed

Whole conversations

Woke up and saw things

I left out,

Put aside for later.

Apparently now

Is later.

I pour another cup of coffee

A warmer for my daughter

In the other room.

Now is later.

Moods

Before winter sets in, I am charting what "mostly fine" looks like.  I tend to remember the good days and delete the bad ones.  I am relatively new to figuring out depression for myself.  I think birds will figure in somewhere.  They always do.

While everything

Is mostly fine,

I put my moods

On paper.

I think a collage

Might be more appropriate,

Bits and scraps of colored paper

A flower here and there

A stone or two

Certainly some birds.

I have never

Been easily categorized.

Still

Last night hope

Settled down around my shoulders

Rather like the soft blue prayer shawl

A friend made for me.

Dickinson said “hope

is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul”

I knew birds

Would figure in here

Somewhere.

*Emily Dickinson's poem may be found here:  http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171619

Waiting for sun

We are all creatures of habit.  The cat knows the spots the sun usually hangs out.  So he waits.

The cat sits in the spot

Next to the front window,

The spot the sun would shine

If today was sunny.

He slits his eyes

Hoping

Hoping for sun,

His paws curled under.

It is time

For the morning nap

In the sun.

He sleeps

While he waits.

Cloud-covered daylight

Will have to be enough

This morning.

Intentional

She is home for 36 hours before she returns to camp.  We are reminded again of intentionality.  Now is the time for her Father's Day brunch.  The sense of not wasting such moments... hovers.  It claims the moment for intentional time with her father.

Now is the time 

For intentional meals

Intentional conversations

Intentional thoughts

To make intentional

Memories.

Maybe now

Has always been the time

For such things

Except now

Right now

We know intentionality

Bears all things

Hopes all things

Believes all things

Even invites

All things

Into the mix.

Planting

I am almost ready to plant annuals.  Almost, but not quite.  First I pay attention to what the perennials are doing.

  

The clematis

Returns.

It begins

To vine its way

Up the porch pillars.

The rhubarb accomplishes

Its first spring growth.

The elderberry is leggy

With leaf buds.

Perhaps it’s time to fill

The planters in front,

The planter in back.

Still

I will give them

A few more days.

The weather carries hope

For planting.

I have had such hope

Before.

A few more days

Of clematis and rhubarb

I may be ready for pansies

In front

In back

I may be ready

For pansies.

Hope

More Saturday morning dreams.  More church dreams for this girl who barely preaches anymore except from her counseling office under the altar.  I wish I could remember the words from the sermon.  But still... I woke up enfolded in hope.

I woke up enfolded

Like in a warm blanket

Like standing

In warm sun

With a spring breeze

Blowing

Fresh air.

I woke up

From church dreams,

A sermon on hope,

The best sermon

I have heard in years.

I wish I remembered

The words

Oh I wish I remembered

The words

But still I woke up enfolded

Like in a warm blanket

Like standing in the sun

A spring breeze blowing

Fresh air.

Hope.

Advent Eve

Advent is my favorite season.  It seems the only season of the Church year which waits for two things at once, seemingly opposite things.  This waiting time feels, well, liminal to me.  An in-between time of sorts. This year we also get to wait for the comet to appear in the sky just before dawn.  

Advent Eve

The sun has set

The day will dawn blue

Tomorrow

Unless I look

Just before the sun rises

For the promised comet;

Unless I watch the sky,

Darkness incarnate

With a growing purple tinge,

Melting into final day blue.

Hope holds her hands

Pressed

On the baby

Riding safe inside;

Hope holds her hands outstretched

To the Promised One  

Who will return

Again.

The stage is set.

Advent Eve.

I await

The comet

Out the other side

Of the sun.

The sky will change

From darkness incarnate

To purple

To a final blue.

Hope bows down.

Her hands wait

In her lap.

If only

OK.  I*m a mite petulant this morning.  Because I claim almost thirty years in the priesthood, and because I took a break from parish ministry, got a counseling degree and then some, and because (I know this is a run-on sentence), and because for some reason God has seen fit to place me on the edges of things, because... because... if only... but it*s not.  Whatever it is.  This is NOT good writing, and I am going to leave it anyway.  So there.  

Today I am cleaning the guest bedroom.  I never know who will arrive at the door tomorrow.

The article

In today*s newspaper 

Offered this catchy title:

Why Women Quit.

It spoke of corporations

And middle management.

Because this was a newspaper article,

It offered the problem,

Solution

And hope

In less than half a page.

If only

It said

If only.

I know

**If only**

She is a house guest.

She has overstayed

Her welcome.

New license to drive

Today I can drive.  I will most likely make the grocery store run this afternoon, drive to my volunteer job tomorrow morning.  By myself.  No radio.  Today, maybe all week, maybe all month, I will consider myself a new driver.  Learn again the privilege.  I hope I may not have to do this again.  This time around, I know there is the possibility that things might change... any minute. I hope not.

With this new year

Comes driving.

Today it*s not about

Speed,

But rather

A week or two

With new rules.

This week

When I drive

I will be the only one

In the car.

A week or two, perhaps three,

With different rules,

A new license

To drive.

New year.

New beginning.

This Sunday in church

We light the hope candle

On the Advent wreath.

Perhaps the new rules

Will last an entire season.

Perhaps

This time around

Things will be different.

I certainly hope so.

I have made the office spare

The week has been overly full.  Sometimes I sit in my office, my blissfully spare office, and simply breathe.  I aim to make it a breathing place for my clients as well.  

I have made the office spare:

Walls of warm beige,

Decoration minimal,

Striped rug for color

On the floor.

There is room here

For many stories

To come and go,

Re-ordered,

Re-written,

Re-captured week by week.

Here hope might be reclaimed

Like so many lost coins

Under the sofa cushions,

From the plaid chair

Opposite,

Or more directly

From Above.

I wish I could meet everyone here

But I am not in charge

Of every space I occupy.

I am barely in charge

Of this one.

Hopes

This morning I read a blog post by Dr. Kelly Flanagan on Cheap, Crappy Hope (Part 1 of 3).   It is here: drkellyflanagan.com.  The story he tells of his son*s hearing is particularly lovely.  I like his writing and his reflections.  There is truth in them.  Our hopes are indeed framed by our experiences and what we have named as normal or expected.  When we find our hopes and expectations are only the bottom limit: what a revelation!

Emily said it well

In three stanzas.

Hope is the thing with feathers.

It never stops singing.

Pretty much our hopes are small,

Always too small,

Even when we*ve glimpsed

Bigger things:

Bald eagles

Soaring in circles

High over Lake Superior;

Those same majestic birds

Roosting in trees

Along the Mississippi,

The river everyone knows and names,

Except perhaps the Nile

Or the Amazon.

We think these

May be the biggest hopes possible.

They are visible

Known

Heard

Soaring

Roosting in trees.

These are the hopes

We have seen.

These are the hopes

We have heard

Those things with feathers

Singing

Soaring

Roosting in trees.

Even these feathered hopes

Thank you, Emily,

Are just

The bare beginning.

Mere twigs

I am in a waiting frame of mind.  Sometimes it feels more hopeful than others.  

Years ago my sister Jane took a five year old child to a play of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.  It was one of his favorite books.  The Grinch was very, well, Grinchly.  Pretty soon her small friend began whimpering, so they went out to the lobby.  But Michael, she said, you know how it ends.  

In a small voice he said: It might be different this time.

Even though I know the way the whole Story ends, it is hard for me to remember sometimes.  Sometimes things appear more hopeful than others.  That*s why I need other people to wait with.

The elderberry bush

Is mere twigs In the garden bed.

It joins the leafless trees and bushes.

I know they will return to leaf

In the spring.

They always do.

The elderberry bush

Has only a hope

of return.

I would like to check its roots

For life.

I clip the clematis vine

Back to the ground.

I have seen it return fuller

Every spring.

I throw out the collapsed pumpkins

From the pots in front.

The squirrels have thoroughly mined them

For seeds.

Perhaps there will be a pumpkin vine

When the weather comes warm again.

New this year,

The elderberry bush

Is a complete unknown.

Sticks in the garden bed.

Mere twigs.

I know there is hope underground.

It will not show itself alive,

Potentially come on the scene,

Until spring.

It*s in the wrestling

How many times have you wrestled with God at night, in the dark?  Sent all your companions on ahead, waited for a good word, a new turn of events come daylight?  So much, I think, is to be found in the wrestling, not especially the outcome.  I think God comes to meet us in the wrestling, wrestling which we can only do by ourselves.  In that wrestling comes the possibility of blessing.

Send everyone on ahead

Across the river.

You

Wait alone at night

In the dark

Wait in the dark

You

Hope for a good word brought back

Hope for the enemy,

Once brother,

Appeased.

Instead the stranger comes

In the dark

At night

The stranger comes

Wrestles your life to the ground

Pinned,

Lost and won and lost

Hip-checked, wounded

You

Blessed in the dark

Named and nameless

Both.

You

Send everyone else on ahead

Hope for life

Then

Hope for life again.

Pinned to the ground

Wrestle the dark strange nameless one

You

Pinned to the ground

Hip-checked.

Off-balance.

L   mp.

   i

Hope.