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.

In Full

Today we heard John the Baptist proclaiming he was not the one the people were waiting for.  I am Not The One.  I remember the dinosaur animation from years ago now, where the father dinosaur is addressed by the baby dinosaur as "Not-the-Mama."  It was the only funny line, I thought.  We do this with each other, define one another by who we are not.  Who did you come out into the desert to see?  John asked.  I am not that One.  He's next.  Who are you waiting for?  Do you really know who you are waiting for?  We are each so much more than what we are not.   As is John the Baptist.  And as is, certainly, the Messiah we await.

We are so much more

Than what we are not.

I am not

The one you were expecting.

I never have been.

He never will be.

She will come

On tippy toes.

He will come as wind.

She will come as fire.

Do you even know

The one you expect?

Will he have curly hair?

Will she have perhaps

Only one kidney?

Will his heart beat steady

Or miss a beat

Occasionally?

We are each and all

So much more

Than what we are not

But oh that more

Oh that so much more

Waits on the other side

Of the Jordan,

Waits to enter the promised land,

Waits to be known

In Full.

Still I try

I started this with a title.  Then tried to write something to go with the title.  So often, more often, the title comes last.  So I changed it.

This is the way

I can title

This portion of my life

This portion of which

I know

No beginning

No end.

Really no label

Is enough.

No title

Captures it,

Even partially.

Sometimes

No

Often

I unearth a label,

Try to live into it

For a time,

Then find words

Are not enough,

Never enough.

I climb to the top

Of the mountain.

I sit in the blue chair.

I go to work out with my beloved

In five minutes.

There are no words

No real words

To describe it.

Still I try.

Counting chickens

Clergy used to be paid in chickens and eggs (and other such things).  I*m back to figuring out what I will be when I arrive, much less where I will be when I arrive. God knows.  Of course God knows.  And pay?  Cups of coffee and an occasional chicken.  My friend says God holds up placards for me.  Yep.  It*s been a multi-placarded week.  I*m not sure how many placards I will need.  Probably a few more.  Almost certainly a few more.

I*m not much for labels.

I do believe Child of God

Is plenty good enough.

Yet

Yet

I still wonder

When I will ever arrive.

If

I will ever arrive.

And

If I do,

Where will I be?

I wonder

How to market myself.

After all

I*m not much for labels.

I wonder

If anyone will ever find me

Other than

By word of mouth.

I wonder if the practice

Of offering something

Hot to drink

A discerning heart

Will net anything more

Than the occasional chicken.

I wonder if anyone

Will know me

As God does.

I wonder if God is the only one

Who needs no explanation

And I can simply rest here

Awhile,

Count the occasional chicken

And

Wait.

Simply wait.