How do you do it?

I attended prayer group yesterday.  This was my first time with the group.  It was different from other prayer groups I have attended.  This prompted the beginning of today*s poem.  Then I thought about my family in a restaurant.  Usually we all order different things.  Sometimes the food is particularly good.  Sometimes it is particularly bad.  My beloved always wants to share his, and have a bite of mine.  Sometimes he says This is awful... want a bite?  Every family has its jokes.  This is one of ours.  Still, in the best spirit of sharing, it is best when it goes both ways.

I want to ask

How do you do it?

Truth be told:

I want to be asked

The same.

Usually I find the good questions

Go both ways.

They contain

The longing to know,

And

The yearning to be known.

I desire to share

What has been offered

On the plate

That is my life.

How do you do it?

Would you like to try

What I am having?

I*d appreciate

A sample

Of what*s on your plate.

It looks delicious.

Try a bite of mine.

Mission creep

My beloved gave me the title for this poem.  It is a term apparently attributed to many US political endeavors overseas.  It is no less true here at home.

In this,

My recuperation week

From intensive walks

On old home turf;

In this,

My week returned

To the place I now

Call home,

In this week

I find three new meetings

When I only knew

About one.

The very simple offer

To assist with pastoral care

Grew into two more meetings

With absolutely no telling

What will happen

Next week.

Freedom

If I'd really thought ahead, I would have brought my hiking boots.  I didn't.  I spent my time in Boston ten steps behind the other three in the group.  I only tripped and fell once.  It*s amazing what counts for accomplishment.  It*s also amazing what counts for freedom.  I declare today a free day.

These feet

Walked the Freedom Trail

On Saturday.

These feet

Are completely done in.

They do not want to walk

Anywhere at all

This week.

They may limp short distances.

Really they do not want to walk

At all.

These feet

Are happy

To be propped up

For the morning,

Next to the cat

Asleep in the sun.

These feet

Are free for the morning.

Completely free.

Making connection

Miles to go before we take the plane tonight.  Still curious to me how this place feels like home.  Yes, I did live here before... but there is something about the water that connects everything... even the drainage ditch behind the house in Illinois.  Today brings three more connections that I know about, but I imagine there are always more connections to make.

The river flows outside our window

Sixteen floors up.

It is Monday.

We will check out

Of this place

Before we check in

To three more things:

College.

College.

Airport

To fly home.

This home business

Is curious.

I used to be anchored

On the other side

Of this river.

Rivers flow

As they always do.

This river somehow connects

To all the rest,

Even the drainage ditch

On the other side

Of the backyard fence

At home.

They*re all connected

The home bits and pieces

Are all connected.

Homecoming

Looking at college possibilities this weekend.  I had other plans for Sunday morning.  My daughter wanted to attend the church on Harvard Square.  It is the same one at which I preached a candidating sermon for a position at a parish in Boston over twenty years ago now.  Today was homecoming Sunday.  We sat in the back.  Turns out the person sitting two pews in front of us is the daughter of a friend.  Of course she is.  Draw us in, indeed.  Draw us in.

I sat the other side

Of the pulpit this morning.

Last time I saw it was twenty years ago

On a winter night.

A homeless man approached

As the table

Was set.

I watched from behind

The altar.

The man approached me

With grace,

Told me how he was so sorry

He had missed my sermon.

Thank you

I said.

And now it*s time

To go sit down.

Communion is about to begin.

Today we sat in the back,

My daughter and I.

It was homecoming Sunday here

Just like it was

Back home.

The choir sang

Draw us in the Spirit*s tether

Just like the choir sang

When I left East Lansing

23 years ago.

Inter-linkage

We arrived in Boston yesterday to look at colleges.  We are staying in a hotel in Cambridge.  Our room is on the 16th floor.  It overlooks the Charles River.  The rowers practice on the river.  All night I dreamed of churches.  Yesterday Jane Greenspan died in Cape Cod.  She was a pillar of St. Luke's and St. Margaret's (SLAM) before she died.  I dreamed all night of people coming and going.  I forgot this place feels like home.

Cambridge feels like home.

The rowers are rowing

On the Charles.

I remember I learned to kayak

Here.

News of people

I have not seen in years

Reminds me

Of our inter-linkage,

Our inter-lockage.

I dreamed a dream last night

Of the church I left,

Now closed.

It was filled with people

From other churches

I have served,

All in the process of leaving

And arriving.

They spoke about

Their travels,

Rowed up and down the Charles River

In teams.

They kayaked

Singly.

I awoke this morning

Found out one left us

Yesterday

From Cape Cod.

This place feels like home

Inter-locked

Inter-woven

Even the kayakers

Take their part

In the whole.

Get your crab apples later

Today has been a day of reversals.  My calendar was gone this morning.  Where could it be?  Who or what was to blame?  My beloved packed it with his things this morning.  No one is to blame.  It was lost and now it is found.

The coyote was clearly eating something.  The chipmunk was chirping.  I do not speak coyote or chipmunk.  Turns out the coyote was eating crab apples.  Turns out this is a normal perfectly natural thing for coyotes to do.  Who knew?  Not me.  Now I do.  I want to invite the coyote back but he has gone.  Maybe he*ll return over the weekend when my beloved is home.  I have told him about the crab apples.  Of course this does not mean the chipmunks are safe.

I thought the coyote

Was eating a chipmunk,

A perfectly natural normal thing

For a coyote to do.

Still

I wanted him gone,

Out of my sight.

Not in my backyard.

When I looked further,

The coyote had been eating

Crab apples.

The chipmunk chirps told everyone

Coyote in the backyard

Steer clear.

Get your crab apples

Later.

These were not chipmunk chirps

Of grief,

Of loss.

No

These were chirps that announced

Coyote presence

Get your crab apples

Later.