Inside His Hand

dugout-reflection

When what my eyes can see is not reality,

When beautiful appears as Judas’ kiss;

When up turns out to sink like stones of gravity,

And all is chaos, I remember this –

No matter the confusion all around me,

No matter how things look from where I stand,

The God who reigns above, both pure and Holy,

Holds every circumstance inside His hand.

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A New Year’s Prayer

frozen moon

 

Just enough raindrops to plant your hope deep,

Just enough losses to learn what to keep;

Just enough chaos to drive you to prayer,

Just enough failure to need Jesus there;

Just enough courage to hold your head high,

Just enough valleys to covet the sky;

Just enough sunshine to process the pain,

Just enough dying to rise up again.

Neverland’s Shore

sunlit daylily

 

Only in the Shadowlands,

that vaguely recalled dream-world

which disappears without trace

upon awakening to

the feel of flannelette stamped

on skin, the lunches to pack,

the chaos to realign –

only in her fantasies

does he hold her like this, arms

cradling her curves, head leaning

in hungry. She’ll function with

smiles through meetings and play-dates

and meal-plans and lists, but when

the shadows grow long and sleep

sings its lullabies, her heart

will wander barefoot that well-

worn path to Neverland’s shore.

 

If the Shoe Fits

ladyslipper.jpg

 

If the shoe fits,

step into your

dreams, where

Cinderella’s carriage

is drawn by

ingenuity, not

horse-power,

passion, not

pumpkins,

determination,

not fairy dust.

 

 

Living

cherryblossoms.jpg

Living

looks like fragility,

petalled purity

daring to open.

Living

smells like hope,

tenuous aroma

wafting on brittle breeze.

Living

tastes like cherries,

sun-ripened,

escape-the-frost

and bitter-sweet,

fruit wrapped

around a stubborn pit.

Living

feels like

sun and shadow

and windswept chaos,

grace and worms

and the promise

of a cherry pie.

Knowing and Believing

icyorb.jpg

Dates and calendars herald Spring’s approach.

She knows it will come –

she believes in the Oracle

who promised Winter’s demise.

But knowing

and believing

leave her cold today,

in the shivering places

where soul must hang in the tense balance

between what is and what will be.

Reality is,

while her rescue is certain,

her ‘now’ is cold,

her present wrapped up in ice.

She must find a way

to keep her hope warm

until she can sing

Winter’s dirge…

A Lesser God

sunsetscene.jpg

Unless the details of this life,

those structures of the things I see,

are faded by Your Glory-light,

take back-seat to Your Majesty,

my eyes will always think they’re true

and fool my senses, charm my mind;

thus taught, my vision makes of You

a lesser god of lowly kind.