empty

Empty.
Barren.
All of my striving
comes up short.

All of it.

What now, Lord?
I offer you what is:

Me.
Empty.

Are you really enough?
Enough to fill in all of these cracks
without my help?

Really?

Lord I believe.
Help me with my unbelief.

The Swallow

"Even the sparrow finds a home there, and the swallow builds her nest and raises her young--at a place near your altar, O Lord Almighty, my King and my God!" (Psalm 84:3)

I soar back and forth
with the breeze,
scanning the wind for flies,
grabbing them as I go.
I search the high places
for just the right spot.
A cave; a cliff; a barn.
I search for safety;
long for security
for myself.
For my children.
Aha!
What is this?
A stone structure!
And it feels just right.
Protected; warm; serene.
Yes. This is it.
I begin right away,
gathering grass blades and horse hairs;
making mud out of dust.
As the afternoon wears on
I’m exhausted,
but strangely content.
Friends have come to help me,
and together we whistle a joyful song.
I found home.

post-christmas poem

‘Twas the week after Christmas and all through the house,
I wrestled and struggled to button my blouse;
I remembered the pies and the cookies and cakes,
with fondness, though I wish I had said, “No thanks.”
The Christmas festivities were all so much fun,
and I had to sample my cinnamon buns.
But then it was time to face my worst fear,
I held my breath and inched ever near;
I stepped on the scale and stifled a scream—
It was the biggest number I had ever seen!
Exhausted I lay down on top of my bed
while the children excitedly danced on my head.
“What’s wrong mama?” they shouted with impish grins,
as I crawled out of bed to find my sweatpants—again.
“Mom’s on a diet.” I explained to my kiddos,
“That means no more candy or cookies or fritos.”
“Not that!” They cried, “No more ice cream or fries?”
“Without all that stuff, we’re going to DIE!”
But it was already done, my grocery list was complete,
with fresh fruit and vegetables and weight watchers treats.
Twenty-five pounds, that is the goal;
Now somebody, please, hide that ice cream bowl!

poem

Next in Line

Imagine the noisy crowd
clamoring for the attention of Jesus.
The paralyzed. The blind.
All calling His name.
I see myself there,
lame in heart.
Waiting
while others push ahead.
The stench of sweaty bodies
makes me nauseous.
Dizzy.
The noise level rises.
The excitement is palpable:
The blind see.
The lame walk.
The deaf hear.
And I’m next.
I can see Him now.
If I reach out my hand,
I can almost touch Him.
Almost.
Wait.
Where is He going?
I throw my reserve aside and call out:
“Wait. Please!”
But He’s already in the boat.