Walk in the Woods
Abstract: Hiking Mt Hood
For a short hour I lived,
I ventured into the mystery of the wood,
dared to be alone on my journey,
and it was Good.
Through the lush redwoods I hiked,
deep into the wood south of Mount Hood.
Road noise replaced by chirping robins and sparrows,
a welcome divergence from my norm.
Further still I remembered the words of Uncle Rob,
his timeless exultation to cut a new trail,
away from the slog of routine,
and I longed to be brave, to explore.
At the next fork I chose the path unworn by my fellow hikers,
until my feet eventually ran out of trail,
the end of where I was supposed to be,
to where I wanted to be.
The comfort of the road worn disappeared,
as each step required more thought than before,
the brush ever chaotic and thick,
and no obvious route presented itself.
My ears strained to recognize new sounds,
the scurry of a small creature beneath my feet,
a reminder I am not alone,
and I haven’t a clue what lay ahead.
My nerves frayed by too many unknowns,
won the moment,
and I turned my back on the adventure,
back to the path of less resistance.
For a short hour I lived,
I ventured into the mystery of the wood,
dared to be alone on my journey,
and it was Good.
Defeated for the moment,
but not for my life,
my feet will find my way back to where to safety ends,
and life begins.
Abstract: Who My God Is
A picture is painted in the mind of every young American Christian,
of a God, a white God with a long gray beard, seated on a gleaming throne.
He welds a gold scepter in His right hand,
and His flaming wrath in His left.
A picture is painted in the mind of every young American Christian,
of a God, a white God with a long gray beard, seated on a gleaming throne.
He welds a gold scepter in His right hand,
and His flaming wrath in His left.
This is not the God of Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob.
Nor, Ruth, Mary, or her beloved son Jesus.
This is a picture of the gods of Greece, the Vikings, and Incas.
Their gods are petty, ill-mannered, and mortal.
Unfortunately, the indoctrination into the pagan view of God does not end here,
Aside from the laughable comparison to Zeus,
We are taught to appease our angry God with sacrifices and good behavior,
and in this pack of lies are sown seeds of disappointment and resentment.
Our consumer culture molds us to believe grace is a feeling,
faith is measured in possessions (which is why we treat God like Santa Claus),
hope a marketing slogan,
and love is a form of ethereal magic.
In this construct, the anxious and depressed are cast out as inconvenient,
the poor are rebuked as lazy,
the optimistic are mocked as foolish,
and those who choose love over tribalism are lonely.
This is American Christianity:
God is angry, so you better act right.
If you act right He will give you what you want.
If you do not get what you want,
There is something wrong with you.
If there is something wrong with you,
God is angry.
It’s not true,
This is the Lord:
“Blessed and loved are the anxious and depressed, for God is with you in your darkness. Reach for Him and He will answer.
Blessed are those are mourn, the humble, the thirsty, the merciful, the peaceful, the lonely, and those daring to love as the Father loves.”
He’s the God who runs after lost sheep wherever they wander,
who gave Himself up for us,
who welcomes us back once we realize what a shit we’ve been,
and lives in us regardless of how we feel.
I thank God the picture I held as a boy,
the narrative I believed as a young man,
the lies strangling my heart,
are all false.
Grace is His favor,
without end or price,
steady and sure,
from the beginning to very end.
Faith is a trust,
whatever the outcome,
our heart and minds are His,
and He knows best.
Hope is the sign of endurance,
the mark of a Believer,
it holds onto the highest good
as He does in all things.
And love…the most glorious of His presents,
is everything good-
endurance, patience, kindness,
peace, joy, hope, faith, righteousness,
and more.
This is the God of Adam, David, and Elizabeth,
the Father of Jesus,
the one who gave His only Son,
and the God whose throne is cold, because His desire is to walk with us.
Abstract: From My Couch
Today must be good on it’s own,
I can’t live a lifetime in my mind,
from my couch.
From my couch I stare out the back window,
to oak trees and late morning sky.
The sun is bright and without companion in her orbit.
A slight breeze breaks the calm,
as the it bumps past the oak leaves,
on its way down the hill.
It’s a scene of peace,
even on the darkest days,
an extension of the Original,
a constant miracle.
From this couch, I can also stare into my future,
Unlike the glory of a new day- the sun and wind, the strength of the trees,
I can’t see peace or satisfaction.
At the end of all my ambition is the question,
the unsettling, demotivating,
and life-zapping question:
What’s it all for?
What is wealth,
What is accomplishment,
or achievement,
Without love?
My heart turns sick at being old and empty,
My life cannot be measured as I’ve been taught.
It will never be satisfied with numbers and tasks.
Back to staring out the window,
I cannot see where the wind begins,
where it ends.
A soft reminder.
My experience is not gospel,
cannot account for the life and struggle of marriage,
a family, and the challenges to come.
Today must be good on it’s own,
I can’t live a lifetime in my mind,
from my couch.
Today is a day to do what’s in my heart to do,
to walk the paths at my feet,
and choose love.
Abstract: Prayer For A Stranger
Lord, keep him safe,
his heart and his head,
let ride again.
May he know,
You are the master of death.
White and red lights flashed in the road ahead,
and traffic slowed to watch.
A cop and an ambulance,
a bike without a pilot.
makes an awful scene.
Lord, keep him safe,
his heart and his head,
let ride again.
May he know,
You are the master of death.
Abstract: That Silly Game
By high school I knew my lights would burn out,
after the last snap on that grass.
No glory for me.
When I was three years-old,
my brother dressed me in pads and a helmet,
stuck a brown ball under my arm,
and took pictures.
I few years later,
he taught me about the game,
of the brown ball
why I needed the pads and a helmet.
It was simple yet nuanced,
controlled but fun.
Football, the American bastard son of football.
A few years yet and I beheld my first college game,
in a stadium built for chickens,
amid tiny liquor bottles at our feet,
and chants of “bullshit” to the referees.
I was hooked and dreaming,
of glory and trophies,
and my name in lights,
just like a million other boys more talented than I.
By high school I saw my lights turned out,
after the last snap on that grass.
No fame for me.
I tried to love the game,
but it did not love me back,
a present I did not comprehend until now.
The spectacle of modern football,
of sponsored tweets,
woke virtue signaling,
poor college players,
and millionaire coaches,
isn’t my destiny.
The players are mere kids,
used and abused to the glory of their college masters,
at least the League pays them…for a while.
Then they are tossed out, body broken,
forced to find a new lover.
I would’ve married football if she would have me,
but now I’m glad she let me be.
There’s more to life than that silly game.
Abstract: Walking Away
My King risked everything He know,
His relationships too,
to be all He was meant to be.
He was born a super star, under a star,
angels singing,
and magi rejoicing.
Aside from a brief adolescent tale,
His history remained silent,
locked away from us,
until He appeared ready to walk in His calling.
The Messiah.
Prince of Peace,
Emmanuel, God With Us.
The Lover and Savior of all Humanity.
Jesus, the Christ.
One tiny detail,
I never heard a preacher ‘splain,
was the act of what Jesus did,
to start what He did.
The Son walked away from His childhood home,
its comforts and security,
to embrace the challenge set before Him.
He made new friends,
up for the task,
and criss-crossed Palestine.
My King risked everything He know,
His relationships too,
to be all He was meant to be.
Our example of a Man,
determined to live out His call,
regardless of the price.
Abstract: Desire of A Committed Heart
I wanna defy logic and breath fire,
soak in His kindness,
so when I stagger into a room,
It melts under His love.
I do not want to be great.
Donut be grate.
Donna be grayte.
Doena be gRRRRATE!
Yes I do.
I wanna play with angels and ride holy lions,
smoke the Jesus pipe and lay hands on the sick,
to see them recover.
I wanna steal slaves from the slave master,
lead them through the swamps of death,
onward to God’s Gloryland.
I wanna defy logic and breath fire,
soak in His kindness,
so when I stagger into a room,
It melts under His love.
I want atheists to KNOW!
To be shook to their core,
Jesus is real.
Religion is shit,
and church is a mess,
But Jesus? He’s real.
If my politics, intellect or style,
prevents me from all this,
strip me now Lord.
No knowledge is worth holding,
no experience worthy of loving,
than to know and experience Your covering.
Abstract: What I Am Doing
I prayed in silence,“Lord, what’s best?”
And strained my ear,
To hear the wisdom from my God.
Without pause He replied,”remove the fear.”
I sat on the far end of old leather couch,
as I considered my options to the query, “What do you want to do?”
The previous twelve months was pock-marked with anger, misunderstanding, and unrealized hopes,
and now I was being asked if I want to disband or continue.
Two competing thoughts flashed in my weary mind:
I could remain at my post to continue the fight,
or I could wonder off into the unknown,
no clue what I might find.
I prayed in silence,“Lord, what’s best?”
And strained my ear,
To hear the wisdom from my God.
Without pause He replied,”remove the fear.”
Of course, I chose the later,
but not for weariness or anger,
rather faith in the Father,
that His lead is all that matters.
And now, a year removed from my moment of repentance,
I ask myself the same question,
and task myself to live up to that glorious moment,
where my life truly began.
Without fear I will,
Walk, sprint, and climb mountains,
Write, construct, and build creations of my origin,
Love and allow other to love me,
Teach, nurture, and guide,
Sit with the ashamed in their darkness,
And celebrate life friends,
Stumble, heal, and run again,
Declare God’s goodness,
And live free until my last breath in.
Not what will I do,
but what I am doing,
and will do:
To live out every vision and destiny He planted in me.
Abstract: Joy of Simple Joys
When the sun relents,
and the air blows cooler than normal,
on a spring day in South Carolina,
soak it in.
When the sun relents,
and the air blows cooler than normal,
on a spring day in South Carolina,
soak it in.
Squeeze every drop of joy from it,
stop to consider the blessing it is,
and how rare it is.
Then thank the Lord,
for beautiful spring days,
of the unexpected,
and the joy of simple joys.
Abstract: Finally, Accountable
I suppose a Yankee medical incident is the same as Southern self-defense,
when their aren’t any people of justice,
willing to risk their lives for the defenseless.
This is Walter Scott running from a cop in Charleston, SC. Without video Mr Scott’s death would’ve been ruled self-defense. As you can clearly see, the officer was in no immediate danger from Mr Scott, and certainly not in a life-threatening situation.
When I was a kid,
and the police shot a man,
it was always in self-defense.
Case opened and closed,
no investigations,
no trials.
Then the wheels of time turned,
our phones into cameras,
and we learned,
the reporters were wrong.
On May 26th, 2020 the official Minneapolis PD statement read,
“Man Dies After Medical Incident During Police Interaction”,
on the day Derek Chauvin choked George Floyd to death.
I suppose a Yankee medical incident is the same as Southern self-defense,
when there aren’t any people of justice,
willing to risk their lives for the defenseless.
Yet, even with video, eye witnesses,
and a wrap sheet a mile long,
Some still think Mr Chauvin is innocent.
Seeing is not believing,
because racism is a liar,
with the ability to justify any horrid act.
But…today is a day to celebrate a victory,
to soak in the only verdict acceptable before God and humanity,
Derek Chauvin is guilty.
Drink in what a functional justice system looks like,
hold it with both hands,
close to chest, and tight.
Today the Minneapolis Police Department was held accountable,
the next step is justice,
and a reality where the Derek Chauvins do not have the opportunity to protect and serve.
Abstract: People
It’s to lean into Faith,
the river that begins when I stop trying,
and relinquish my grip of control.
When I stand on one side of a canyon,
my dusty feet aching to explore the other side,
I can see the bridge long before it exists.
My mind creates solutions, timelines, and predicts hurdles,
the problem has a clear answer,
easy enough to deploy.
My sight is limited to these tasks,
of learning and building,
the predictable sequences of life.
What I cannot envision is her,
the lady of my heart,
and our family.
I cannot see her face or imagine what she smells like,
what see wants in life,
or how will she love me back.
There’s an ease to a task,
a job and it’s work steps,
a to b, then to c.
People are not tasks,
we are a thousand variables,
beyond measure or human intellect.
And I wouldn’t dare pretend to understand us,
so because of this divide,
I cannot see my future with other people.
I cannot predict who will be my friend,
who will live or die,
who will love me and give me there all as I give mine.
The challenge of this moment isn’t to define a new process,
create a checklist of avoidable fears,
or slink into despair.
It’s to lean into Faith,
the river that begins when I stop trying,
and relinquish my grip of control.
Abstract: He’s Not Me
His thoughts are not my thoughts,
His declarations and promises never revoked,
and His love is the optimistic-faith kind of love.
Somedays I wish the Lord hated me the way I hate me,
one eye on what I did wrong, the other on what I haven’t done at all.
I wish He’d level me with His judgement,
and declare my soul inept.
But, that fucker* doesn’t do it.
I know.
I’m not suppose to refer to the Lord,
Creator of All,
Prince of Peace,
as a fucker.
I’m not suppose to hate myself either,
but here we are,
driving our way through all types of new territory.
Of course, Jesus is not a fucker,
or hater,
or judger,
or condemner.
I am those things.
I write people off,
places I don’t like,
and crappy restaurants.
I’m the fucker,
I’m the imperfect vision of heaven.
And for all my vulgarity and bravado,
He’s still my friend, my strength, and my God.
His thoughts are not my thoughts,
His declarations and promises never revoked,
and His love is the optimistic-faith kind of love.
It never fails or stops trying,
It’s kind, patient, and generous.
Even when I am none of those things,
He is forever who He is,
the true and great I Am.
*I don’t ask anyone to understand why I cuss in my writing. Please respect it. In my view, the last thing the world needs is another safe/sterile Christian unwilling to talk about their low points and frustrations in real language.