Walk in the Woods
Abstract: Death of a Saint
A poem, about what a saint is, in honor of a saint.
Heaven doesn’t have a scoreboard,
hung above the pearl lined gate.
Instead, one question is asked of every soul seeking admittance: Did you learn to love?
To turn from fear or anger, greed and shame?
Learn to give? To hope? To receive?
And, make your anxieties known to the Lord?
Did you pray for your enemies and the ones who laughed at your pain?
Did you forgive your worst offender and set them free of the debt owed to you?
Did you grow in kindness and faith?
And, to the person in your mirror, did you love them too?
This is what all saints do,
in their own way at the pace predestined by Him.
How you began the journey makes no difference,
or where you end.
What matters is how you finish the race you ran.
Beni Johnson passed away late Wednesday evening. Whatever she was, her legacy is love. She loved the Lord, her husband, and family. She loved her community to best of her ability and left a mark on the earth. My prayer today is for her husband and for us. May we all learn to love and leave our mark on the people around us. There are no small saints in Heaven, only people who learned to love.
Abstract: Psalm 39
A response to King David and the vanity he expressed in Psalm 39.
Psalm 39:5
Behold, You have made my days as handbreadths,
And my lifetime as nothing in Your sight.
Dear David,
I understand you broken perspective,
that nothing you do will move history or the people around you.
I understand your helpless desperation,
and I know the sorrow of longing for glory without the hope to see it—
that we are but poor actors in play already written.
Oh, my friend, dearest David:
Had you seen the glory of the Messiah!
Had you read the witness of Paul and felt the peace of the Holy Spirit!
If only you knew, slavery would end and poverty can be defeated.
Maybe, you would know what I do.
Everything is important in our human lives.
Each one of us is a link in the eternal chain,
and we bend the arc of history toward His greatness!
No one is without purpose or love,
Including and especially the least of us,
for His Kingdom is an arm’s reach away,
for all humanity.
Oh, David. If only…
Abstract: Can I?
A poem, about facing self-doubt.
There’s a difference between believing something can be done and believing I can do it.
I watched Michael Jordan dominate the NBA,
and marvel as Elon Musk rolls out fancy electric cars.
Likewise, Bill Johnson and Brene Brown touch our hearts with inspired words,
and call us into greater being.
As for me, the question remains:
Can I do it?
In my brain, I know I can, as in I am mentally and physically capable of a great many tasks and journeys,
but…(is there a more loathsome word?)
But, do I believe I will?
Will I push past feeling like an imposter,
being immature and old,
ashamed and ill prepared?
I must,
and in the process grow beyond what I am,
to the final version of me.
Abstract: School Days
A poem, about what shaped my approach to school.
I sat at my desk and picked at a flap of dead skin still connected to my thumb,
the boy beside me thumbed through a skater magazine,
and the girl beside him twirled gum on her finger while she stared at the ceiling.
All of the other students carried on small conversations except the front row.
They sat upright with clean notebooks, and uncapped pens at the ready.
Another first day of school.
Years later, I asked myself “why did you hate school?”
Yes, by the third grade, I had enough bad experiences to justify the stance.
But ,why did I hate it from the beginning?
Day One, August 1985, Ms. Dawkins’ morning kindergarten class at North Springs Elementary school: hated it.
All I can remember are the words of a few older kids in my young orbit: school sucks.
And so, before I ever set foot in a school, I thought it was suppose to suck.
The teachers were suppose to be angry and rude- some were and some were not.
The subjects were to be boring and difficult to master- some are and some ain’t.
And the other kids are suppose to want to fight and cuss and steal- some did, most did not.
Poor little Nik.
He was so pushed around by strong opinions and harsh words.
To him, what carried weight and thusly importance,
were words of bitterness or anger.
Oh, what I regret the most- and only the Lord can heal- is what I let into my soul as a child.
Fortunately, the beat goes on. And, school is never closed.
Everyday is a day to grow and learn and find wonder,
for we were born in a place we will never fully understand.
Abstract: Lizards On The Trail
A poem, about lizards and dating.
Two alligator lizards darted through the dried grass beside the trail today,
one after the other.
One in pursuit,
and the other unconvinced.
The larger, more colorful male, his choice made,
followed his desire where ever she turned-
from the rock under the brush,
back over the trail to the yellowing fescue.
Finally, she paused atop a downed oak branch,
and the boy decided this is where he would dance and strut,
like we all do,
to impress his lady.
From my view on the trail,
the poor bastard had done everything a man could to win a champions reward,
but today was not his day.
His love wondered off into the woods,
and he stood on the trail,
exposed and alone, as a constant reminder: it is the pursued who decide the fate of any couple, not the pursuer.
The pursuer has already decided,
took his leap and brought his heart to bear,
hoping she will match his yes.
Abstract: The Great Truth
A poem, about who He is.
On this Rock, this hard and unmovable fact, I will build My people.
For this truth is the greatest of all truths,
More real than gravity or the sun or sin.
When they believe in Me, the Holy anointed One, they will be be unstoppable.
Even if all of evil and its forces march against my people, they will win the day.
For I am the Christ, the Real One.
And I cannot be defeated and My people cannot be defeated.
Abstract: Hope All Things
A poem, about learning to hope all things.
I’m a better man when I want to impress a girl.
I dress as well as my wardrobe will allow,
my workouts are easy and quick,
and I walk a little taller than I would.
The difference isn’t in the behavior,
but in the belief.
Oh sure, I act different,
but it all starts with what I think is possible.
I feel like I’m a bit worse of a man when the threat of romance is off the map,
my diet fails, plans go un-lived,
and I dress like a hobo.
I don’t like my dichotomy.
I prefer to be hopeful in all things and at all times,
and this conflict of desire versus reality exposes a truth:
I lack hope, real hope, the kind of hope only Heaven produces and can never be stolen,
not by heart break or rejection, or failure.
The hope of Heaven is without end,
and no amount of pain can defeat it.
That’s what I want for me,
for my life and for those around me.
Lord, teach me to hope all things.
Abstract: The Future is Better
A poem, about the progression of humanity.
He’s winning.
Oh, sure. I wouldn’t expect the newsman to say so.
Why would they?
“Life is Getting Better” doesn’t sell,
not in the age of magnified blemishes and flaws.
Oh, sure. There’s plenty to cry on.
I read the headlines last week,
damn shame what happened down in Uvalde.
But, murder rates and crime ain’t what it was when I was a kid,
though the newsman won’t ever let you know.
Africa was not better, and neither was Europe, or Asia.
Does anyone really want to travel back to 1925 Belgium or Nigeria or Plano, Texas.
Do you want to give up a flushing toilets, two-day delivery, and video chats?
Oh, sure. We’ve got some big mountains to climb,
but I know we will see the top long before the doomsday prophecies come true.
Oh, sure. That too. ( To whatever ‘but what about this’ you got in mind. That too.)
Lemme finish with this: Anyone who says they’d rather live in a different era is daft.
The past wasn’t better than today, but it is a safe place, forever frozen in our minds.
It’s predictable and constant.
I choose to believe the best lay ahead of us, in that foggy future,
uncertain and to be determined.
Abstract: Imagination and Love
A poem, about imagination, empathy, and love.
I feel terrible for people without empathy or compassion,
and I blame their state on a lack of imagination.
For who, having spent a few moments considering the plight of another-
the trek of the immigrant,
fear of the abused,
or hunger of the homeless,
can turn their eyes or remain hard-hearted?
And no. We are not to serve their fears and failures,
but we can empathize with those controlled by them.
For each of us was or is manipulated by some horror or regret.
I imagine we are all facing one hurdle or another.
Fortunately, imagination is not required to love.
In fact, proper perfect love is not about what is deserved or needed.
Perfect love exists because the person exists.
And nothing else matters.
Abstract: Dating Wisdom
A poem, about dating.
Botanists and farmers know the value of good sun and a steady stream of water,
And Roman engineers designed bridges we still use.
And, when you learn to cut an onion, they’ll tell you pull your fingers back from the knife,
and let you knuckles guide the blade as you cut.
My finger tips are proof that this is good instruction.
Our race has learned and passed on the wisdom of each age,
and we, in our time, live under the blessing of this relay system.
Libraries and databases are stacked with what we know or will know,
but the dynamics between a man and woman remain the mystery of our being.
How comical and rude it should be this way,
no set patterns or rules,
and each man must figure it out for himself.
Abstract: Gifts and Grief
A poem, about handling grief.
I can’t wait to grow old,
when my friends stop dying from cancer and car accidents and overdoses,
and start dying from normal shit like heart attacks and old man smell.
I suppose it’s a blessing to die in an old age,
one I receive with great joy from our Father.
But, I see with great clarity,
this gift comes with grief.
So be it.
Abstract: Mikey
A poem/short story, about how the outside shapes our inner world.
Two boys sat on a black bench in the hallway outside Mr. Price’s office.
They were there because one had pushed the other causing a commotion in the lunch line.
After a few jabs and hurt feelings, Ms. Bethany pushed the boys apart,
and ferried them to the principals office where they sat.
From the outside, these young scrapers looked like normal boys their age,
and the tussle from earlier was nothing extraordinary.
The next day they would stand victorious on the kickball field as teammates,
the lunchtime incident mostly forgotten.
Mr. Price called for the boys and asked them to sit down when they entered.
The principal sported a three piece gray suit with a navy blue tie and matching pocket square,
but his sharp appearance belied his frustration when he asked,”What happened?”
Both boys began to shout over each other,
and Mr. Price massaged his forehead with his hand.
“Stop! You, what’s your name?”
“Me? I’m Ben.
“ And you?
“Mike.”
“Ok, Ben, what happened?”
What happened next was as routine and normal and boring as any parents can testify.
“The other boy started it.”
And, “He hit me first.”
But, of course he did.
Mr. Price had heard this story many times in his career,
and today he did not have the patience to listen to it again.
“I’ve heard enough,” he said as though ready to deliver his verdict.
Mike was stunned, “What about me?”
“I don’t need to hear it. I’ve been principal for a long time and I know what happened.”
“But—”
“Look here Mike, there’s nothing you can say to change my mind. Keep your mouth shut.”
And, Mike kept his mouth shut.
Little did Mr. Price know, Mike always kept his mouth shut.
At home, in school, in church,
and today was one of the rare moments he thought he could speak,
but it was taken away.
Though these two boys looked exactly the same, they would grow up to be very different.
And how could Mr. Price know? That Mikey was like so many other children?
The boy was losing himself in world of people who didn’t understand who he was or what he needed-
And, the simple dismissal of the opportunity to defend himself would be another brick in a wall of self-doubt and unimportance for Mikey.
(Mikey was good lad, but he didn’t believe it.
In time, he’d learn otherwise.)