A Short Repose in the Father's Grace.

O’ God of the most blissful repose, hold me in your arms this night I pray. How weak and feeble do I find myself in these days of darkness! My feet are blistered beyond repair and my hands crack and from the toil of this land. My lover has left me for the treasures of this world and my heart droops within me. But in this I stand firm due to my faith in the savior Jesus Christ. I find rest in the shade of my God and King, He whom has given us love in its truest form.

All the days of my life I found myself bogged down in the mire of sin and death but now I am lifted up by the never-ending spring of grace. I was the one who would drag the young believer away from the truth of Heaven. I was he in whom sin was embraced as comfort and safety. But o’ the wonderful grace that the Lord has shown me in these days of bleakness. How awesome is the faithfulness of He who has known me even from my nothingness!

Now, in the young-adulthood of my faith, I remember myself as a babe and I give thanks to the parent in whom I found most amazing rest. I give thanks for Him who lifted me from the muck and filth of sin and gave me a gown of the purest white. Because of this my life is no longer my own and the power of sin is mine to protest. To all of those whose ears have not heard I am to tell of this greatest or rescues. I am to crawl through the thicket and thorn to find those who are known only as the lost lamb.

But more than that I pray to see the face of the one of whose image I was created. I pray for the second coming to make haste in the days of my life. The intensity of my longing for his return to some might seem sinful, but how foolish are they? I long with the greatest of intensities to see Him the Rider on the White Horse. Come now you greatest of Kings. Make haste for your children are waiting. We wait here in this place in a constant state of stirring. We stare wildly up at the mountain in which no top is to be seen.

But until then your servant shall stay here in his most humble of states. I shall place my lips to the dust, for it is right that men of the spirit be humbled in such a way. For it is only in you that I might boast. It is from your own form that I have been made to be the man that I am this very day. And so, for now, I will quietly murmur alleluia as I slumber in my bed and Amen, Amen, Amen as I wake day by day.

He was bleeding.

He remembers it being so quiet.

The kind of quiet where you can hear your eardrums talking to the synapses in your brain.

There were birds near by and a small mammal in a bush behind him but it was as if they were muted. The branches of the tress were swaying and the leaves were clapping but there was no sound. He rubbed his ears to wake them up.

It was as if he was the last person on earth. He sat there, alone in his stillness wondering what the next few hours would look like. He was sure that they would be horrible and gruesome but that made no difference. His three friends were sleeping about fifty yards with the roots of a tree as their pillows. He loved them. For a second he thought of his mother and how she would lift him and hold him when he was a young boy. He thought of how much his dad had taught him about growing up and about swinging a hammer. He thought about how they would miss him. Then he stopped thinking about these things. He was bleeding. Where was he bleeding? Had a cut himself? He felt like he was crying but he wasn’t.

The Things I Know About Who She Is. (Part II)

Everyone thinks her to be a loon.
She grew things in her garden that made the house wives blush.
She had once been in love but now not.
In her dreams she drove race cars down scottish roads.

Her child grew up and went to Yale.
After his third year he died in a car wreck in northern Kentucky.
At the funeral she did not shed one tear.
She requested "The son I never knew" be inscribed on his head stone.

She loved her car and her records.
Her favorite time of day were those that included dancing.
She hated her carpet and ripped it up and out.
There were few people that knew her well.

She swam everyday and knew the alphabet backwards.
Her sisters loved her but had spoken to her in fifteen years.
They blamed their Fathers death on her.
her mother just drank.

bed.

He placed the razor gently to his wrist.
His life had been filled with face to fist.
There would be blood upon the shore
for his love was with him forever more.

A Response to Throwing Bricks.

I think the craziest part was when the President announced that the image of Christ was to be placed in the center of all the paper currency and the cross on all of the coins. On the flip side of the dime was the open tomb and on the nickel was the dove of the spirit. On the quarter was to remain the eagle because, you know, “on eagle’s wings.”

It’s funny that it’s been twelve years since that riot started down in Texas. The thing about it that made it such a huge deal was that it was completely non-violent. CNN had to keep verifying that no one had been hurt and that there was no fighting but that it was still a “revolt” of sorts. To be honest with you the media had no idea what they were reporting on. They just kept talking about how this “religious group” was marching on the capitol and how their numbers were growing more and more by the hour.

They say it all started on a Wednesday around 3pm with about ten or twelve men and women walking through a neighborhood with bibles in their hands and songs on their tongues. The media estimated that by 9pm on that same night there were between four to five thousand people sitting on the steps of the state capitol singing about the Promised Land and about Zion. And that was it. That was the start of this whole thing.

Twelve years later we are a Christ centered nation that exports over two hundred thousand missionaries a year and gives over $200,000,000,000 a year to nations in need. Oh, and the national anthem is now Come Thou Fount. I love going to baseball games now and hearing that sung before every first pitch.

As the years passed one by one after that Wednesday the whole world changed in unbelievably dramatic and holy ways. In the fourth year the Taliban disbanded and war in the Middle East ended with a peaceful treaty. Israel was given what was dubbed at the time as ”religious sanction” from all other nations. It became the holiest and most sought after place on earth after that Wednesday. In the sixth year Africa became the worlds leading grower and provider of wheat, wine, carrots and apples for distribution to the entire world. Also, four months after their first year of worldwide crop distribution, two doctors from Ghana cured cancer and found an antidote for malaria. That same year South and North Korea joined together as one nation and it is now one of the leading nations for progressive Christian theology. In the ninth year the Chinese government crumbled along with Communism. China split into three separate nations; New China, the New Republic of Asia and the New Nation of the Pacific are now peaceful Asian countries with strong economies and Christian foundations. And finally, in year twelve, this year, the Bible has become a completely free commodity. It is available to all people everywhere. They leave it on racks outside of bookshops and gas stations so that if anyone is in need that they may find the word readily. It has been translated into every tongue on earth.

All colleges and universities are now considered Seminaries. Economics, language, business, geology, medicine and science are still taught but with Christ as the foundation of all curriculum. Professors, deans and educators all over the world found that with Christ as the center of the education system kids were actually interested and wanted to learn more and do more and change more.

But really, it’s the small things that make you think and pray thanks to God. Like the other day when I was leaving the grocery store, instead of the cashier saying, “Have a nice day” she said, “have a blessed day brother.” I think Christ is coming back soon because to be honest with you I can’t think of one nation or land mass or island that has not heard that news. And all of this because of one song singing, word reading, brick throwing group of people. Makes ya think.

It Happened More Than Once But All at One Time.

It was when I was across the street form the Safeway that I knew it. It was when I was lying in bed with no pants or shirt on that I realized it. It was when I was kissing her on the front porch with bugs buzzin’ in the light that it struck me. It was while I was standing in front of my grandfather’s grave that it filled me completely. It was in that moment when my dad and I finally talked about the things that mattered rather than the things that were happening.

It occurred to me in the night. It occurred to me in a dream.

It was at dawn. It was in the moonlight. It was at dusk.

It was when I was at church but didn’t really want to be there. It was when my brother and I were driving to my dad’s new house in which my mother did not live. It was when my spine was broken that one year. It was in the car when it was raining and I had to pull over. It was when she and I were at dinner and my food was cold and I sent it back. It was when I was drinking that beer at the bar talking to that man. It was at the Grand Canyon when I met the couple from Belgium.

It occurred to me while napping. It occurred to me when I was blinking.

It was at 4:23am. It was when my mom came and picked me up.

It was in the auditorium. It was in the back of a car with four people I didn’t know. It happened that time at the mall. It was when I was tired. It was when I cried because the lyrics of that song were just too good. It was when I fell on my face and could smell the carpet cleaner and the footsteps of everyone around me. It was when…well, it just was. It just is.

Even before these things were in my head they were there. These were things that no one knew about. They were hemmed into the seamless seams of a heart that has been put back together a million times. They were born from my insides. They were born from your insides. They were born from his insides.

It was when he searched me.

How Five Years in Reality Make No Difference.

She was five years his senior but he or she just didn't seem to care that much. I mean, in reality they didn't care at all. Not one bit.

Except once, while they were sitting in a park on a hill in some green grass he thought about the fact that when she was seven and running and scrapping her hands and knees he was only two and that he would have, at that time, had no idea as to how to go about scrapping his hands. Or for that matter how to run quickly with bent knees or with a proper stride or with the mindset of being the fastest in the pack. All he knew at that time was that he had only recently moved from crawling and learning how to walk to being able to stand on his own. But at this moment, with her hand on his knee, there was nothing more to think about. Because now he was the one that would be picking her up when she fell and scraped her knees.

So on Saturday mornings they would leave their small house on 25th and walk to the coffee shop and sit on that old couch and rest and talk about her favorite flowers and gardening and God and how they really do prefer hard cover books to paperback. They would watch and search and look over the people that would pass by and would wonder how their children would turn out and if they too would wonder aimlessly through street corner coffee shops. They both agreed that their hope was that they would.

And the more they lived their lives together and the more that their dreams aligned and coincided with one another’s the more they realized that those five years had shrunken to one week. And that one-week turned into one day and that day into hours and the hours into minutes and then seconds until it was as if they had come from the same womb at the very same moment.

Sometimes, being older, she worried if she was protected and if she was capable of leaning fully on his shoulder. But all she had to do was remember that time on the dock when that asshole came up harassing her. It took seconds for him to step in, grab the guy firmly by the shoulders and remove him from her presence. It smelled like he had been drinking. She thought him to be homeless. But in that moment, with her love in a very real sense rescuing her, she felt very much that he was the older of the two. That he was fifty thousand years older than her and that he was wise and strong and brave over all other men on earth. He was Napoleon. He was Attila the Hun. He was Jesus. He could rise from the dead if he wanted to.

Those five years were history. Those five years were reverse. Those five years had actually been added to his life. He was older than her. That’s how she felt. She loved this feeling.

When they started dating all of their friends would talk about the age thing and how strange it was and they would ask if it bothered them. It was like this for the first six months or so and it distressed them a lot and they had to talk through it and churn over it and deal with it. But after that first year people stopped asking about it and talking about it because of how much more in love they seemed than all of their other friends. The questions stopped and no one talked in the corners of rooms at parties anymore because of the fact that their relationship, their love, made everyone else’s seem like a playground fling. Some couples started asking to have lunch dates with them and asked them about happiness and how to keep love strong and alive and sometimes the age thing would come up but not often.

When they had been married it was very much a different affair then most of their friends weddings that they had been to. She was at a stage in life where she didn’t really care about the flowers on the tables or the dangly things that would hang from the awning that covered the doors to the church. She just wanted them to be together and to wear matching rings. And he just wanted her to be happy and filled with joy, so whatever she wanted he would agree with and nod his head and he loved all of it. He loved not caring. But it wasn’t that kind of not caring to where he was neglectful. No, it was the type of not caring that let’s someone you love be free to the fullest extent of the word. The type of free that can’t be defined in books or with words. She never really told him this, but she knew that he was like this and it was one of the main reasons she married him.

The Seat Near My Window.

I sat alone in the quiet for a long time.
I sat alone in that chair for a long time.
The book at my feet, the cup there as well.
My window is the sun.

Cold tea.
Warm sun.

A pen lay in the crease of the book.
Small rivers of ink winding through vowels and punctuation.
Leaves on the sill telling me that winter comes soon.
Small birds saying things that I hate to hear.

Goodbye.
So long for now.

How long will you stay?
How much longer for you?

But they don’t know anything.
They can’t pay bills online, they can’t answer a phone.
Their small beaks could never over match my thumb.
They have no idea about a micro chip.

Would they want to?
Never. Never. Never.

Tan.

The gearshift had been sticking all month in third. Not today though. Not on the day when he had driven her to the airport. Not on the day that he let her walk away without kissing her on the mouth. Not on the day when the sun shone without distraction. Not on this day.

His left arm was sunburned from driving that summer. His right arm had gotten stronger from pushing the truck through its gears.

His shirt stuck to his back, drenched in wetness. Leather seats. When he leaned forward the wind would blow in and around and behind him, natural air conditioning.

Parking Lot

On the guitars top front edge there was a small crack that was the length of one of his fingernails. He didn’t care though. It happened one summer in Minnesota while he was traveling coast to coast with Carlos. They had stopped in a town near a lake under some dark clouds and he started playing in a parking lot outside of a diner. Some thunder cracked and a boom sounded and he dropped it. All of this flashed through his mind in a second and then he found himself walking out onto the stage.

Shower

He placed his hands over his ears like cups and let them fill with water. The sound was like being near a dam or a waterfall or under water near a fifty-foot turbine that was churning and churning and churning. In his head were his mother and father and the crash and their blood and the paper flying all about. But he had to get ready for the night and the dress that she would be wearing and the kiss that may or may not happen. He had things to think about, he had a life to live.

The Things I Know About Who She Is.

She has short hair and a laugh that cackles.
Her smell is gingerbread and lilies.
She knows all the state capitols and state parks.
Her mother’s name is Georgia and she loves this.

In her room are fourteen stuffed bears; all with names.
She loves the smell of wet concrete and graffiti.
Her brother is in the army and has killed people.
She is missing her left middle toe from a gym class accident.

Her favorite movie is one that is in French and I didn’t like it.
She misses her grandmother but has never even met her.
No one knows her middle name or her shoe size.
She doesn’t have a favorite color or number.

When she sleeps she brings her knees to her chest.
She lies on her left side with her hands praying between her thighs.
She snores, but it’s not an annoying snore.
Her snoring is amazingly rhythmic and punctual.

When she goes home for holidays she is perpetually seven years old.
Her mother’s arms are her only true safe place.
In her father’s office she reads the Encyclopedia Britannica.
Since starting when she was ten she has gotten to Lithuania.

She has very little patience for people with bad taste or bad teeth.
Her hair drastically changes color in the summer.
She tans very well.
She strongly dislikes cake but adores cupcakes.

Her birthday is on mine.
She hated turning twenty-four but loved turning twenty-nine.
Her birthmark is not for everyone to see.
She believes that she has the greatest reading voice known to man.