God answers prayer.
He uses the answer itself,
When it comes, to
Comb my heart and tease out the snarls.
His answer and my repentance –
One brings the other as sure as a
Baby’s head at my shoulder
Invites a storm of kisses.
The enemy of my soul feeds on my heart-snarls
Rasping in my ear that all I have done before
His accusations are exact, a perfect recitation
Of my rankest hidden moments.
But he is so very limited in his conclusions.
He takes the pieces, but
Fails utterly at the point of ‘Therefore, . . .’
And isn’t that the magic of the gospel,
That the enemy is right,
But I’m still not condemned.
The Lover, the Answerer, breaks in and speaks
Even as He answers my prayer,
He fills all I did before with
Himself. And so His
Good answer, the fruit I bear, is whole and
His answer and my life are
The same thing.
April on Woodland Street
In June, our daughter and her love will be
Merried! We attendants will merry them as they
Merry each other
‘Til death does them part.
As busy as I’ve been, working toward the merry day,
It wasn’t real to me until my friends
Gave a tea and
Made it so –
Sabbath afternoon, when mind and body
Long only for green pastures and still waters,
My church sisters,
In high heels,
Decorated and celebrated my daughter’s
With me. For us.
I’ve been to teas and showers, and the
Stuff on the tables is fascinating
In the abstract.
Oh, what a beautiful painting by Anna.
But these things, this painting,
This towel, were for my daughter
(six-weeks-old in her pink onesie, surely)
In her St. Elmo home.
With her husband. Her husband.
It’s very different.
The groom’s grandmother Mary,
While carrying a table, asked
‘Could I be part of the second load going home?’
Adding even more muscle and sacrifice.
There is nothing fragile about tea-givers;
They are giving life
More than I ever understood
Until my own child was the merried one.
My friends. They make me merry. ~
Tea-givers A guest of honor