Monthly Archives: November 2017

November Nomad: Lessons From The Road

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Flexibility is the jewel of youth.
I am not young.
Nevertheless, I can roll with it
If the road requires –
Provided certain non-negotiables:
Good coffee, hot shower.
Otherwise, I am Thor Heyerdahl.

I love my children and those I have adopted.
Settled happiness is listening to
Insights and laughter
From the offspring of my youth.

I love mountains. Earth above me is
Ultimate humility.

I love Montreat mountains – Assembly Inn,
Hewed from the rocky side of the bowl that
Holds Lake Susan, cold air straight from
God’s pure storehouses into my hot lungs,
Frost on every brown leaf under the laurels.

I love going to another church and singing –
No, shouting! –
Receiving the sermon from the lips of
A man of God, deep conviction and
Deeper healing. Oh! Thank you, Lord!

I love my in-laws. What I learn from them is,
As another said, A long obedience in the
Same direction. We love to think compromise
Is smart. They teach me it is not.

I love beauty. My heart sings of the beauty of
Antique stores – tiny cream pitchers in striped
Stoneware, sideboards chalk-painted buttercream
Leaving dark cherry exposed. Deep
Knowledge that time is fleeting and I am too.

I love a table of shared food – green curry in my
Daughter’s first home. Bennet Avenue by
Candlelight.

I love my children’s loves. I am speechless over
Their finding their soul’s friend.

I love traveling with Andrew. How many times we
Laugh and say, I was JUST thinking that!

I love going. Well, I hate packing with a
White hatred. But, I love the first vista of
Smoky blue mountains just past Knoxville.
I love woodsmoke and
That fall sun that both slices and mists.

I love the quilt on the wall at
The Yellow Deli – two-inch squares of
Upholstery fabric become, in the hands
Of the artist, a window onto a creek bank,
Shadowy undergrowth and light-tipped leaf,
Silver water over moss and rock bed, and all from
Crushed velvet sofa scraps.

I love hearing God tell me that
He is my rock and I am the
Apple of his eye; I can hear him deeper
When I’m on the road.

      

    

     

   

   

    

            

     

     

     

     

Psalm 17 and 18

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Testimony

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Coffee too strong? Ah. Good.
I can make it an Americano
If you need me to.
This? Pumpkin bread –
It’s a November thing.
I did, yes, have a question for you,
And I’m really asking.

Why did you choose not to see?

If you had listened even for a minute . . .
You would have actually understood
And not just thought you did.

But you didn’t. You dared instead
To lecture Jesus on the meaning of
Words He wrote.

And you could not have possibly
Gotten it more wrong.

You were striking a path, looking at
The wrong map,
Fighting in the wrong war,
Working very hard at building destruction,
Shoring up your pride with
Dry rot and sand,

Foaming and sweating
In a madman’s fit
Like all our classic tragic characters.
I watch you, cringing through my
Fingers,

For right in front of you stood
Righteousness offering itself free
For the taking,
But you couldn’t because you had
Buried yourself.

And I am right there beside you, but for the
Unexplainable.
His ‘Come to Me’ came and got me.
It came with power not resistible and it
Resurrected this buried soul. It loved my
Dry rot and pride and foam and sweat
Into tears of awe.

I’m telling you what it did,
But I cannot tell you how,
Except that He is Lord of heaven and earth.
~
Matthew 11 and 12