Finch

Last back porch morning
Before the mountains call me out,
And the finches are back on
The zinnias. And oh what marvel!
I would have thought that
Zinnias themselves
Are all the color in this world,
And then the finch – a lemon
Popsicle
In the berry sherbets, a busy
Little page in his lord’s livery,
Palette completer,
Dominion bearer.

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Processing God’s No

Breathless. And then
His No leads me in
Through the back door
Of Yes. Not the Yes that
I sought, but a
Different address.
A Yes so much broader
Than my earth-vain request,
A Yes of the wideness
Of East spanning West.
Ruddy and grained and
Ravishing to taste,
Perfumed and anointed and
Running with Grace,
What bliss in this place!
I find that the No, that makes
Heart tears fall, is not the
Back door at all.
It’s the thrown-wide front gate
And the outstretched hand;
Though it stings, it’s a Yes, and
The Yes is a Man.
~
II Corinthians 1: 20

 

Physics and Prophets

 

What is a prophet, except one who
Simply
Believes
The Word of old, a seer –
Not of the future, but of the past –
Who sees the Word long-written
As truer than the matter
His hand can touch.
Walking on the living Word,
Without deviation, he finds
On that slim line
All of Physics in a child’s grasp,
And his own heart’s Physician
Bending near.
~
meditations on Psalm 119

His Promise Is Enough

Up to regions high and light
I go when I release my tight grip
On managing my earthy home.
My open hands can join the
Angel band, busy in praise!
Sacred lyrics, angel-sung,
Storehouse treasure, proclaim that
When He says He’ll supply
All my needs,
He knows exactly what those are,
To the finest accounting.
And that He has already provided them.
And that I did not even need a sign –
A hummingbird or a rainbow –
His promise is enough.

~
Tapestry owned by Carol Wildeman

The Gentle Now

This morning’s
Back porch prayer
Is a sigh –
Not a sad sigh,
Or a happy sigh,
But a sigh sigh,

A wordless prayer to
The One Who Hears,
Agreeing to wait.

Perhaps, He suggests,
There is more joy here,
More sigh solace,
In dove woes and
Tin roof rain,

In sugared flow of life beneath
What you can see,

Than in the triumph of
Your hopes.

Perhaps you already have
What you are waiting for.
~
His gentleness owns me whole.