"The road to enlightenment is long and difficult, and you should try not to forget snacks and magazines."
Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith

Thursday, May 2, 2024

what to do when you're burned out

 

you’ll want to eat your feelings

with chocolate chips and mini marshmallows

and a chaser of crunchy peanut butter

that’s okay but don’t forget to treat yourself

to oreos or fudge stripes too

commit small acts of defiance like

pressing all the try me buttons on toys in Walmart

or refuse to concede to society’s demands for

capital letters or punctuation

you’re burned out not grammar’s bitch

it’s okay to feel old, like really old

like thirty or forty or maybe seventy

years older than you actually are

burn out does not respect age but it does age you

comfort tv helps

so do naps

 your mind can be turned off  

when the partridge family is turned on

just remember you are burned out

because life is hard and sometimes feels like a slog

through deep sucking mud

yet maybe there’s dry land ahead

maybe the color green blooms just beyond

your line of vision

and lavender and roses grow abundantly

thickening the air with their perfume

Thursday, February 10, 2022

Get In Line

 

 Are you mad at me?

Get in line.

Are you looking for someone to blame,

a slow-moving target,

a convenient scapegoat?

Get in line.

Are you looking for me to take

your side, go to battle

in this pathetic war that’s been declared?

Find someone else

willing to lose their head.

It has become clear  

that I am a pawn in your

Childish

Petty

Junior High

Game.

But I refuse to play.

I’m tired.

Worn to the bone.

I can’t do this anymore.

I

CANNOT

DO

THIS

ANYMORE.

Junior High was

a long time ago.

Drama was just a hobby.

I’m done.

Does that make you mad?

Get in line.

 

Thursday, August 19, 2021

Burned

  I am

singed, charred, scorched.

Anger, blame, and shame

have reduced me to ash.

The former form of me,

body and mind,

spirit and soul,

is now only outline

filled in with smoke.

Touch me,

I am little more than

swirling haze.  

Breathe on me,

I blow away.

Nothing left but

smoldering embers

of memory

and misunderstanding

Thursday, February 25, 2021

Dear God

  

Take this stole

from my neck,

this robe

off my back.

You don’t scare me

with your salt.

I will look back.

 

Pull this cross

from my chest,

yank this Bible

outta my hand.

I’m over it, God.

You take them

to that promised land

 

Block me from

the pulpit,

keep me from

the font.

My well is dried up,

living water’s all gone.

My soul wastes from want.

 

In case you

haven’t noticed,

I’m tired and I’m worn.

Exhausted from the trying,

the worry and the strain.

My prayers return unanswered,

so, yes, I will complain.

 

The good news

feels damn lousy,

your kingdom

just won’t come.

Hope has left

the building,

the parts outdo the sum.

 

This poem is for

the clergy,

the prophets and

the priests.

Feed us like

you promised,

or make this calling cease.

 

The sheep have

bruised the shepherd,

the hens embraced

the fox.

It’s lonely where

I’m standing,

the one outside the box.

 

Friday, July 27, 2018

Helpless


On your first day of school
we drove by the building because
I ached to see that brick
still stood solidly on brick.

You, pigtails bobbing, walked
with other little ones,
looking for nature in the playground.
Seeing our car, you pointed and waved.
So much for furtive parenting.

What would have I done that day
if something had been wrong?
Would I have thrown myself across
your small frame, protecting, sheltering?
Of course.

Baby experts warn that what
wears down a parent is the
exhaustion, that bone weary
tiredness that never dissipates even
when your little one sleeps all night.

But I disagree. What really crushes
a parent’s heart is the helplessness;
it is all that you cannot fix
or mend
or kiss away.

What would I have done when
you walked away, so scared and alone?
Would I have borne your burden,
carried your pain?
Of course.

But I am helpless to do what I wish I could.
All I can do is watch and wait and love.
Mary must have keened with grief
watching her son die.
Any mother would.

Maybe it’s blasphemy, but
I imagine God felt that too.
Helpless with agony as his child
bore such pain.

It is comfort to believe
that God and I feel the same.
Helpless.

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

A Prayer of Gratitude -- July 22, 2018

This was an original prayer of gratitude written for this past Sunday's worship service, 
and for a longtime church member who is leaving to move to another state.


O Glorious, Incarnate God,

Out of love, you became not just like us,
but one of us;
taking on the frailty of our flesh,
so that we would see, touch,
feel and know your love
in the living and dying and rising of
your Son.

We thank you, Lord,
that your love and grace is still ours
to know through the people 
you place in our paths.

Thank you for friends who ask hard
questions, making us reflect more
deeply on our faith.

Thank you for those people in our lives
who seek to serve you with energy,
intelligence, imagination and love,
for they inspire us to the do the same.

Thank you for the gift and the 
empowering of the Holy Spirit,
whose presence we feel
when we sing and pray and
worship with one another. 

Thank you, God of love and hope,
that we are not called to walk this
curved road of faith alone,
but that you surround us with
companions along the way.

Thank you for those who make
your love real to us in every 
thought, word and deed.

Thank you, O God, for friends.

Amen.


Monday, February 19, 2018

The Church It Is a Changin


Written for Ellen Gurnon's installation to First Presbyterian in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. 
Sung to the tune, "The Times They Are a Changin," by Bob Dylan



For Ellen Gurnon
February 11, 2018

Come, listen dear Ellen,
heed the words that I sing.
cause being a preacher
is no easy thing.
The people are hungry
for the good news you bring
in this world of sorrows prevailin.
There’s sickness still lurking, death still has its sting,
and the church it is a changin.

Remember, my friend,
you’ll have to be strong
to stand up to those
who say some don’t belong.
For God welcomes all and the table is long.
The battle for justice still wagin.
And our sisters and brothers
keep crying, “how long?”
for a church that is a changin.

Don’t worry, sis,
it’s okay to be scared.
When it comes to this life
we are never prepared.
The church that once was is no longer there,
yet God’s future is surely amazin.
But one thing that’s sure 
is God’s unfailing care
in a church that is a changin.

Come listen, dear Ellen,
it’s not all up to you.
For God calls you and God calls us all too.
It’s good to know, God’s making everything new,
and through love, the world rearranging.
It’s love that’s the answer, it’s love that is true,
in the church, God is a changin.

In the church, God is a changin.