An artist at the festival

He’s a man wearing a Tailor-made life

it fits him perfectly; he pulls it off
He struts around in it with joy, telling his story to whoever will listen

His Tailor-made life has pockets for all his treasures
but they overflow;
so he sells his extra treasure at festivals
offering classes so others can learn
to gather and capture and celebrate
and pour out
like he does

He looks my teenage son in the eye with seriousness, saying
“You miss every opportunity you don’t take,
so take your chances;
it might be a miss but you gotta show up, you gotta try”

He has found his song,
he sings it joyfully,
his gray beard framing his smile,
his fervent invitation

Later that night,
My son captures a sunset.

questions posed to my soul

If God sent rest, would you receive it?
Could you recognize it?
or would you call it names like

boredom,
loneliness,

and try to send it away as fast as you could?

If God sent margin, would you fill it?
Could you delight in it?
or would you reach left and right to fill the empty spaces

to re-create the overscheduled pace

where your breathless complaints are familiar?

If God sent a gift

that you don’t already know how to receive,

Would you ask for His help unwrapping it?

 

new fields

a soul, uprooted
plopped in the middle of a field
roots exposed

and waiting

it’s not time to dig in yet
it’s time for lingering
feeling the morning sun
and the cool relief of falling rain

the expanse
life everywhere
it’s glorious
& a little lonely

There are no more boxes to unpack
and whatever comes next
is starting slowly
quietly
gently

the late-planted seeds in my field
are without root even now
yet they are beyond me
in the skill
of quiet waiting