Stephen

Acts 7

—-

Stephen knew Jesus, and that’s how he stood.

Mad men arrested him with hell’s own lie,

but God turned over evil with His good.

Stephen started with what they understood,

Abraham’s calling by the Lord Most High.

Stephen heard Jesus, and that’s how he stood.

He spoke of Joseph, betrayed by those who should

have loved him, sold as a slave, how by and by

God still turned over evil with His good.

He spoke of Moses before the burning wood,

when God said, “I have heard My people’s cry.”

Stephen saw Jesus, and that’s why he stood.

He showed his accusers their true brotherhood,

idolaters with murder in their eyes,

warned that God turns over evil with His good.

What merciful vision! Stephen knew he would

inherit a glorious kingdom though he die.

Stephen saw Jesus and knew that He is good,

and evil was overturned because he stood.

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Language Barrier

I don’t know what to make of us.

I could drum up a passion if I chose,

pound the surface hard enough, long enough

until the core carried the beat’s inside echo.

Ah, the lighting up of your face when we met,

the covert second glance at my photo (in the strapless dress?),

the comfortable, stirring brush of you arm against mine,

the slight smell of your sweat in the light rain…

something could be.

And yet, your unassembled English cannot break my heart.

Conversation can only go as deep as vocabulary.

Shall we be ruled by language long before an ocean intervenes?

Are we doomed to “to,” “too,” and “two” —

doomed to return to one and one

so soon – how great the effort to be other-wise.

Bravo! Be brave. Speak. Laugh. Or let your lips

convey a meaning on some deeper level.

Bookends

June 25, 2012

Author of our great story, even so,

come as on the first day, speaking light

one sentence out of darkness. Spirit blow

the waters to their boundaries by Your might.

Order and recreate our broken earth.

Even baptism has only been a type

of that eye-twinkling, marvelous rebirth.

Call us by our new names! The time is ripe.

We rise from dust a second, glorious time,

never to lose Your breath of life again,

no more to mourn our bodies’ slow decline.

The books, the graves are open! Poise Your pen

to end the prologue. Start our Chapter One

on a clean page: “Behold, the new has come!”

Untitled Sonnet

April 29, 2012

If he asked me on a dinner date

and sat on the opposite side and held my gaze

for 60 seconds, would I still debate

my beauty as I do these lonely days?

Would these loud questions hush to silence if

he took my hand in his, studied my face

with gentleness? Would I relax the stiff,

uncertain muscles robbing me of grace?

Would it not matter so much our differences –

he the outdoorsman, I mosquito food?

Could we unite despite our preferences

over a stronger common love and good?

I think, if he gave me a chance, I could surprise

us both, let go this insecure disguise.

After

Part Two of a two-part series on my weight-loss journey. If looking back is harsh, looking forward is AWESOME!
Dec. 12, 2011

Forgive me if I seem a little vain
posing in my new outfits with a grin.
Every pound lost lightens the long-felt strain,
and I at last feel beautiful in my skin.
All this is still so new. The way a child
delighting in a princess dress will squeal
and squirm to dance – this is how I’ve smiled
when the scale has told me that this dream is real.
Mirrors are not my enemies anymore,
and a run is joy unleashed (so much set free).
This is the victory I’ve labored for,
the shedding layers of insecurity.
Don’t mind me if I startle you with my laughter.
The giddiness has hit me – I’m the after!

Before

Part One of a two-part series on my weight-loss journey. Inspired by seeing a photo of myself from 50 lbs ago…
Dec. 12, 2011
—-

The shock. My tired eyes, ballooning coat,
an obese body fashion could not hide
from gentlemen or cameras, and a throat
obscured by a double chin. I almost cried.
What does this to a woman? Just a small
gland messing up metabolism. Time
will tack the pounds on pounds if she eats at all
’til she looks as if she’s thrown away her prime.
The anger. The relief – I’m al-most done
with all this hard work chiseling back to the me
who was always there and always seen by One
who formed the hidden promise I couldn’t see.
This photograph reminds me where I’ve been.
God, may I never be trapped in that again.

Autumn Artistry

Oct. 16, 2011

Creator, Artist, You have brushed the day
with sunlight morning, noon and evening long,
making the greens more vibrant and the play
of yellow, drying leaves more like a song.
The shadows fall just slightly to the north
of every bush and tree and body too,
and the crisp breeze refreshes the still-warm earth
and its remains in me – an image of You.
The last hurrah of color tinges red
and orange before the white and brown are left –
before these living things seem all but dead
and even the sky of color is bereft.
You paint a gorgeous canvas, zenith to ground.
Your work in autumn has beauty to astound.