Hiking with Pops in the Cascades...Lake Merrit trail, just over Steven's Pass.

The Three Voices

The waves have a story to tell me,
As I lie on the lonely beach;
Chanting aloft in the pine-tops,
The wind has a lesson to teach;
But the stars sing an anthem of glory
I cannot put into speech

The waves tell of ocean spaces,
Of hearts that are wild and brave,
Of populous city places,
Of desolate shores they lave,
Of men who sally in quest of gold
To sink in an ocean grave.

The wind is a mighty roamer;
He bids me keep me free,
Clean from the taint of the gold-lust,
Hardy and pure as he;
Cling with my love to the nature,
As a child to the mother-knee.

But the stars throng out in their glory,
And they sing of the God in man;
They sing of the Mighty Master,
Of the loom his fingers span,
Where a star or a soul is a part of the whole,
And weft in the wondrous plan.

Here by the campfire's flicker,
Deep in my blanket curled,
I long for the peace of the pine-gloom,
When the scroll of the Lord is unfurled,
And the wind and the wave are silent,
And world is singing to world.

by Robert Service (The Spell of the Yukon)

Somewhere near Bath, Maine. You would have thought it was monsoon season the day before, but this one dawned perfect. And yes, this was really the backdrop for their wedding--ocean inslet, New England farmhouse, frisbees, tents and rubber boots. (Incidentally, I ended up back at home with a stripe of mud splattered down the back of all my clothes...strange. musta been the dancing...;)
Rumor has it there were people doing yoga at 8am. I think that was made up by a group of wannabe over-achievers to make the rest of us feel lazy.
I titled this shot 'gorgeous'. Basically the theme of the whole wedding. All my love to matt and elin.

The 'altar' at top, all of us gathered for the wedding, and morning sun in the trees...Always up to the ankles in mud ;)

What an exit...

Me and Robbie, post-wedding festivities...probably up to our ankles in mud...?!

to know the joy

but how to let life move me, woo me
without surrendering to its footprint
I make the choice to say,
if I will breathe then I will cry
if I will hope then I will suffer
if I will live then I will die

and may there be more in death of light and living?
then I have yet to shed my eye
on questions which can't be so simple
and hopes that mighn't be so right

invincibility could be my enemy
and power that which keeps me framed
against a landscape of my own choosing--
what is there to fear or amaze?

I choose my own way to burn
in my eyes and in my belly
my last choice--I choose to blaze.

caught alive now
foreign eyes now
delicate new taste

I let my caution and my comfort
offer fodder for the flames
and watch my ashes rise, dance, decide
to settle with the wind
make their peace with winter's sleep
and wed to weathered ground

it seems that all that's left will be a fast and fading fire
but slackened light does not deny
a footprint's steady cry

the road to Maine

October, 2006

Talk to me in a voice deep with color.
dream with me in gold, blue and green.
tell me--please--that you see what I see
and then remind me gently that we can't eat dreams...

walk with me in the tender paradox
in the here, us and always, maybe or the never.
Hold me close to hoping that our God might really be...
as glory-soaked moments pass into marching
and I wonder which is more real: the longing or the loss.

stand with me as we're shaken
as we see that Glory in it's truest form is what we can not know...
hold aloft my chin that quivers from fear of what is silent and is slow
And help me know that knowing is what's done when we let go

of all I can't imagine. of all I can not keep.
my soul is of a fashion made for wholeness
yet my mind, my skin, my spirit keep me out of reach
so I run, race, hesitate--wanting to explode
knowing as I'm knowing nothing that I can't love, nor fade all alone.

What is it you see in me? do you see your tears and your dreams?
the hope that hope in something lasting could be all we really need...
the testing which sings softly, strongly
and refines us as we bleed

our young hearts have much to see--if Light is given our shadow to bloom
If I believe in a life yet coming and you pass the offer of a life too soon.

Laugh with me--as we touch, eat, speak
our thoughts are high and many. but the motion of this moment speaks more loudly than we dream
then colors it the better when we forget what brought us here...
embrace the night and heaven falling, alike on hope and fear.

kite runner

September 19. 2005

Can you sit with your pain, shame? Let it become so much a part of you that you're human again.
Not trying to be God--the One who creates and kills, but Noah--the one who accept his ills.
Can you live with the weight of a dead child on your arms?
Let his blood stain your own. Let it connect you somehow.
Do you know that it changes when the two become one...when you open your veins to the love of a son.
You must scream inside when your jaw's bolted shut--stomach the rage, let it claw at your gut. And you can't see it now in the moment you're in. As the one thing you want is taken away
Each passing minute is stripping off sin. Leaving you nothing to hold to but God.
ashes to ashes and dust to dust
your tears mixing in with the death.
I know you can't see what's moving beyond
but can you believe that life grows on your breath?
Keep breathing brother
even if the one you lost will never sing again.
Be his lungs Be his song
and know that this was in the plan
You have his story still to tell
don't join him til your words are done.

a time for seeding

"mostly dead is not dead enough"

April 16. 2006--Easter Sunday

Failure. Falling short. Always and again.
His cup is offered to me--my choice to enter in.
I'm wavering. I hesitate. Can this God be so good?
To call me to my own demise and then to name it 'life'?
Not only life, continues he, but life abundant, known.
I don't believe how this can be when sorrow paves the road.
I want glory, fame, my life I want beauty The ecstasy of touching heaven...And truth
But I don't want to touch your cup.
Please relieve me of the dirt the death the tragedy.
You ask me to go to places full of death that I might find life??
I must be smarter that you
Because I know this makes no sense.
Foolishness.
I can make this work without you.
I think so--don't I?
I have the skills to win.
Winning may mean victory. Winning isn't love.
I'm grieving the loss of myself here, Jesus. I'm mourning the loss of my sin.
It may be a cage But this cage is the only home I've known.
Like a new baby out of the womb It's frightening I'm cold
I've lived this entire life a captive I can't trust goodness til I'm shown
Take your cup Take your cup
Take your cup Take your cup
take your cup
take Your cup
I do.
I will.
I'm Yours.
They may not believe it I may not believe it
You do You are My One

slow, dry, heat.

august 15. 2006

I woke to a slow morning--Chelan sunshine and soft sheets...nowhere to be.
I moved from bed to sunny, dappled deck. Spent time in Your psalms...wondered what they meant.
I think about how much I focus on me in my prayers. Maybe this is what fogs me in.
Deck to porch. A long conversation with Jamie...in love with Miguel? It seems so.
Praises Father! Mother, Yeshua. Praises for their love. And their journey and their unknown.
A prayer for guidance and for faith--a prayer that Jamie might hear Your Word in the midst of a baker's dozen voices.
Slow start. Now it's lunch. But where did breakfast go...?
On the boat--to the lake. Thick white sunscreen, a hat and the wind licking at my clothes.
A fried chicken hot afternoon in town. Gas up the boat. And back to paradise.
A cruise, a swim, afternoon with the Economist. Relaxed.
The sun is setting, breezes rise. And again You frost the skies with colors I can't describe. The beauty holds my soul captive, hope rises on my breath.
Lord--how do I enjoy this when I know how many suffer? How few will ever witness such beauty, privilege, freedom and opportunity combined? How do I purify this guilt?
I've been given so much. I have so much. I find my joy tainted by the knowledge of those who have so little. And my heart is far from humble and pure.
I want to understand and experience this world--every little corner. But I don't think I want to sacrifice the privilege of seeing it on my terms--my times, my people, my colors, my comforts--all about me.
Do I really want to serve? Yes. I think I do. My self-centeredness comes from being afraid. Of what? I can't anticipate.
I've never not thought of myself first. That is so sad. I have to fight past my fear. I have to trust.
Three winks at night. Your grace will subdue me.

inauspicious beginnings

mid-september. 2005

ideas drip
from my lips
forming worlds within my mind
I see a place
where worlds embrace
yet is this fantasy mine, or mine?

the dreamers float
on each new boat
that sets its sail from neverland
and seek all night
the second star from the right
but never wake up to take their stand

Our luxury offers us words to be used not as tools but as frosting. not as bridges but as prisons.
We can commit our time to spinning stories of the hypothetical. ignoring the pitfalls of the actual.
are we making a difference?
am I making a difference?

colleges idealize.
TV news simplifies.
magazine beautifies.
politicians amorphise.

And we live in our word-worlds
of mission statements, guarantees
leases, contracts, doctrines, degrees.
We tell eachother: who we are.
what we believe.
Our brand, our car, our tattoo
says more about us
than our deeds.

And I'm not blaming
but confessing
more conformity than I'd like to admit.
even the counter-culture is a club
each say I ask: where can I sign up?

So am I supposed to do or be
say or do
each week's sermon leaves me stronger confused

how come I feel I had more figured out
when I was five.