Friday Poetry returns

Bits and Pieces


She brought me bits as we walked along:
A pebble from the driveway.
A twig, a scrap of dried leaf.
Held out in hands with a feather touch.

I traded her the leaf for a blade of grass.
The exchange was weighty, valuable.
Each frontyard treasure offered as a gift.
Magnanimous presentation.
Then a wordless question mark in her tiny voice.

I took the bits and told her about her world.
A mama-thing.
“This leaf came from a tree.
See the tree?”
“This is a rock.
Feel it. Is it smooth or hard?”
“Touch that bark, is it rough? Scratchy?”
“Do you feel the sunshine? Do you see the squirrel across the street?”

I made sense of the bits of the world she brought to me.
Put them in context. Painted a picture.
Called out her senses.
Showed her where she fit in.
Helped her go a few steps further in her tiny stutter-steps.

A mama-thing, and a God-thing.
I bring bits of life,
Held out in questioning hands.
He shows me the world with new eyes.
Calls out my senses to teach me about life.
Helps me walk a few steps further.

"Do you feel the sunshine?
Do you see this day I created?
Do you see how much I love you?"

Games with God

I read something recently that seems silly, but is totally what I've been drinking from spiritually lately.
Cowpi wrote about MarcoPolo. Yep, the swimming hide and seek game. The entry was just a note - but it got me thinking. The gist is - when you call out "Marco", God is always answering "Polo!"

I think everyone has their own default set of fears about God. What they think about God's nature when they aren't thinking. Or, what they believe about God when they are stressed or in distress. Some people think that God is be angry at them. Some fear that he will hurt them. Some believe that he is spending all his time with other people.
My default fear, the one that surfaces in me unasked, is that God is not going to answer. I easily believe that he's gone away, or he is near but, perversely, choosing to withhold his presence.
So, I play MarcoPolo - because there is only one response to "Marco!"
Sometimes the "Polo!" is a whisper. Sometimes it is deafening - a surrounding roar. But it is always there.


"Marco!"

Posting - RIGHT NOW!!!!

We're at Josh & Aimee's.
Chris keeps flying the bird toward Aimee, when he's not throwing up.
We're in Houston waiting for the Houston marathon.

Go Chris Go!!!