Relavender

remember when purple fields yield

to a lavender sky,

layered with ribbons of crimson—

just go through the open door.

don’t stop long enough to even ask why.

call it destiny or kismet

call it that look in your eyes

            when we first met;

call it luck or even fate,

but don’t think too hard

            or wait too long

then it might be too late.

jbh

3.22.2013

Withstanding

The seas swirl around my feet,

                        pushing

pulling at me,

driving me to my knees.

no matter what concerns and cares

have caused me to escape to this place

and try to send my spirit to the sky,

there is a place where He was on His knees…

a garden…

a place called Gethsemane…

when He begged His Father to spare Him.

If there was any other way

If only there was another way.

He prayed so hard during His last meditation

that sweat beaded and poured like blood

while His best friends lay asleep not far away.

There were times when they were true,

and stood beside Him… but not today.

His will

I’ve tried for so long to resist.

My own will

I’ve always felt compelled to insist.

Whatever sacrifices I have made

are nothing compared to His.

Now I finally realize that my life

is so much better when seen through His eyes.

Now today, I can be grateful…for Him, His gift.

I am thankful that when there was no other way

that He was the way…

                        the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

jbh

3.29.2013

Good Friday

For Bearance

 blood is pumping in my veins

but not in vain

bearing away the hate

washing away the pain…

the energy and adrenaline

floods this system

purging the hell within

with a will

like a well of Living Water.

the blood is surging,

bringing the breath

of life into arms and legs, fingers and toes.

the same wind that blows

through cedars with drifting snow.

can you feel it

welling in your heart?

can you hear it

a rushing, a gushing

like holy spirits…

Then it pushes through punching into

the soft round highways of arteries.

singed with original sin,

the blood burns

turning

boys into men and

men into monkeys.

it is insistent and eloquent

this wind that echoes in blood and lungs;

this same air, the breath of God

He blew onto a handful of dust.

Brandish

I am unleashed upon this moment

a sword unsheathed on this minute

my spirit has slipped away from capture

there is nothing left now but the rapture.

held close held up held tight

bereft of all hope of failure

borne aloft

high above

floating in a pale blue ribbon of sky

flowing in the current of a green river

and never asking why…

time is a river

and I am the currency.

spend me.

spin me.

spend some time with me.

I am shining

a beautiful machine

and

this system is sensitive

to subtle changes

in the climate

both physical and political.

the cold road

shorn and torn by the wind

walking on a bridge

to a hope unborn.

feet chipping away

at the rocks on the ledge

as we stumble along

the cliff.

we are worn

down in our spirits.

we were warned

but we didn’t want to hear it.

we are coming

together

then running away.

it is never too late

to turn around

but home is so far away…

you say you want truth

but all you seek is proof.

daylight is fading and

casting shadows on the track;

this vision of us is failing and

i wonder if we will ever get back.

Teachers

My time in elementary school was average. I went to a religious school in Georgia so when I stepped out of line there was definitely corporal punishment involved. My time  wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible either.

When I started 7^th grade things took a sharp turn for the worse. My mom couldn’t afford the tuition for the Baptist church-affiliated school she wanted to send me and my brother to, so she made a deal with the Principal. I was told that I would be the janitor of the school and stay behind every day to clean the school for a couple of hours after school let out each day. This involved vacuuming, taking out the trash, mopping, dusting, etc. for a few dozen rooms in three buildings. I didn’t realize at the time how wrong this arrangement was. I was just 12 years old.

The other kids in school gave me a hard time about it at first, but when 8^th grade started and I was still the janitor, they kind of eased up a little. Feeling sorry for me, I guess.

My relationships with my teachers was a little strained as a result of this arrangement as well. Sometimes they treated me like a student. Sometimes they treated me like an employee. Sometimes I felt like they were behaving toward me the way they would a colleague. At my age I was just confused by the whole thing, but definitely had the gradual suspicion that I was being taken advantage of.

Anyway, this went on through the end of 11^th grade. As you might expect, I developed a great deal of resentment towards my Principal and almost all of the teachers in the school.

As an adult I have had to deal with a lot of what happened then, processing the emotions involved, getting over all the resentment and bitterness surrounding the situation. I think I’ve done a good job with that so far. But, in light of recent events, another aspect has been brought to mind.

Had there been, God forbid, the sounds of gunfire in the hallways or from other rooms in the building, I am confident that they would not have hesitated to bundle us all into the closet as quickly as possible to get us out of harm’s way. In fact, I am pretty sure that they would have laid down their lives for their students.

Maybe it’s time to let go off whatever resentments I’ve been holding on to for all these years. Those teachers that I had so many problems with so many years ago were just people trying to get by. They were just doing the best they could at the time.

Today, I can honestly say, I am grateful for all the teachers that I’ve had in my life. And, teachers everywhere, have my utmost respect and admiration.

in the lee

there is a key

that fits a lock.

the tumblers click

like the ticking

of a clock.

there is a time

that fits in between

what is mine

and where I stop.

there is a boat

that sits in a lake

fighting the current,

waiting for a dock.

there is a place

that we call home

no matter what we face

in the midst of our family

we can always feel alone.

the time to leave is before

the heart becomes stone.

for there is more than one key

more than one lock,

more than one face,

more than one clock;

more than one boat

looking for a dock.

there is time a to keep going on

and a time to stop…

there is more than one place

to call home.