Monday Morning

Monday Morning

 

Coffee and creamed,

truth and grace,

or so it seemed.

 

That mixture of

strong and soft,

and how oft

 

I wanted to slip

into a week,

geeked and tweaked.

 

But it’s Monday.

A do over day,

to pray, play, slay.

 

Another new mercy say.

although nothing new,

but everything.

 

“I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,

            the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.

I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—

            the feeling of hitting the bottom.

But there’s one other thing I remember,

            And remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

 

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,

            his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.

They’re created new every morning. (Even Monday morning)

            How great your faithfulness!

I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).

            He’s all I’ve got left.

                        Lamentations 3

Poor Over

Always early morning,

when the quiet nudges me awake.

Then the fridge hums,

and the computer fan whisper syncs.

In a trance, I hope the kettle

cooperates for my mandatory

pour over.

 

Pour over coffee…

On what grounds?

Might I incriminate myself?

The process gives me pause, literally.

Have you ever prepared a pour over?

It’s like being in the Army…

Hurry up, then wait.

 

The weight of it all

while I wake is what grinds me.

On a good day I’ll distract,

watch the weather report between pours,

fiddle with my phone etc.

On a better day I will look and listen.

I observe the brown noise falling.

 

They say the two inches of oxygen

between the cone of milled beans

and the awaiting mug

enhances the flavor.

If I close my eyes and open

my imagination I hear the trickle

of a brook, and the mending of my mind.

 

A prayer of sorts, as I sort through

yesterday, and prepare for today.

I thank God for coffee,

then poor over the humanity,

mine, yours, the world’s.

I grab my mug of brew,

and cream it with “Lord have mercy.”

 

Damage

These creaking bones,

Whose support go

Unappreciated

All these years.

 

These spots fleck

My skin like dandelions.

My face requited

Their affections.

 

This knob on my foot

Offends me;

By days end,

Expresses its disdain.

 

Those unseen organs

Play their stanzas.

Lungs like bagpipes.

Heart, a kettle drum.

 

Ah, for the age of grace-

The grace of age.

Life’s stage,

Curtains.

 

Damn age.

 

(It’s not that bad, really.)

 

 

On Finding a Rhythm for 2019

I pray the arrhythmia of 2018 will shut down. I’m not talking government, unless it is my self-governing murmurs. Sure, the beat goes on, whether I feel the pounding or not. The heart is more than tissue, more than musculature. Mine? Well, do I will it to thrum? Nope.

Anyway, age and mileage bring with them more awareness of lack of control. The Serenity Prayer will be in the queue, yet there are aspects of control still in place. I chose to awake a bit early. I chose to cream my coffee. I chose to sit and read, think, write, and pray. What other things can I chose? How about you?

We can slap a label on our new and improved choices of 2019…Resolutions. Breaking out in hives yet? You and I are free to change up our choices, but do we believe it?

There are some change ups I desire this year. The usual deflate my gut and pump up my pecks, sure. Less Little Debbie, and more rabbit food, yes. Give the word ‘budget’ more weight in our daily operations, fo sho. But what I see as higher on the shelf is relational changes. Starting with God, and working my way down through the village.

You see, I would rather hermit myself (In this house? Pshaw), read, write, and skip the arithmetic. My poetry will protect me, right? What a crock. I struggle with reactive attachment, and in this house of adoption, there is plenty of that to go around. If you don’t know what RA is, the Reader’s Digest version is “please come closer…get away from me.”

So, about 2019, here are a few of me changes by the grace of God.

-Be more of an active listener, meaning eye-contact, and attentive body posture. Oh, and not formulating an impressive response while appearing to hear. Uh, Jerry, remember there’s a difference between hearing and listening.

-Touching, hugging, when appropriate.

-Share my thoughts. Use words. Audible words. Like open and shut my mouth while my vocal chords rub each other.

-See the good in others, and let them know.

-Be thankful to God and others in my life.

-Initiate junk. Anything. Put a dent in 2019 for crying out loud! (Thanks Mom, for that little phrase. Miss you.)

Here are some of my relational reso resol resolu resolutions. You got any?

When 2020 rolls around, I hope we can all look back and find better connections, and a splash more love.

Here’s to 2019!

Ahead…Ache

The throb huddled

in the back corner.

Eyes spliced open,

no alarm,

except dull pain.

 

Thoughts, analyzation.

“Not enough water?”

“Caffeine deprivation?”

“Dead pillow, flat?”

Imagine that.

 

Did I try to hoard worries

instead of thinking

them through?

Did I stuff them,

choking off synapses?

 

By thoughts alone

can the ache dissipate?

By thinking only,

do the knots loosen?

“Have you prayed?”

 

I’ve thought about it.

“Why don’t you simply

think your thoughts

toward Me? I know

every one of them.”

 

Then I cast my thoughts

toward God.

The bundle in back

of my head softened,

dispersed.

 

 

“Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.” Philippians 4:6,7 The Message

 

 

 

One Resolution

It’s not that a year is new and all,

but looking back is a free fall

of hair, long, with strands of grey,

sprinkled, as if to say:

remember me, remember when?

I used to search for them, pluck them,

Now I comb through to see

the silver lined memories of you and me.

Like tinsel, they reflect, stand out.

Yesterday you said this is what it’s about.

Owning age, thankful, line after line,

Mapping our faces, tracking our time.

Under this sun there is nothing really new,

Except our hearts gleaning what is true.

I will run my fingers through.

Yes, I will run my fingers through.

 

For Barbara January 2019