Like A Child

When was the last time we skipped?

Not a meal.

Neither church.

A kiss goodnight?

*

I’m talking about skipping, literally.

Down a sidewalk.

In a park.

Along a hallway.

*

When was the last time our hearts

Skipped a beat;

Lept a leap?

Bounced in hope?

*

Come, take my hand.

See the floor,

The path ahead?

Let’s skip instead.

Summer Vacation Two children having an awesome time running along the beach shore. skipping stock pictures, royalty-free photos & images

 “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.” Jesus

John 14:1

Cycles of Life

Bike Tour 1980’s

The morning after I got the call

Frost clung to the fields of grass

As the sun brimmed the horizon.

Trees blushed, cast off leaves,

Drifted down, settled like shadows

Of colored light, circular, gathered round.

*

I remember a morning like this,

The dawn, yawning, spreading  

The shadows of our bikes like

New mercies over warm pavement.

We were faithful to the road,

The open road he knew so well.

*

That day there was no double-clutching,

No whine whistling of his tractor trailer.

We were hugging the white line as the

Scenery scrolled by, slow and deliberate.

Peripheral perceptions keeping pace,

A sweaty grace.

*

It was a simple day back in ’80.

Pedals orbiting, words bouncing back–

Then forth, sometimes caught in the spokes.

Prayer wheels spinning, and changing gears.

We were present to each other,

One of the greatest gifts on this side of the line.

*

John had passed me now,

Riding ahead, pedaling toward 

The Light of the world,

He looked over his shoulder and

Through a dipped lower lip said,

“Put the pedal down brother. Look!”

John Barrett

September 20, 1958-November 2, 2021

Beloved husband, father, grandfather, brother, and friend.

Sunday Psalm

Come unto Me,

Sit, be still, and breathe.

All the distractions

Will wait for you.

If you stay here

For a while I will

Show you how to be

Present.

*

Come and see,

I haven’t changed.

The swirling world

Doesn’t dishevel

Who I Am.

The world can wait

While I wait with you.

Love.

*

Come and go,

You’ll be alright.

For I will go with.

I Am always.

Keep mulling over

Psalm 131,

It’ll come to you.

Peace.

Foot Fall

I’m growing into old.

Settle into chairs with a plop.

Rise out of them two-handed,

thankful for forethought of

choosing one with armrests.

*

There are creaks in the

coming and going now.

Sometimes it’s the cracks

in the wood—loose bolts.

Mostly it’s me, groaning.

*

In the effort of defying gravity,

I am grateful for movement,

even the slow kind.

More deliberate liberation

is humbly declared.

*

There is a beauty in deceleration.

Less distraction, more traction.

Reminders to stay low, pay attention

to where the next step will fall,

and in the falling I can,

by grace, take one more.  

Sinking Words

Words fall flat like stones

Across the water.

A few skips, then sink

Into the silence.

*

It should be a good thing,

Words gaining depth

Of meaning beyond

The undertow.

*

At rest in the sand

Like oysters,

Words absorb, quell,

Gather the quiet.

*

All souls like a sea,

Hold thoughts

Below the surface,

Words settle in.

Dipping a TOE (Theory of Everything) in the Lake

It’s about wonder, humility, and awe all wrapped up.

Gerald the Writer

Did Evolution Give Us Surfing? - READY... SET... QUESTION!

Big trees fell into Lake Michigan over and upon each other like pickup sticks. The beach became a trimmed path to wend down more than to lay on. What happened when I was so busy inland mowing my lawn? So much for long walks on the beach. It was more like an obstacle course, hiking around large upended stumps or limbo lumbering underneath thick trunks.

A bit overwhelmed, I found a perch part way up on a dune. The kids had invited me along to do some hammocking. Yes, that’s a thing now. Hammocking isn’t really a word yet. Auto- correct suggested ‘ham mocking.’ Next Easter I will try mocking the honey ham. Anyway, my kids dug their toes in and continued to the top, while I sat and pondered the plight of our most favored lake of the greats.

Is this simply another sign of the times? Is this…

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Sunday Psalm

Day broke me open,

Birds telegraph each other.

I hear.

The three day headache gone.

The prevention was a vile

Of virus.

A second poke became

a prod of vulnerability.

A fever.

My swelling arm an evidence

Of the world getting under

My skin.

I kneel with open face

And a thrumming heart

Of thanks.

“Praise the Lord! Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever.” Psalm 106:1

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Without Birthdays There’d Be No Mother’s Day

I found this one from last year. Happy Mother’s Day!

Gerald the Writer

I don’t remember the day I was born, do you? But ask any mother about the day her child was born and she will be glad to fill you in.

(Imagine a New York accent.) “Little Johnny came on a rainy Wednesday. Oh yah, he gave me the fits for eleven hours. Johnny just didn’t have a clue as to how to get outta there, so I pushed him! I’ve been pushing him ever since. But anyway, his arm was up over his noggin, the doctor said, so a puny thumb flipped out first like a hitch hika. The Doc fumbled around so only his head was crowning and all. That hurt like a bugga! The good thing was it helped me forget my husband was layin on the floor out cold. He lost it when a nurse handed him a soiled towel to throw in the linen basket. Geez…

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