Loosen my grip,
Oh Lord,
Make my hands
And heart
Humble receptors
Of Your love.
Have mercy once
More.
Grace me to
Wrest free from
Which I cling,
And what is clinging,
and give rest.
I rest in Thee.
Psalm 131 Matthew 11:28,29 John 14:27
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.
“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.” Jesus
John 14:1
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.
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.
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.
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.
It’s about wonder, humility, and awe all wrapped up.
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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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
I found this one from last year. Happy Mother’s Day!
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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Blood orange peering,
Cresting the liquid horizon.
Rolling out a crimson
Carpet on the water.
Red bouncing on wave,
Burning and snuffed,
Curling in the sand,
Rapt into every grain.
Concierge of a new day.
Resurrection.
Gerald the Writer 