The Most Interesting Man in the World

Yeah, you might have seen the commercials. I think they’re advertising a beer, anyway, I got to thinking… Would I really like to be the “most” in anything?

Even the most interesting man has to accomplish the most uninteresting of duties. Take a leak. Brush his teeth. Eat some eggs.

I caught myself thinking “I want to be the most humble man in the world.” I don’t know if that is a paradox or an oxymoron. Maybe it’s simply moronic.

Maybe I want to be the most “telling-it-slant-poet” in the world. I would lay down lines which echo for a hundred or so years.

Being the most… Most. Most. Most. What a funny word. The more I ponder it, the sillier it sounds. Say ‘most’ out loud enough times and well, what do you think?

Honestly, have you ever met anyone aspiring to be the most UNinteresting person in the world? Maybe you have, and just didn’t notice. Did you see what I did there?

I think God-math comes into play as far as being the ‘most’ in any endeavor. You know, it is in dying we live. It is in denying we receive. Like walking backwards to settle into the starting blocks… I think.

The Broken Way by Ann Voskamp started all this mental wondering. She got all up in my stuff by reminding me of Jesus’ words…”Unless a grain of wheat dies, it abides alone.”

That is all.

You Are

I say my prayers fast

before my mind

pulls apart these folded hands.

God, You are.

 

I lift my arms

as a child reaching.

an alchemy of receiving and giving.

Father, You are.

 

I run into the world

with a tension, attention

to the beauty and brokenness.

Jesus, You are.

 

I breathe without thought

exchanging bad air for good,

grace folding me.

Spirit, You are.

Sunday Psalm

Slip off your shoes,

before the dew

distills the

spirit of this day.

 

Stroll the field

for evidence

between your toes,

wet blades sewing.

 

Cup your ears,

to hear the sun

paint the top

of the sycamore.

 

Praise with the white

of your teeth,

head bowed

to the forest floor.

 

Find breath in your bones,

marrow reaching,

flowing to the sea,

to the sea.

Saddle Light

It was riding the trail of early morning glow.

Hanging ‘round, low and quiet-like

with just enough belly light east.

A crescent pulling on a sunrise

as if it was one of the earthly tides.

 

It’s a nighttime circuit rider

preaching to the dark side of our circle.

It will pull on the thought waves

and push them onto the shore

like grains of stardust.

 

It reminded me that humility

is a slow steady moon walk.

 

“Walk on.”