Tag Archives: perspective

The Heights of Humility

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Recently, I went to the mountains in Colorado. The camp was nestled at 8600ft. It took my breath away in all respects. Such grandeur. The day before I returned to Michigan, a group of us decided to go to the crosses another 1500 feet up. Three crosses mounted on a bluff of the mountain begged attention. I thought of what I might say when and if I got there. “I’m the king of the world!” De’Caprio

Well, after taking many breaks to catch my breath I reached the desired summit. My my my… How I was humbled. Words were few and I felt adequately small. This was a holy moment, and I felt a bit more whole. There is something, someone way bigger than me, and it was okay.

It was as if God was saying, “I got you. I Am mysterious and majestic, and I see you.”

This was more than a bucket list check-mark. This was transformation. Such mercy and grace. I felt much of my abandonment issues melt away.

As I looked at the three crosses I thanked God for putting skin in the game.

Casting Colored Shadows

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I found them in the street

on hands and knees

among strewn colored chalk.

 

Children chattering on

about keeping the shadows

filled in with the scrapings.

 

The spindled silhouettes

of barren trees crawled

slowly over the asphalt

 

and the artists tried to stay

within the lines.

Thin branches grew

 

in density and color

as the sun moved

across the day.

 

The half-light

of sinking yellow

stretched the chalk

 

down the road

and they held stubs

of pastel and primary

 

between finger and thumb.

Now the shadow of night

is like a canvas.

 

The street light flickers on

and there is no evidence

of asphalt or the cracks

 

of time tucked in it.

They sat on the curb

powdered like doughnuts

 

and slouched in satisfaction.

They promised to

color the shadows forever.

 

World

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Not only circumference

but an orb

of circumstantial evidence.

 

What keeps us from flinging

into thin air, breathless

to the pin drop darkness?

Every spinning and expanding

island riding on predestination.

 

What keeps us from bringing

a thin air of presumption?

What great expanse of reason

finds its edge, its end?

Thought rides tides to the Temple.

 

And Jesus writes in the dirt with his finger.

 

John 8:1-12John 1:5

 

Transforming Faith: Perspectives on Circumstance.

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Sometimes we need only spread out.

It is different from spreading thin.

Our souls long to stretch,

take in more oxygen

or lay on top of it.

Gliding, we take the winding

road down the staircase of air.

A dissention over each step,

floating just above circumstance.

Faith, the scaled wings of blood,

bears us up on perspectives

laden with grace.

 

Note:

A butterfly’s most dramatic anatomical features are its wings. They’re made of an extremely thin, transparent material called chitin stretched over a series of vein-like structures. The forewings are closer to the butterfly’s head and are roughly triangular. The hindwings are closer to the tail and are shaped like fans or seashells.

The colors and patterns come from layers of tiny scales. It’s easy to think of these as similar to fish scales, but they’re structured more like short, tiny hairs. These scales protect the wings and provide insulation. Typically, the scales on the top of a butterfly’s wings are brightly colored, while the scales and the underside are patterned for camouflage.

At first, the wings are wet and wrinkled. The butterfly has to expand and dry them as soon as it emerges from the chrysalis. To do this, it uses its body as a pump and forces fluid through a series of tube-like veins. It’s a little like inflating a balloon — as the veins fill with fluid, they slowly stretch the surface of the wings.

Photo by Roberto Gonzalez

Updraft. Heat Waves.

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The airstream adjusted north

like a snapping of a belt

and warm currents of wind

pushed the beads of sweat

across my temple.

 

Crows and turkey vultures

ride the updrafts as surfers

of heat waves up and up.

Theirs is an effortless span

as they gather warmth under

 

wings and glide on a mobius,

stripped of gravity,

and stoked with grace.

To them, the horizon

curves shapely across

 

like a woman with child.

How I long to be lifted up

to float on a precipice

and draw concentric circles

from a point of grace.

 

 

“But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.

They spread their wings and soar like eagles…”  Isaiah 40:31 The Message Bible

 

A NEW DAY. Sunday.

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How many have written of a sunrise?

The darkness peeled slowly like an orange.

The thumb of God pushed up the dimmer switch.

 

The light swept the horizon and overflowed its banks.

Silhouettes shed layer after layer.

Shadows stretched, yawned, and shrunk.

 

It dawned on me.

This day, I will stand in the light.

I will walk in the light.

 

No sense in tripping over shadows.

 

“Jesus once again addressed them: ‘I am the world’s Light. No one who follows me stumbles around in the darkness. I provide plenty of light to live in.'”  John 8:12 The Message

 

The Way I See Sometimes. It Ain’t Pretty.

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I misplaced my rose colored glasses.

The world is in a hand basket on its way somewhere.

The world is all that it is cracked up to be.

Cracks, cracks, cracks, and the humans are racing

to tape and mud and sand and prime.

 

He’s got the whole world in his hands

and I wonder if it is getting a little too heavy.

God so loved that an only Son came

to carry the weight on his shoulders.

It broke both of their backs along with their hearts.

 

At times all I can see is from Solomon’s perspective.

Oh, I am not wise. I am not even that smart.

If you will please open your Bible to the book of Ecclesiastes (Insert preacher voice)

you will see it is not a song of Solomon.

It almost sounds like a solemn dirge though.

 

I think maybe Solomon, for a moment misplaced his glasses too.

All that talk about vanity and vexation.

“To everything there is a season,

a time for every purpose under heaven.”

It is under heaven alright, because the list gets heavy.

 

Death isn’t rosy.

Pluck is a take away.

Thou shall not kill.

We all have our breakdowns.

Even Jesus wept.

Mourn.

Casting stones.

No hugs.

Loss.

Throwing away.

Tearing, rending.

Shhhh.

Hate? Really?

War. What is it good for?

 

Okay, okay, those are only the dark seasons.

Did you forget that my Elton John rose colored specks is missing?

Maybe I should have my U.V. shades on anyway under all this sun;

The kind people wear to funerals dressed like men in black.

 

If all I see is reactive attachment why would I want a clear view, really.

If all I observe is moral breakdown and despair, reserve me a padded room.

If all I blankly stare at is dis-ease and patients while I put a compress on compassion, please forgive me.

If all I look upon are sacred hearts broken beneath a cross, go hug your mother while you can.

 

It’s all under the sun and it is vexing.

Faith, hope, and love are naked without sunscreen.

Without Son glasses I squint and see men walking about like trees.