Reel Faith

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Many things you fear come to pass, but

most don’t; and

since you never know which will or won’t, it makes more sense to fear none. But

my Pollyanna is more my Puddleglum, and

my optimism quotient is tempered by what is truly possible on this broken planet; so

how does a glass half empty gal have faith without feeling like it is more about wishful thinking and cooked up certainty?

How to live in the real world with real faith when real is often reeling with the now and the what could be? Yet will I praise Him.

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“Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” ~Matthew 6:34

Asking you, asking me . . .

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Does your faith-life even require Jesus?

Got the maxims memorized.

Got the rules down.

Is religion more your bulwark than relationship—

behavior and image more important than face-falling service,

open-hearted devotion to His worthiness?

Has purpose surpassed person?

Maybe it’s time to re-evaluate this substance-hoped-for idea.

Are we a scattered and lost flock, devoted to a text but without a message?

I think I would rather falter on a rough road than walk resolutely down a worn and wrong path,

stuck in a form of obedience . . . but without a desperate, clinging trust.

My will is contrary to my dedication;

my rituals supplant my connection, offering a form without reality.

Am I so right-on religious that as a Christian I can do this thing without Jesus?

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Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. ~Psalm 51:10

I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.

~Romans 7:19

 

A Tree Rant

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It should be a law:

     No cutting of trees, please.

     No desecration of life-green foliage and climbing limb.

     No mauling of shade-makers and wind-shakers.

     No abuse of fruit-bearers and dream-catchers.

There should be a law:

     No buzzing.

     No chopping and chipping.

     No axing of sap-runners and dirt-catchers.

Soil-gripper, life-framer.

Back-leaner, air-cleaner.

A hider of seekers,

Guardian, sentinel, standing at attention.

I am not a tree hugger per se, but there is a certain sadness to see

oxygen-givers and long-livers

hacked down for who knows what.

Plant a tree, not a parking lot!

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(Upon the “murder” of two beautiful trees!) 

Dream Streams

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When light fades to black, and the chill comes,

when horizon and foreground meld to one, and minutes tick by slower than day;

I find myself alone with my thoughts—the rest of my world sleeps.

Invisible,

intangible,

dream streams of past, present, and never weave spells of narrative in my restless mind.

If I could make sense of it all, I could justify my tossing and turning,

my drifting and drama, but it all seems just a colorful exercise in nonsense-making—

so real,

but so not.

And I rise more weary.

I have done superhuman things in my dreams, but wake in silver light

as ordinary as when I went to bed.

And my dreams grow larger as my world grows smaller.

And my rest grows weaker as my need swells.

Are you in the visions, evanescent wisps, circling in cerulean night,

or is my unsettled soul strangled by the diary of a life housed in three pounds of flesh?

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Isaiah 26:3 (ESV)

You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”

A Limping Life

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I heard your whisper in the wind, and

I leaned to listen; but

my lisping voice rose rough and rasping, replaying all the shame moments,

the named moments—over and over,

owning their bite.

I glimpsed your face in the greening breeze of spring, and

I opened my eyes wide to see and be seen, but

the haze of doubt drifted down like a curtain, so I was unsure of what was there; and

blinking long and hard only tired my eyes,

my heart,

my will.

I put my knee to ground in weakness,

convinced that my limping life would never be anything more than this,

that tears would ever flow; but

you met me there

where

words are soft and

light is clear and

belief is birthed from unbelief.

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Be still and know that I am God. ~Psalm 46:10a

Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. ~Mark 9:24b

 

My Book of Uncommon Prayers: To Live a Noble Life

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How can I make my ambition Your ambition?

Every now and then, unworldly inspiration and imagination penetrates

this sin-chained  mind, this bone-bound spirit,

and I rejoice,

respond;

but just as quickly, flesh presses in—

pride presses in,

puffing me up, showing me what a wonderful thing I did for God.

Is there any hope to live a pure life,

a noble life,

when wriggling in skin and bone, a soul enslaved?

But to be free.  

Daily Prompt: Overwhelmed

O kay, I can’t live like this–all this tweeting, and FBing, and

V blogging, as if I need to know

E very single inconsequential thing about your daily

R ituals, what you’re selling, what you’re pushing.

W hat I need is quiet–physical and mental–a

H iatus from personal and political rants and

E nd-of-the-world diatribes. If the world is

L ost, then let me at the very least live

M y last brief moments

E njoying the illusion that people really

D o love and respect each other–at least now and then.

Daily Prompt: Devastation

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D oom and gloom, sometimes of our own doing;

E ven if not, we can choose how

V aliantly or cowardly we respond.

A cceptance does not mean

S urrender.

T olerance does not mean

A ll points of view are true. But

T o live, thrive, and love

I n this crazy, reeling world is to

O nly and in all things hope,

N ot giving destruction and despair a soul-hold.