(Loosely based on John Donne's "Batter my Heart, Three Personed God")
One-Personed God. Your three headed son is
Fighting again. At their birth, The midwife,
Abraham heard their first cry, this should have
Been a warning of future things to come.
Now they fight over a bit of dry rock
Claimed by one, argued by second and third
Fighting over a bit of broken wall
A pair of sticks, and the marble’s round curve.
Their standard’s are; a star, a cross, a moon
Three flags, one pole. They fight while brothers die
Thinking they are strangers, yet both bleed red
Leave grieving wives who share the same salt tears
And so One-Personed God of mercy great.
Batter the heart of Your three bull-headed son.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
My grandmother danced with God... A taste
My grandmother had a hard life. Being a farmer’s wife, raising five children, and staying out of the way of her alcohol-proned husband is not anyone’s dream of a good life. More often than not she would be the one to bear the brunt of the pain in order to give her children a better life. If that meant stepping between her young sons and her drunken husband that is what she’d do. If it meant taking on another job, if it meant explaining to her youngest daughter that everything would be ok, she did what ever it took to give her children the hope of a better life. Being the selfless loving woman she was she would give to everyone else, and neglect herself. In her hard life there were precious few places she could go for support and relaxation. Her own private get away was a dream never to be realized.
Each night she would lay her labor weary body down on the meager little bed sometimes beside her husband, sometimes alone. She would finally allow her muscles to relax, and maybe a tear or two slide silently down her cheek. Some time after midnight she would finally let go of her daily burden and seek the shores of sleep.
That is the time that the house would be quiet. Among the soft breathing of slumbering children, God’s golden footsteps would find its way down the hall, pausing for a moment at each door, ending finally at the last door on the left, where a weary mother found troubled sleep.
God would walk softly into the room, smile upon the resting body housing the beautiful soul. He would ever so gently, reach out and lift her up. Guiding my grandmother’s soul back down the hall as her body continued laying on the bed, in slumber. He held her protectively under his arm as they walked out of the house and into the black night dazzled with thousands of stars singing softly their nighttime songs. They would step together into the middle of the cornfield, which had grown up to her knees, and will hopefully be a strong crop this year, unlike last. In the middle of the cornfield, with dew on her feet and her nightgown flowing softly in the breeze, my Grandmother danced with God. He would take her right hand, and gently guiding her, they danced. The stars sprinkled down their music, and the moon provided mellow vocals.
The warmth of God’s hands would sink into my grandmother’s. Washing away the soreness and the fatigue of the day. Her feet ceased their aching and became young again. The life seeping into her feet and her hands slowly moved up her arms and legs, warming her, giving peace and hope. God looked deeply in her eyes, seeing a hurt and broken soul weary and uncertain of the world’s trials. He looked at her with a love deeper than any human could manage, with a love only a Creator could posses for His beloved. It flowed into her, finding all the hidden hurts of neglect and abuse and self denial. It was a healing balm to her internal wounds, and filled her soul with feelings of love, self worth, and renewal.
She breathed deeply the cool night air, relaxing in the embrace of the Father. She held nothing back, but allowed for Him to touch every pain and fear, caressing them softly and slowly transforming them to peace and love.
After the moon had finished his song, and the stars turned in the sky. God would softly clasp my grandmother’s hands, walk her though the rows of corn back into the house complete with its dirty carpet and the dishes in the sink. They walked together past the bedrooms of their children and back to the last door on the left. There, my grandmother would look down on her peacefully sleeping body. God would pull back the covers, and she would sit, then lay down back into her body. God would loving tuck her in and whisper softly in her ear. She would embrace him with a daughter’s love and close her eyes as He walked softly back down the hallway.
Each night she would lay her labor weary body down on the meager little bed sometimes beside her husband, sometimes alone. She would finally allow her muscles to relax, and maybe a tear or two slide silently down her cheek. Some time after midnight she would finally let go of her daily burden and seek the shores of sleep.
That is the time that the house would be quiet. Among the soft breathing of slumbering children, God’s golden footsteps would find its way down the hall, pausing for a moment at each door, ending finally at the last door on the left, where a weary mother found troubled sleep.
God would walk softly into the room, smile upon the resting body housing the beautiful soul. He would ever so gently, reach out and lift her up. Guiding my grandmother’s soul back down the hall as her body continued laying on the bed, in slumber. He held her protectively under his arm as they walked out of the house and into the black night dazzled with thousands of stars singing softly their nighttime songs. They would step together into the middle of the cornfield, which had grown up to her knees, and will hopefully be a strong crop this year, unlike last. In the middle of the cornfield, with dew on her feet and her nightgown flowing softly in the breeze, my Grandmother danced with God. He would take her right hand, and gently guiding her, they danced. The stars sprinkled down their music, and the moon provided mellow vocals.
The warmth of God’s hands would sink into my grandmother’s. Washing away the soreness and the fatigue of the day. Her feet ceased their aching and became young again. The life seeping into her feet and her hands slowly moved up her arms and legs, warming her, giving peace and hope. God looked deeply in her eyes, seeing a hurt and broken soul weary and uncertain of the world’s trials. He looked at her with a love deeper than any human could manage, with a love only a Creator could posses for His beloved. It flowed into her, finding all the hidden hurts of neglect and abuse and self denial. It was a healing balm to her internal wounds, and filled her soul with feelings of love, self worth, and renewal.
She breathed deeply the cool night air, relaxing in the embrace of the Father. She held nothing back, but allowed for Him to touch every pain and fear, caressing them softly and slowly transforming them to peace and love.
After the moon had finished his song, and the stars turned in the sky. God would softly clasp my grandmother’s hands, walk her though the rows of corn back into the house complete with its dirty carpet and the dishes in the sink. They walked together past the bedrooms of their children and back to the last door on the left. There, my grandmother would look down on her peacefully sleeping body. God would pull back the covers, and she would sit, then lay down back into her body. God would loving tuck her in and whisper softly in her ear. She would embrace him with a daughter’s love and close her eyes as He walked softly back down the hallway.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)