Dreams of the Forgotten Boy

If this tomb could reveal
its secrets
and this stone be rolled away
I wonder, what 
would they disclose
warily, almost distrustful
of my open hands.
 
What boyish dreams must lay here,
long buried 
behind this formidable wall!
Visions which life
has granted, or indifferently
denied.
 
This much I know,
dreams never truly die.
And so if a single
dream
could slip through
your suffocating pain
I wonder,  what
would it say?

The Words I Wish We Could Take Back

Indifferent – When you were gone, you were not here, but when you were here, you still were not available. Just get angry again! Do something already, so that at least I would have something – anything, to fight against.

Idiot – Why the philosophy of assuming the entire world is just a holding pen for idiots until they’re somehow proven innocent? Am I not part of the world? What then, does that mean for me, for your family?

            The one I will keep is “I love you.” You are the most painful, the most bewildering thing that life has smacked me upside the head with. But still I love you.

A Better Father Speaks

He has hurt you, yes.
I also know this pain.
I have longed for his heart for many years,
before you were born, and then
before your child eyes could see
this gaping wound, your inheritance.
My daughter
you know how I have held you;
I carry him also.
But a man’s life is too heavy
a burden for his child to bear,
please, do not try.
Let Me show you the greatest of miracles.
I will love him as you cannot
now love him yourself -
yes, even with the same gentleness
as that with which I have loved
you.

An Unfinished Bridge


Your hand stretched
out to steady me - an offer of safety
over this unfinished bridge.

Two hands
one calloused, one not -
and the stream is crossed.

Yet I wonder
how long did I really
have to consider the price
of placing my hand in yours
before “hesitation”
you interpret as “rejection.”

Such moments are dripping
with perspiration, poignant
with ancient history and unpredictable
possibility.
I tremble at each revelation
of kindness – who are you?
Who am I?
Who are we?

I live spinning
in circles and the only thing
more disorienting than starting
is stopping – standing still, or
at least trying to.

And here - your hand
stretched out, to steady me
over this unfinished bridge.

Of all the things you might have done!

A Prayer

God, be a shelter for my runaway heart.
God, be my belief and help my unbelief.
Father, be my trust when all else has betrayed me.
Healer, be my healing, and bring beauty from these shards.
Abba, be a Father to my orphan soul.
Lord, be my home in this world that cannot be my home.
Savior, be an unfailing shelter in my time of storm.

My Child

Hey God -  it’s me.
I dunno if You’re listening, 
if You care, or - 
 
Child!
I am closer than your heartbeat
and yet you wonder
if I care.
I surround you like the air you breathe
and yet you still doubt 
My presence.
 
You wander, not knowing where
or for what - but I am waiting for you.
I am the way home
from nothing and nowhere.
 
You run - heart pounding, lungs heaving,
your body craving oxygen, but
it is not just air
that you are hungry for -
My fearful, doubting child  
whom I love.

Who is This Man?

Who is this Man?
I have seen a shadow in the twilight,
heard whispers in my mind
that He is Abba, and
I am loved, and my name
is etched in His hands −
whoever He is.
 
But is not “tender father”
an oxymoron of the cruelest sort?
I am unloved, am I not?
This Man
(whoever He is)
can have no room for me.
 
No one has room.
 
Jacob and I share
a rock for a pillow.
We both are wanderers
trespassers.
Nothing more.
 
This Man must be just
a kind stranger,
an attractive dream −
that is all.
 
But what if
the shadows, and
the whispers
have a substance?
What if this dream has
a body?
 
Then He would be
real  −
this Man, whoever
He is.

Understood

Daddy do you hear me?
No?
Oh, well I understand now.
I am not heard −I will be silent.
I will not speak−
There is nothing worth hearing.
 
Daddy do you see me?
No?
Oh, well I understand now.
I am not seen −I will be invisible.
I will not show my heart −
There is nothing worth seeing.
 
Daddy do you know me?
(We are after all, a part of each other.)
No?
Well don’t worry, I understand now:
I should not hope for
 
a bond that will never form.
This is our life.
You and I shall forever be
the closest of strangers.

Comprehension

How dare you say that you understand?
you are Jesus, the Christ.
you are perfect,
you always have been perfect,
you always will be perfect.
your love for me is foreign already, but your understanding?
Ludicrous.
 
I am a mess.
I always have been a mess.
I always will be a mess.
How could you possibly know what it means
to be helpless and without hope −
alone?
 
you’ve never been separated from your father,
your hearts are carved
from the same living stone, you could probably
time his heartbeat
by checking your own pulse.
 
I have never heard my dad’s heartbeat.
 
You say there is nothing
I’ve suffered that you haven’t
also borne and yet it’s your father who said
“This is My beloved Son in whom
I am well pleased.”
 
Every single step of your life −
Beloved.
his power through your hands,
his character through your own,
his face −
always shining toward his beloved son.
 
Even at the cross, right? I mean
you guys are two peas in a pod, there’s no way
your dad would leave you when you needed him
most.
 
You gotta be kidding me nobody ever
told me about that part. That’s not supposed to
happen God can’t just split
apart what doYou mean He turned His face
away?
 
You are perfect.
You’re not the mess − I’m the mess.
I’m the one that should know brokenness,
not You.
 
But You were broken, helpless, hopeless,
alone − and You couldn’t find
Your Father anymore than I can find
mine.
 Forgive me, it was I
who did not understand.

Finicky (Response to You Should Have Been There)

Actually, no.

I’m tired.

Go away, like now so

I can breathe, please.

It’s silly of me. Stupid in fact, to think that we could be happy; awkwardly trying to hug each other on opposite sides of a glass wall. I’ve felt ignored to the point where your personal attention to me freaks me out more than anything else. I don’t know how to handle it. Now that I’ve learned how to keep to my self quite well thankyouverymuch, you are getting mellowed out. You want to talk! I feel like a cornered rabbit. What kind of craziness is this? I have no clue how to react to even the smallest gesture that is reminiscent of the one thing I have always wanted.