and I wonder what that weight is.
Beyond the Hot Tamales and pounds of cheese, of course,
beyond the discovery of "Mad Men" and "Bones,"
all of those new hours laying on the couch.
On this Sunday, a year ago, I was in the Houston airport,
flying back from a seminary visit in Austin.
I had on an "I vote for Obama" t-shirt
that received more than a few Bushian glares
in that hot Texan hub.
I had a new curve to my heart,
a tilt toward some green path,
and I really wish, tonight, I had listened
to the twenty people who said yes,
instead of the one man who
so adamantly warned no.
These November streets are gray,
and my heart has a flat thrum.
The only new thing in my life has caused
me great strain and burden,
and I am, once again, pressing myself
into the mold I built of my life:
prove your worth, show how smart you are,
be the best among the many good.
I am not smarter about God, one year later.
I still wonder who the mother-in-law is:
Naomi or Ruth. Perhaps, if I were in Austin tonight,
I would know how to spell Isaiah
without having to think so hard about the vowels.
But I do believe, seminary or not,
that what matters
about the Naomi and Ruth story
is that one pledged this: "where you go,
I will follow, your people will be my people,
your God will be my God."
And that, perhaps is what I have been eating up,
the words: you, go, I, follow,
your, people, my, people,
not knowing where to focus my love,
as it wanders, searching,
so hungry from day to day.
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