One I remember

The word ardent, the poem at 3 am,

the mustard smile for me on her dinner plate.

Being thigh to thigh at a poetry reading,

the heat, the ill of wanting.

The letters, stamps turned upside down,

a spot, like a pebble, amidst so much slippery.

The monkeys mating at the zoo,

the pottery mailed from France,

the glass at the Toledo Art Museum,

so fragile and destructive,

slow liquid pretending to be something solid.

The dread infused love, the first rush of lust,

the permission to let hand hold hand.

Outside, stolen kisses in the dark,

while God, himself, watched,

smirking and laughing,

then shrugged his boney shoulders.

the avett brothers

I am not ashamed to say that I cried three times at the concert tonight. Cried right in front of Katie's mom and her friend, Robin. Beautiful women. And Katie and Abby, beautiful young women. And the people near us. The woman who helped me up, the man with his pregnant wife, the four guys smoking pot. I cried in front of the stars, and under the sky, with gratitude I cried for being alone. I cried for being together. I cried because the words and melody were like identical twins and I was an older step sister from another mother. I cried when the crowd sang along. I cried when the people jumped and clapped. I cried because people get this music, love this music. I cried because I was someone on this night who got to hear this song.

We came for salvation
We came for family
We came for all that's good that's how we'll walk away
We came to break the bad
We came to cheer the sad
We came to leave behind the world a better way

To be 4

So after being told that he could not marry his mother,

or his sister, he decided he would marry me.

And, when his mom explained that people usually

marry others who are closer to their age,

she said that one day he will find someone

a little like her, and a little like his sister,

and a little like me, and maybe he would fall in love forever.

He will, I just know it, and my dream is to be there

when he says "I do" to this amalgam of people,

and I will remember there was a day,

when he laughed, and his mom laughed,

and his sister laughed, as we all made bubbles

and chased them before they would land on the ground

and pop. We made the bubbles, we saved the bubbles,

and we laughed with each other in love.

John said

...every day has every day in it. A little bit of Christmas, a little bit of Easter. Some Pentecost swirling around. A few hours in Gethsemane. And, when he said it, I felt my anxious self tender up a huge sigh. Too often I am ashamed of the inconsistent roil of my days. Happy flinging itself right into sad; anger busting through laughter. I never know what is going to happen. And I fear, sometimes, that something is wrong with me.

But I like what John said. Love it in fact. And, today, while painting with some fourth graders, I was in advent -- waiting for the day when the painted panel joins the others and they offer a backdrop to our sweet songs. And then I had some flipping over of the tables in at the temple as three students in a row tried to pull off "copy and paste" reports as true research. Oh no, not in my land. The sermon on the mount rounded the corner about 4 o'clock as I sat with Najee and explained to him that lying about homework was worse than not doing it. That relationships matter more than events -- the trust between two people supersedes any work, done or not done. "Love," we decided together, "is messed up with lying." Then that day -- the one with a name I can never remember -- when the Magi came to deliver their gifts. Epiphany. Yes, epiphany, near the end of the day, when I realized that I had something important to say to Anne . And I held out my words to her like jewels. Plopping them slowly into her heart so she could hear how crucial her work is to our church family. I held out my thanks like a box of myrrh as the night fell and stars began to light my way home.

So, yes, I understand. Every day has every day in it.

Thanks be to God.

Glitter

Why I needed to be glittering a snowflake with kindergartners on an 88 degree day in May is irrelevant, all I want to say today is that I came home with glitter on my toes. And in my ears. Speckled through my hair. Stuck to my cheek. Glitter doesn't cling to anything (though it seems to), it needs glue or sweat, or a tangle of friction to make it stay. Glitter does not appear from nowhere and stay. You have to call for it, cull it up, work with it, get dirty. Sticky.

I keep waiting for something magical to happen to me, zip out of the blue and land in my life. But, maybe, the better approach to getting something that makes my life sparkle is to be at the table, sitting in a tiny chair, knee to knee with the project. Maybe eye catching comes from being caught in a moment. Maybe glitter does not spin down upon us, but stays with us -- hangs onto us -- when we are simply doing. Being. Helping out.

Thank you Luke; we made a beautiful snowflake.

Start now

To myself

Throw away the worries about June 2nd.

Toss in next year too.

Pitch the last day of your life into a far, deep lake.

Fling your deepest fear in the ravine.

Waste no more time on someone else's flipflop mind.

Let your caution splat in the middle of the road,

where it can be run over by a Nissan Pathfinder,

a woman on a red scooter, and tomorrow's garbage truck.

Pick up a peanut. Watch the water's condensation.

Look at the thick well of glass at the bottom of the glass.

See the bubble within the glass.

Notice the well-worn arms of your favorite chair.

See the indentations where you most happily lean.

Touch the bottom lip of the iris,

go nose to nose with the ants licking the peony buds.

Watch the way the clouds look like they were

smeared with a spackling edge across the blue.

Claim the urgent beep of your moped's horn,

find the white tip on your lucky polished flint.

Do not gather up anything that is not real.

Get your life out of your brain and into your hands.

So much comfort within ten paces,

open the door, and go out.