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Poetry
There once was a boy who was a man who stood next to a man who was a boy.
The boy ask the man who he was.
The man began to talk about himself
until the boy interrupted and asked again
who he was. The man became irritated
and continued talking about himself.
The boy again asked who he was.
The man walked away angry that the boy
seemed to ignore everything he said.
Then, standing alone, the boy heard
a gentle voice inside of him saying
"Son, you are mine and thanks for asking".
The Mat is where it's at!
Unfolding of the mat gives light to purpose and prize
as unfolding of God's Word gives light, making the simple wise.
The mat is protection to the athlete from the fall.
It softens the blow when you give it your all.
It's boundaries are there to guide and to direct
as well as determine the fullness of effect
which is the grace of God for the elect.
On it flow tears of joy and celebration
as well as suffering and false accusation.
Limiting experience to it's presence by rules of law
it's the Spirit of such that removes the flaw.
To win and not lose seems the task,
The crown of victory is the mask.
Guidance by the eye of the Father
through which to trust and obey.
It's not to win or lose
but Grace to be able to play.
To be "Pro Wrestling",
you're "For the Struggle"
now limiting other choices
that were hard to juggle.
Whether and how you endure
with a spiritual and/or physical limp
It's God's strength that makes the weaknesses and temptations exempt. 11/27/2003
Not a power play but empowering others. It is violent but with redemption. Not a laughing matter but a serious joy. Authoritative but tender. Craftsmanship but with personal depth. Idealistic but practical. Dancing the one step but for two or more. Rocking without declining. Speaking without freaking. Quietly opening without creaking. Running without streaking.
Echoing imagery. Noticing performance through spiritual significance.
Wooing the wow in the ordinary.
Making extraordinary dreams come true.
Living in amazement but often in the basement.
Ascending the descent into freedom from self-hatred.
Eyebrowsing rather than brow beating.
I hear the roar of the twenties. The engines are starting. The teens are parting. The flame burned the old frame.
Bring in the new. The new catalogue of creativity.
Not idly stting by, but waiting to be revealed
as high-flooten and well-heeled.
Watch out drama junkies! Drama mama is energized.
No longer pragmatized. No longer flower child
but bloomin freaking girl gone wild!
I wrote this for my daughter Sarah on her 20th birthday in 2005. Reading her blog http://sarahhartsu.blogspot.com/ today and seeing her fresh burst of creativity brought this to mind.
The anxiety of what and who I don't yet know drives me right up to the places I don't want to go.
Places of waiting where listening becomes a must.
False humilty no longer planting my face in the dust.
Always knowing I could be running yet only trudging along
gladly singing the song of sadness, knowing it was the wrong song.
Until I know how to finish this poem, I retreat and reflect on the deep sadness I experience when I refuse to risk walking into the unknown through which this anxiety wants to carry me.
How often I follow my head(logic) when there is a gap(deep darkness) before the next logical step. My head says to turn left or right to avoid the crash. This crash or gap is what I refer to as internal bleeding.
It is here where I'm torn either away from my logic into wisdom or torn internally by refusing the wisdom given me. I can follow what appears as emotional familiarity(logical) or begin to risk following the dark newness of emotional intimacy. These two states(of being) continuously crash into one another more often than I like to admit.
Yet wisdom takes my gap theory(avoidance) into intimate emotional fellowship with myself and others when obedient to this wisdom.
This is true suffering, not just bleeding blackness.
As I watch the parade
passing my point of view
by faith of Christ
the inverse is true.
What has passed
is ahead and history.
What's behind
is yet to come
and energizes me.
Worry of the future,
by faith, is history.
Such faith frees of
demands to see.
Guilt, shame,
the residue seen.
But now by faith,
the Word made clean.
What appears behind,
now arrives on time
as an end
to the parade
reflects sublime
what is first
seems last.
By the Word
long last.
Frozen in my tracks, fearful of frostbite.
Now still, though with fright.
Figment of imagination or Spirit-led hesitation?
Did Lot have the same fear? A lot like me?
How else comes hesitation so an angel draws near?
A fear turning holy inspiring courage, but slowly.
As I lift my hand feeling the gentle tug,
increasing in strength becoming the Father’s hug.
Blue Angels, Blue Angels, what is meant
flying helmut to helmut by one consent?
A metaphor of Zephaniah 3:9?
How do I learn to get in line?
Am I under the Father
or is He under me?
Do I receive the blue of eternity?
Are these questions from you
or they coming from me?
Blue Angels, Blue Angels, I now know
that to get in line let the Father show.
It's his lap, the lap of luxury.
By his hug is it revealed to me.
Am I loved by the one I'm with? Is that just another myth?
I'm trying to love the one I'm with.
From where does this trying come?
Just a beating of my own drum?
A drum with no divine sound
causing the gentle Voice to drown?
I hear "Love the one you're with."
Is this performance of a myth?
The beat of the Father's heart, faintly heard.
Feasting on everythting short of His word.
Is the thought to perform so absurd?
It is finished! I once heard.
Forgotton is my first Love,
the One as gentle as a dove.
Love me so to receive
what I'm led to believe.
Open the door that I may see
You're the One who's guiding me.
Setting me free from myself
removing me from the dusty shelf.
Sending me forth by your word
speaking what in the past was heard.
The truth about your redeeming Son
who reveals You are the only One,
the true living God who sent his Son.
I opened the door partially.
Could it be a smile I see?
Is the light in your Son
a smile upon me?
Yes! By the smile
it is You I see.
It is You here to guide me.
Someone I had just met by phone asked me to watch the movie Flicka starring Tim McGraw. She identified, as did Katy the cowgirl in the movie, with the free and untamed, yet deeply aware and sensitive Mustang that she named Flicka . After our three hour phone call, I rented the movie and watched it that night. In a follow-up e-mail I mentioned that our phone call revealed that she has an intuitive imagination that many lose due to wounds, shattered expectations, or heartbreak from their youth. Not surprisingly, there was a great example from a scene in the movie she recommended.
When Katy enters the corral for the second secretive late night attempt to approach Flicka, she invites the Mustang to gently come to her by extending her hand with an apple. After the horse slowly approaches her and sees that it's safe, he eats it. She then says " One is enough for now" and disappears back into her house.
She intuitively knew that for the intimacy to grow between Flicka and her, that the wild horse couldn't handle more than one apple at that point without the horse losing focus on who not only was in control now, but also who had the power to meet a deeper hunger. The wild horse's timely willingness to take the risk of vulnerability in spite of a powerful self will that could have done otherwise is representative of intuitive imagination. Jeremiah 31:18
The prayers in Scripture about this restoration of the sense of wonder into our redemptive life story of wild abandonment are found in Psalm 119:18, and Psalm 90:14-17.
This inspired or intuitive imagination keeps one sane in the middle of chaos, yet does not prevent us from surprise or being caught off guard. I wrote about this in a poem previously posted.
A Sane Imagination, A New Creation
A sane imagination, a new creation.
Tempered action from shattered expectations.
Perservering, conscience no longer searing.
Courageous without domineering.
Silently, while speaking,
praying and seeking,
listening without freaking,
stillness, door creaking.
Who entered into my room
without permission so soon?
My heart? Don’t bother!
Who’s there?
Abba Father?
Driving myself insane trying to be good. Actually thought I could.
A mind surrendered is life and peace.
My faith, without cease, self-generating increase
came not from just having heard
but hears perfectly timed words.
By faith of Christ,
freedom from what I would.
Not doing only what I could.
No longer "I should"
or knock on wood.
I'm free to be
what I see that He
made fearfully
wonderfully me.
Whole, no goody-goody.
Deep calls calls to deep As I create prosperity and disaster.
So which above is the jar of alabaster?
What seemed as waste by one summation
was transformed by grace
into worship and admiration. Matthew 26:6-10
Don't paint my Black gray said I to self.
What you say that is gray
should be back on the shelf.
To give my Black color
is reporting something other
as twisting life into death
causing God's Word to smother.
"It's not I" said I to self
but Christ removing me,
not self, from the shelf.
Shaking the dust off my feet
giving a new Experience
over self deceit.
