My Very Bad Dream

I am walking on a sidewalk

In the middle of town;

It's a busy street for a small town,

Relatively speaking.

Ever so often, I look down,

I am obsessed with the cracks

In the sidewalk--I cannot

Chance stepping on one.

Something bad will happen.

As I walk on, I focus more and more

On the concrete beneath my feet;

I set my eyes and walk and breathe faster,

Feeling the anxiety push me forward.

 

The cracks are everywhere now.

Where are they coming from?

It didn't look like this

When I set off down this trail.

This is a very bad dream.

I can no longer afford to wear shoes

So I take them off and fling them

Just as another crack begins

To appear right beneath my feet.

I am afraid now.  And all alone.

Where are all the people who

Started this journey with me?

Where did they go and why did they leave?

I am desperately alone.

Barefooted, I feel the concrete crack,

Can feel the slight vibrations under foot;

They are coming faster and faster now--

Intent on consuming me.

I must breathe faster, run faster, 

Though my feet are bleeding now,

Surely, I can wrap them later

When this sidewalk ends.

I'm not sure there is an end.

The sidewalk is more than cracked now,

It's breaking into chunks and I scuff

My toes and feet bottoms on edges

Of broken concrete which cut my feet.

I am in pain, feet throbbing, bleeding,

Wondering if I will make it another yard.

There is no one to help me, 

No one to walk with me, carry me.

I cannot take another step.

Though I know what is coming,

I slow because the adrenaline is gone;

The final step is coming, I know it;

And I will be consumed.

I take a sidelong glance, 

Hoping that someone, anyone,

Will see me and reach out to me,

To help me.  But all is silent.

And I am consumed.

Former Fashionista

That's me, there, once a glamour girl,

Now in my ill-fitting slacks, thread-bare tank

Brassy blonde hair & roots to boot.

(Who can afford a stylist anymore?)

She's got a smile on her face--

But anyone close enough can see

How tightly she's got it stretched--

She'll need thearapy after this act.

Love those high heeled shoes--

Three years ago, they were fine,

And still, from a distance, one can't see

The places where the Sharpie

Has attempted to make the worn places

Look new again with a cheap trick of the eye.

Bless her, there are moments when

She still resembles the Fashionista she was.

One eye closed and squint with the other,

And maybe focus just from the neck up, 

Yes, you can nearly see the she 

She used to be:  This former glamour girl.

Sometimes, you will catch her

Still walking like one, talking like one,

Using make-up tricks and actually

Looking like one, every now and then.

On nights like this one, she reflects,

Perhaps foolishly, on who she used to be

And who she appears to be now.

(A woman who sees herself in third person.)

How long can she bear to look at this,

How long can she endure this broken down

State of affairs that it has all turned out to be?

If only I knew how to ask her candidly.

Last Hope

Hanging onto a last hope,

My thoughts are crowded tonight;

I can see the shadows

Framing in my current reality:

But I know I will make it through.

Overwhelming evidence

Tells me the ship is sinking;

(Or am I being hypersensitive?)

I can add and subtract--

Something's got to give.

Can I afford to ignore this,

With a one-day-at-a-time mentality?

(Will this get better in time?)

I must make it through;

There is no other option.

I close my eyes and summon faith,

From the depths of my soul: 

It must approach subtley,

For I cannot hear it now--

Is it on its way, then?

I choose to exhale now,

Realizing I've been holding my breath

(In every way a person can)

Counting one to ten, again and again.

I must survive this storn.

Letter to My Momma

Dear Momma,

How I wish I could pray the prayer that obliterates this awful toxicity from your body.  How I wish I could touch your body and summon forth the infection that plagues it.  If I could, I would turn this wish to a reality and pray that prayer and call forth the evil thing from your precious body and cast it into everlasting Nothingness, where it would never bother you--or anyone else--again. 

Never.

I see flickers of your pain, the fear you are holding back (I nearly see the reins that you've fastened to it), when I catch you lost in your thoughts. I can only imagine what lies behind that which is reined; thankfully, you've caged that.  For now.

When you speak, you sound as strong as ever, as resolute as ever.  You will not let anyone see you struggle with doubt and fear and shock and...pain.

Sometimes I think I can hear the little girl whimpering within you.  She's there, I know.  Perhaps it is she that is in chains, held back behind the fear.  

You speak with anointing and authority when you say, "I am not afraid.  I'm not.  I am not afraid."  But I know that you speak this in faith.  You know what the Scripture saith:  that our words bring Life or Death.  You will not summon the darkness.  Nor will I.

I know you feel very alone.  I know you feel as if you don't have a friend.  You've never said as much, but deep within me, I know it's true, this is how you feel.  You are friend to all but cannot afford the luxury of having a friend yourself.

"Oh, yes," I can imagine you saying, "I have friends.  Think of So-and-so, and You-know-who..."

Yes, Momma.  On some level, you have many dear friends.  But I know you have never let any of them in--not fully.  I know you can't afford to.

You have to be strong for everyone else.  And you have been.  Miraculously so.  You serve with a God-given passion and strength that only He could give.  I know and believe with all of my heart that you are a true Servant of The Lord.

I know that I'm not the only one who would fight the enemy with a fly-swatter (if that's all I had) for your sake.  You have many loved ones who would fight on your behalf, too, and love you with all of their hearts.  And they do, Momma.  With all of their hearts.

You are a blessing to all who know you, a living example and student of God's Word, an incredible mother and sister and daughter, aunt and friend, missionary and minister.  You are a inspiration to us all, Momma, please know that.  And there are a dozen people who would fight to the death for your life.  I know it.

But I also know something even more important.  I know in Whom we have believed and I am persuaded that He is able to keep that which we've committed unto Him against that day.

And as Poppa said so startingly and eloquently yesterday, "This is 'that day.'"

Momma, I want you to know that you're not alone.  You. Are. Not. Alone.  And I'm not even talking about all of us here.  I'm talking about Him.  

Our Lord and God Almighty knows precisely who and where you are.  He knows what's going on and I KNOW that God is ABLE.  I TRUST HIM in all things.  He will do what is right.  He has you in the palm of His hand. And when HE fights the enemy, it's not with a measly fly-swatter, it's with His Word and heavenly armies that are most capable.  

Though I would love to say I'd fight it all off for you, I know I am merely human.  HE, however, is more than able. He spoke this world into motion, moved upon the waters, breathed His life into a man, and committed himself to us because He loves us. 

He loves you, Momma.  And HE WILL SEE YOU THROUGH all of this.  

All of it. 

Amen.

These are those

These are those who stand

Tall as trees for all the others:

Sturdy towers of strength

Capable legs for the weary

Supernatural faith for the fears

Of all those they encounter.

And yet to whom do they turn

When they are in need?

A friend or a confidant?

These are those who stabilize 

Foundations and become corrective splints

For the rest--No time for self.

To whom do they turn

When they are worn and weary?

They cannot afford a friend,

It seems, when they must be 

Friend to all, Ear to all, All to all,

Resilient, Fearless, Stoic even?

Thanks be to The Lord 

Who is closer than any friend,

For these are those who must

Stand and walk and run alone.

Yes, these are those who cannot

Indulge--Too many rely on them.

The Girl Who Thinks Too Much (But Not Enough)

Who has time, really?

To think?  To dream?  To eat?

To dance?  

Who has time to dance?

What is there to think about?

Or what is there to say

That has never been said 

Before?  Anything worthwhile?

Where have all the dreamers 

Gone?  Their eyes are pried

Open and no one sleeps--

Is there anyone who has dreamed?

When is it time to eat, to feast,

To gather together and give thanks

For what we have

(And what we don't...)?

Why is anyone inspired to dance?

Is there music playing anymore?

Can anyone keep a beat,

If not, can they be taught?

How is it that anyone survives,

Without the very things that 

Bring us immense joy, peace, love?

These days, they're all but forgotten.

Sometimes We Think

Sometimes we think we are so far away

From the Danger Zone that we build

Our castles in our corner of the playground

Hang out our laundry and hire attendants.

We cut a path and park our cars, 

Plant daffodils and put up mailboxes.

Sometimes we think we need to mark

Our newly-found territories, accomplishments, 

And build sturdy fences to prevent

Unwelcome visitors from trampling the grass.

(We make a sign to denote as much--surely

Even the most daft of neighbors would understand.)

Sometimes we think it's all ours,

And we work ourselves half to death

Trying to fill our castles with things we deem

Necessary in order to have a life worth living.

"Mine, all mine!" we think, exclaim, shout,

Failing to convince ourselves of permanence. 

Sometimes we think we are the center of the universe;

We are unaware that storms are brewing

On the other side of the State Line, within earshot.

We make our choices not to hear, not to take action,

Not to be too concerned--after all, what has it to do

With our castle? Surely they can tend to their own.

Sometimes we think we'll live to be a hundred,

And maybe we would if it weren't for the million

Things that can and do go wrong in human life.

Even without outside factors, we've only got a few years,

At best, we live in our castles for ten decades.

At worst, we never live to see ten decades, or even two.

Sometimes we think it all lasts forever--

But not on this planet.  At some point, things change,

Our courses are impacted.  Some changes?

Predictable.  Others, not so.  Neither is better.

The end is the end.  Abrupt. No matter when or how.

Dying breath is dying breath, natural or nuclear.