Obligatory Spring Poem

Spring
    (or, Unlike March, April Presumes No Affectations)

Birdsong heralds dawn;
Tiny, soft green shoots sprout in
Fields of dry brown grass.

Geese in Evening

Ugly birds on ground;
In air, gold shines on bellies;
Suddenly lovely.

Fragility

Humans have limits—

I guess that means me—

I must face mortality.

From My Emptiness

Solitude, silence;

Breath and rest for the soul. Come,

Great God; make me whole.

Static

       The muse has muted

the writer so the writer

has nothing to say.

family game nights

This haiku is a joke, my response to a challenge from my sister.  The story it tells, on the other hand, is more or less true.

The card game golf is

just great. I won by forty.

Strategy is mine.

Or, perhaps, if you'd like a little more context, here's the alternate version:

The card game golf is

just great. I won by forty.

Happy Father's Day!

Belated, I know, but it happens.

On other news, take advantage of that extra sunlight and enjoy the Summer Solstice!

Haiku, oddly enough, and mercy

I say "oddly enough" because I don't really write haikus. I've probably written one once before in my life when I learned about the form in school.  But the other night I had a poem in my head, and this is how it came out:

After time and rain

had defiled pure, clean white,

You sent us fresh snow.

At the time, I wrote it merely because that was precisely what was happening, and the image was in my head. A lot of poems start that way.

However, it dawned on me just now that perhaps this simple picture of new snow after the old stuff had all but melted away, and what was left muddy, trampled and altogether nasty, that He does the same in us. In me.  Of course, as a comparison this little sketch falls short on a multitude of levels, but truly He makes His mercies new in us "every morning" after we've soiled ourselves once more with the impurities and imperfections of sin.

I find this reassuring, especially as the past few days I've struggled with feeling acutely these same impurities and imperfections in myself in relation to God, and feeling like I must be so small in His sight. It is a battle: I yearn and thirst for Him, but see my own selfish unworthiness. And while I think it's good to recognize my sin and seek God's forgiveness, there's a point at which I can't let it get in the way anymore. Perhaps the enemy tries to use this healthy sense of sin to say, "See how dirty you are? He's so holy and pure--He can't possibly be near to you right now. You say you only think about yourself? Why, that isn't godly at all--God must be so distant from you!" Maybe.  At any rate, this heaviness has fueled my desperation to be filled by my Lord, and draw nearer to Him.  But until now, I haven't felt complete resolution.  Oh, I know God looks and sees Jesus' purity when He looks at me, because that is the basis of my faith.  But the past few days, it was something I only knew in my head.  I had forgotten it in my heart.

I am reminded of a song my dad used to sing to me at bedtime.  Here tonight I find my resolution, and the reminder of God's infinite love. The lyrics come directly from Lamentations 3.22-23:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning,

new every morning;

great is your faithfulness, O Lord,

great is your faithfulness.