When we began I moved in driven to never pick up dirty underwear or dirty dishes and I learned something 

He's worth picking up after sometimes. 

He works so hard for our life that God is showing me it's okay to cook amazing meals for him and fold his tshirts so he can find them. 

He is so worth it. 

Dear...
I watch you from afar,  the quiet retreating
the bend to be social,
yet you avoid my eyes and turn your face away when you talk to me and yet
you casual side hug and tilt your head
I have seen you from when you first started this journey, a boy following the men
v-neck tshirts and madcap coffee
you held your head high
a position that hid how you really felt
you come from and through
pride, you stumbled into a friends words that pierced and felt your wings move
you stood, hands shaking in front of a crowd and shared your addiction and you got low
I applaud.
you stand tall, still
stand among us
stand in front of us
stand behind us
though, there are a few who know what it means when you stand the way you stand
I only judge and skepticize, I barely know the tone of your voice and yet I recognize your insides
you do not always feel the tall and strong that you wear
I have been where you are
alone, you are one of the few left
isolated, you stand for so many and yet the shadow next to you is undisturbed
afraid,
of commitment?
I fear I knew years ago that you'd be where you are now
you sat on that couch and I had words with your silence and you took the steps I thought you would and we never talked about it again
I shake my head at you yet I know the journey and wish I could scream loud enough for you to understand ahead of time so that the breaking won't hurt so bad and even if it does
still I know that God has a good plan for your life, for her
her with you
the her that will come after you have been broken.
the her that will work for you because she loves God and loves you not because she is so special that only she can unlock you. you will just learn how to decide on her. and she will be well for you.
there is sadness in your eyes at times
breaking does this, this I know
even this can only be taught by our Teacher who knows the strings of our insides
and just what tune to put in us and how to break us kindly

Ode to my beloved Westside.

Overpass

Rain

Overpass

Rain

Carpenter on the corner of lane and 2nd without work

Eyes bloodshot

We give him hope, he never calls

Brooke nurtures her children behind the hedge 

Waves

"Hey I like your boots"

I thank him, my eyes rolling in my mind at his swag his flattery his shaky hand because I know

"Hey can I ask you a question?"

Is coming next. It does. 

I hurry to the Secretary of State the stale building on fultons corner

And watch him stumble off with alcohol feet

Two months ago a firebomb broke into a glass window on 6th street

Shattering safety

Some gang member intent on destruction

The ten people who lived inside have evacuated and now remain somewhere, traumatized. The abandoned home boarded up, smells like smoke. 

I can almost see the house from my front door. 

I hear an engine fumble slowly by straining for movement and watch his lips part

His tongue is pink

I hear a dog whine 

Whine, 

Whine 

He looks me up and down behind his sunglasses I can tell by the smile the slowed gas pedal

I feel i have naked legs yet no skin shows 

Plant pees slowly onto the concrete as I scurry inside 

The dog whines and with it whittles the westside neighborhood a song 

They find a native american indian 

joe black

His body on the train tracks Wednesday mornin

Questions are asked why was he there passed out? Asleep? How could you not hear the roar in the afternoon or hear the train engineer struggle with the breaks to stop it rolling 

The homeless mourn and drink and remember his long black ponytail and corny humor 

Chelsea tells me he always used to say when asked "how ya doin?" "Oh just hangin out like a wet booger." 

The city places a bright orange sticker too securely on the spray painted neon green Herst parked across the street from our home. Two woman live there, the one putters around in the garden and parks obnoxious vehicles along our street. A manican stands tall under fluorescent lights against the wall through their window, I can see it from my porch

A white dog whines and whittles the neighborhood a song

My plant pees.

"Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever." Daniel 12 

I pondered this verse. How do I lead people to righteousness? 

The answer came quickly. 

"There is no one who is righteous on earth." 

And I realize, again, how very quickly my

Mind diverts to works to gain righteousness 

The best way for me to lead others to righteousness is to proclaim that we will never be righteous. Ever. Jesus is righteous for us, took our sin from us, burried it with him, rose again in perfection so that we can be called perfect as our Father in heaven is Perfect. 

Once again. 

The gospel. 

I cling to. 

If you want more nutrition from your veggies when you cook them, cook them in larger chunks. The end.

Doubt
Is what I find in her face as she fumbles with the shoulders of her jacket

Last week, there were germs, germs, germs in her hair and could I get them out could I fix it

Lifting her fragile arthritic fingers to her bang she said so dry so dry something's not right she's confused I must be the wrong person are the germs gone

Beverly. Red haired Beverly who used to "i thank you I thank you!" So pleasantly left for Florida and the dementia the medicine the combination of both have disturbed her into more confusion wandering around the retail room unsure of how to find the word goodbye in the file of her brain and instead just said "yes yes" with the worry on her face

Beverly who used to explain how curly she had to have her hair because its just not curly like her sisters hair this Beverly who now for split seconds knows exactly what she wants and forgets in the middle of her sentence explaining it

The lines on her face are turning into worry and mistrust because the dementia is taking over like cancer in her mind and it is showing in her tiny blue eyes.

I rub her head and slowly work out the dry from her ends with string conditioners and tell her yes I've got the germs out all of them and everything's going to be fine, just fine

I curl her hair under tightly and cover that spot I know she doesn't like to show off in her bang and I use strong hairspray the one with the purple cap so that next week it will still look somewhat put in place still even after 6 nights of sleep

She does not thank me and she barely smiles now but I know the other Beverly who used to exclaim "oh my husband must come see you!!oh thank you thank you!" Over and over she'd say the same thing whether it be from the stroke or the dementia, I'm not sure but she was a sweet, sweet woman. I know she still is.

I respect her. A teacher once. A mother. A wife still. I know her husband likes bacon and that he takes her for breakfast before her appointments and that he tells her whatever you want honey get whatever you want done. and i know that he is a good good man. She used to always tell me that. We don't talk about that anymore. Just the germs and I must remember the hearing aids at the shampoo bowl and to not hold the curling iron on her ends to long bc they've been destroyed from perms.

I know that someday it might be me. And I believe the way you treat others is the way you will be treated. You do reap what you sow.

And who knows? She may be an angel in disguise and I am just not aware.

"Do unto others as you would have them do to you."

I'm learning to hear Gods voice.

I used to think I knew it, I think it was more I assumed that I knew what he would say to me. It was usually heartless, challenging, promoting movement, and I usually felt fear. People would tell me this was not Gods character. But I was doing my best based on what I knew of God.

It was scary, as I've said before, to decide to change my view of God. Or to believe as I stood there in church that it was his voice that said "you are my child. And you are forgiven of all your sin."

I decided to believe that that is what his voice sounded like. It was not me saying this to myself. And since then it has been such a journey of learning Him. And oh, he is kind. And oh, he is good.

I saw the same fear in a friends face recently. "How could he send someone to hell if he's good?!" These are good questions, they are. "Why do good people die and bad things happen?" These are good questions they are. And doubt gives you a good education.

I've questioned God like this. But if I had not first heard his kind voice... Or felt him at times in the room smiling at me or seen him standing in the doorway admiring his kids, or watched Him glad over and proud of His children's names or really believed that his love was enough that he paid for all my sin with his sons death... I would not have believed that this God cries with me when there is death... But oh how he loves the death of his saints!! And hell? He wishes no man to perish... When I see my god through this lens then I can have faith in him and rest in his gentle arms and see him there on the throne, His first words to John as he falls before Him, "fear not."

Oh my God is good. He is love. And how I love Him so.

Holly. You will be missed. Thank you for your testimony, you sweet, sweet lady.

http://player.vimeo.com/video/51296282?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0&color=ffffff

Every good and perfect gift is from God.... All is grace.

I am so blessed beyond belief and so protected by The Lord and I receive so much for which I do not deserve.

I hear her strained words and I remember

I remember being Without a DAddy. Just serving a God who was angry and condemning.

Each movement strained, her beautiful face so deliberate and set. Each word thought through and set. Servant, yes. Daughter. Lover. Little one, child? No.

it is at times fearful to let go of my first view of God. To rest in him as if he is such, abba, Father, daddy, Papa.. But he ASKS us, commands us even to be come as children and refers to his face as Father

I have learned the words "abba, daddy" in the last few years and they have saved me. To need, to search, to weep, to be dependent and unable on my own. These words and knowing their meaning, they've saved me.

He can be strong when we are so weak. How he loves his children.

I depend on his words
Nothing can separate me from his love
He's removed my sin from me
As far as the east is from the west
His mercies are new every morning
He forgives all my sin
His love is everlasting

I at one time challenged his promise. His gospel. I set aside all the rules I had created for myself to be a good Christian and I let myself be a child. I asked God to show me that he still loved me even if I had let go of all duty and simply clung to his promise and His son.

I learned that to read the word and to pray, to fast, it is secondary to receiving the love of Abba freely.

And then I was free to pursue my DAddy Abba without it being with intention to win his love

And

That changed me.

My faith may be at times weak. But with faith comes doubt. Why would I pray if I did not in some way believe?

Pray

Please pray for the bone of a man that is my brother
When he bends over his frame sticks out where hip bones are and he counts the .4 on the scale and the buckling of his belt is tighter than its ever been

Something about it, he enjoys
Control?

It's been two years now that fasting became his religion and so slowly the devil tricked him that disorder was a way he could serve God

Evangelism, fasting, prayer, journaling oh how vast is its goodness but like anything it must be done right or healthily

He stays out late to bring people to The Lord and loses his own sleep
Measures his food

And then he began to shake on the ground
the dentists unaware of how to care for this man
and hes now became a regular in the hospital bed at times waking up on the ground unsure of how he got there

Pray because now his liver and kidneys are starting to collapse
Tired from the abuse he's put on his body
Next they say
Next it will be the heart

gospel ranting

when I saw the waterfall
I began to understand

the fresh colors of green clasping their hands tightly to the side of the cliff and the waters, oh the cold waters that bit at our ankles, our knees and then buried us, licking our hair pushing it up as we plunged into the waters, screaming, laughing, cliff jumping

it took my breath away, and I began to understand
why people turn to buddha allah
on their knees toward Mecca
they must attribute this beauty to someone something

they call it sacred instead of bounding into the waters in pleasure and laughter

on the way home from Hawaii I sat next to the Nigerian man who emptied our conversation because it was time for him to pray to Mecca - and I could hear him breathing his dedication to his allah
and I mourned for two reasons
because I wanted to love my God better
and because he was sewn to a god that did not hear him

I remember standing in Mali, across from the temple,
the dark walls sending shivers up my spine as the loud speakers chanted and the very small bone of a man knelt, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep or some failure he could not forgive himself for, or malnutrition
his black clothes spread out at his feet like a dress, feet tucked under him, no joy
bowing
bowing
bowing toward a city
to a god  who did not hear him
all the while, my God the one who "wishes no one to perish" stands by, sad
I in my shoes
sad
afraid
without a french tongue to share the truth
paralyzed, the picture will always remain in my head

we all worship someone, something

and the waterfall
even I, it took my breathe away and I looked up
and worshipped My God.

My God the only God who as David promised, "is for me."

My God the only God who loved me so much that he let his son hold onto

inhale

burry

all of my flaws, my burdens, my sins

so that when God looked at me I would be clean

the God who as  I worship calls me "perfect one" (not because of anything I have done)

CAN YOUR GOD DO THAT FOR YOU

WHY is the name of Jesus so offensive when all he is is a Savior

one willing to bear all of my sins? make me clean? OH my SAVIOR

[i love you.]

How did I not get this before? was it because it was too good to be true?

It is my life.

It is my only hope.

and though it is hard to believe, I place my everything in it

because each day I find myself living for me

cussing under my breath, idle words

gossiping without holding my tongue

thinking negatively about someone

anxious

Oh, how I do not want to be this person

how can anyone say, "I am good. I'm a good person."

the waterfall took my breathe away.
I understood why the girl lay across the large boulder, the sun god she believed was soaking her
her legs shucked across the sides bathing in the glory of the water cascading down down thousands of feet

there were small rocks wrapped delicately in leaves
the green of the leaf parched from the sun
prayers that someone placed there in hopes that this sacred place would hold them
and hear them
and answer them
what happens when they go unmet? do they curse the waterfall?
or even more dangerous, what if their rocks wrapped in leaves are heard? they return, believing in the sacred place, the waterfall.

there was stillness when we arrived
the girl that followed us down the mountain toward Wypeo Valley talked about this place being sacred
she never took off her sunglasses
I never saw her eyes
each word she gave us was tight and strong
as if she had to create strength in her beliefs without vulnerability
there was no softness in her sacred beliefs
no kindness that leads to repentance

I must say that Buddha, he cannot do anything for you
I say this because I know you, your confusion, your hope
I hear his name more and more everyday
PLEASE see this.
buddha, I will spell without capitalization because he is not a god
there is one God

and he is full of love
full of kindness
lovers of our soul
love so large, so wide, so long
that he pulled out sin from us and separated it from us as far as the east is from the west
our sin is that far from us
this God created these waterfalls
these places for us to romp around in
to acknowledge him
He watches from the doorway like a proud father
glad that we enjoy this beauty he called into exhistance so that we could SEE him

there is a God
he is GOOD
he is LOVE
he can be yours if you choose to lay all of your sins on his son
who took them, buried them
and rose again

so that we can all have new life.

[ode to white lake, Whitehall]

if rust had a smell I would say it is this place
mix matched furniture, lounge chairs huddled around a chimney
the arms, used and faded
telling
to the many who have sat in them (their photo rests above the mantle)

even the water smells of rust and antique dust

every year, we try
to fit my paint tubs and brushes and bags
her sewing machines and guitars inside
a tiny orange car
or Loretta
and we find 31 and take it here

over the bridge past the weathervane that stands like a chimney beside the trees
up the hill past the small rusty cottages
a few with for sale signs
empty roads

to this yellow, quiet, mansion
that is as small as my home back home

this place emulates rest for me
it is rich with rest

mix-matched artwork adorning the walls, someone had a fetish for making sure they were covered well

our feet brush the floors of antique shops
and we scatter our eyes over all of the shiny, old things, mesmerized
and I buy yet another ring that means things
(for some reason it is only here that I find ones that feel like myself)
we buy rice, things for black beans, ice cream in the montague grocery store

a rusty quiet place with plants with velvet leaves

this place emulates rest for me
it is rich with rest

His eyes sincere and yet the forecast across them questioning and afraid the word like and yeah yeah leaving your lips periodically clothes stained with beautiful artwork done with bleach fabric paint handmade stencils

I know you believe
Even if he knows you do not
I hear the gentle in your voice box and the hope you hold stronger than the rest of us tidy people with lives in shape

Those with chaos must hold tighter to Jesus
This is why God lets us tidy folk be brought low
So that our hands have to cling and we see the weak parts of our knees
This I believe

Your hands claw at Jesus with need

It makes me glad

Though the weather of your eyes
Unsure of the world around you

You told me today
There is always more to learn about our God

And you
You are willing to leave a woman you love to be with someone who believes in your Jesus

April 17: In Memory of Mary Tornga.

1. the voice was melancholy over the phone today
it isn't that we don't want to crawl into the plane and take our bodies to hawaii
but we leave a grieving uncle
who cant eat cant sleep
holds the toilet beneath his chin upchucking food he cannot keep down
and the beautiful baker, is stiff, eyes red and cold

2.
kayakers found your body under the current of the grand river
before the flood
bloated and unrecognizable

hard to believe a few weeks ago, easter
your daughter and I discussed gluten free brownies as
she sipped a bloody mary across from you
your husband
[now with red eyes enters the stale room identifying your body
bloated against the pink shirt he got you last friday]
he teased you on easter about your addiction for ordering appetizers

your eyes, sharks
protecting
piercing but sparkling as you sipped your drink

3. recently
you undated your facebook
a picture of you both, he with a kissing face

4. Sunday
you went missing
and how he misses you

the dogs, noses to the ground after sniffing your room, clothes, shoes
trying for hours to seek you out
as did the helicopter running his fan like a furious helmet overhead

the grand river though,
it had a mouth that night
I never knew it to have a mouth
not until now
til it took your legs, your feet in and held on with its teeth
the branches the current
whatever it was that trapped you there

we hoped for a day she was wrong
that it was not your shoe they had found
that you'd call
your husband love-sick with anxiety
puking with worry
afraid his last words to you were going to be the angry ones
that drove you from the vehicle that night

the last night

5.
5 am
their backs long across their pilates balls
stretching they talked as if they knew you
their voices proud and informative
as if they had something to do with the search
the find
your life

I wanted to yell at them and tell them they know nothing
the room dimlit I could not see their expressions

they dont even know you and can barely remember your full name
or that Uncle Greg deeply adored you or that
your nephews shoulders are heavy with grief that is hard for him to express with tears

I told them you were my Aunt, because you are now
to shut them up
to make them see that your story is more than a bad decision you made at one am
to caution their words

when I got married you threw me a shower with denise and the beautiful baker, maria your daughter
there were towers of delicate cupcakes and you were so humble about it that I didnt know until later that you had thrown part of it while I ate egg-pie and sweated through my turquoise shirt as the middle-aged women fussed over me
you were the most comfortable person to be around

6. On easter, I remember
you were just far enough away that I did not run to hug you but instead waved across the lot
know that I wanted to as max opened my door that day and talked about your successful job
i told max that I liked you

7. the barber scoffed at your husband unaware
that his grieving soul was in the mint colored waiting room, listening.

8. they said you looked good that day, laying in your coffin
the water had kept your body cool
enough to make you recognizable the day the put you in the ground

Uncle Greg, I heard kissed you over and over as you lay still in your box

we will not forget you,  my new Aunt Mary.