A Different Kind Of Speaking

The birds sing with joy
The wildflowers lay still and wait
The lake shimmers below
Awake to rise with the sun.

Alone I sit, awake and waiting
Alive and calm, I ponder the dawn
In quiet majesty You reign
In heaven over earth
You formed the world and all in it
You are the Maker, the Lord.

None has excuse 
Glory is ‘round us all
From the peaks to the pulpits
You reveal; we revere.

Come, O my soul, behold the Maker!
Day by day He shows His power
With brilliant light, cast abroad
I see the handiwork of God

Come, O my soul, I want not to forget
Every day I wake, Glory goes before
He summons the universe to worship
He calls the world to gladness
Sit, be quiet, behold the work of God.

A summer’s day off
and running
but I am sitting 
under the terrace,
under nothing else at all.

Sometimes I want to escape
to a beach town
where no one knows me.
A terrible career move,
and what about my friends
or family?
I want to sit in the sun,
go out to eat
or eat in
with no problems
and only the morning fog
to disappoint me.

Find me fishing
On the river of God
Waiting
I can see the life underneath
Expecting a catch
My fly is out
I know I’ll catch something soon.

It was a warm, sunny day when she passed
A warm wind was blowing
Surprising this time of year.

The light beamed through the window
It was bright inside
A day almost born to be happy.

It was a normal day 
I worked and ate lunch 
And celebrated a retirement.

The cars drove by our place
Like normal
Scurrying home as the sun set.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky
Someone flipped me off driving home
Typical.

The scales of the season were broken
The sun couldn’t contain my sadness
On a gentle beach
Swept away by a tsunami.

The world didn’t stop spinning
My world was out of orbit
The sunshine hit my skin
I couldn’t feel it
I couldn’t believe that
It was a warm, sunny day 
When she passed from this life
To the next.

To pull a cork is a journey commencing
To discover a story from vintage passed
An author has written words worth sensing
And placed them in a bottle of glass.

Like the rest of us, but with much closer connection
The wine ages on in cellar, cold
It deepens, widens, brightens in complexion
Maturing, reflecting, growing old.

And every one’s different! If still born the same year
And comes from very place and maker
Yet condition of keeping and shakings may rear
Diverse flavors from the same acre.

History, family, meaning within
Resonance with a time and season
Many have blossomed a mem’ry, a grin
When a sip transfigures reason.

It’s rare—I admit—when knowledge like this
So sweetly, intern’lly is downed
I think we all long for this earthly bliss
To drink the truth of the ground. 

Go down to those deep dark places
Down to the ballast of your soul
Escaping any good graces
Which could make you feel holy or whole
Sink deeper I ask 
Then deeper still
Go further 
Further still if you dare
You must believe it can
No—it will—
His Light can even reach there.

Go across and down 
To the bad part of town
Where homes are falling apart
Go deeper 
Walk wrong-er
‘Til you’re not safe any longer
And ‘til worry grips your heart
Keep going 
Until your own ears hear
Kids fussing
Lampposts buzzing
And chain-linked fences appear
In places forgotten
Without even a prayer
His Light can reach even there.

Now go down again
Down deep in your mind
Think of the darkest and worst 
Person you can find
The worst of all
The worst of all time
Whose soul is covered in sin-ister grime
Now they
Yes they!
Are furthest from Him
Their future is hell bound
Grimmest of grim
Are they the worst of people you know?
And most unlovely, as far as people go?
This thought might shock you
And give you a scare:
His Light can reach even there.

We believe it deep down
It needs deep’ning yet
Us religious folk especially
Seem to forget
That He came down—
Yes, deeper than that
He walked in the darkness
With sinners He sat
Ate with the worst of them
Drank with them too
Our very own darkness
He shone right through
—This great truth to herald
This hope now to share:

He reaches straight down







Straight to the bottom.

His Light can even reach there.

I don’t want to go to church today
I don’t want to sing or stand or pray
I wonder if anyone else feels this way
But I don’t want to go to church today.

I hope my whole day falls through
To stay at home doing what I want to do
I give enough already, too
So I hope my whole day falls through.

I’ve got enough already on my plate
And, you know, she always shows up late
I’m tired of always walking straight
‘Cause I’ve got enough on my plate.

But then the Spirit made me recall
The reason why I do it at all—
Church is more than a building, tall—
The Spirit made me recall

That church is not made for me
It’s made for Him, and tragically
I slip into this selfish mood
Forgetting wherefrom comes my Food
And He convicts me, sweet and good,
That church is not made for me.

I still don’t want to go to church today.
But I have learned that that’s okay
I’ll show up and praise Him when skies are grey
He’ll give me the strength to sing and pray
Plus, the pastor has good Words to say
To steer me clear whenever I stray
There’s blessing when God’s people stay
In His house to worship each Sunday.

That feeling, at times, does make me sway:
“I don’t want to go to church today.”
And I have learned that that’s okay—
I go anyway.

I’m after a time not read on the clock
Nor measured or noticed at all
It’s leisurely, loiter-ly, a stroll or a walk
Or as slow as an ant is small.

This time surrounds us at dinner
It warms like a laugh heard doors down
It centers you, humbles you, nabs you a sinner
And adorns every mem’ry with a crown.

I’m after a time for which there’s no pay
Where only good settles at the end of each day
The place you can go to for hours when old
Where the glimmer of childhood shines brighter than gold.

That’s the kind of time I’m after
I feel it, it seems, once it’s past—
Like Christmas or buckling laughter—
The thoughts which in life seem to last.

But isn’t that the beauty of ev’ry thought?
On occasion you look back and say
With friends of old—in joy you’re caught
“Ha! I remember that day!
She was there—And so was I!”
Sweet and soothing as a lullaby
And then that thought swoops down to fly
And shoots straight up into the sky—
The sun casts down its ray on me
And the thought blooms into memory.

Sweetness fills your soul and hence
Those old minutes turn to moments.