It’s not my calling
To cry repentance
To command crowds
To submit to my will
It’s not my mission
To scoff
To scorn
To declare others’ worth
It’s not my errand
To prophesy
To condemn
To sift the wheat from the tares
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Nighttime Protest
My bed and Ihave a nightly ritual,an ongoing debate,about life: Life is meantto be ponderedand lived,he says. All I want,I slap back,is sweet sleep. He, of course,is king,and my mind,unfortunatelysilently protests,unwillingto stand ground. Neither of usis contentto concedethe quarreluntil the weemorning hours.
It’s All Fun & Games
Treasure hunts, dance away,Obstacle courses, wild horse play.Balloon keep-up, hula hoop,Jump rope jumps, and scooter loops.Tag you’re it, hopscotch flips,Water balloons, hands on hips.”Jump high, bend low,” Because Simon says so.Nature walks, build forts high,Paddleboards under the sky.Volleyball,sandy beach,Snowball fights on unplowed streets.Skipping stones, kites in flight,Through the day to starry night.In this rhythm, we…
Yes, Even Them
Love. We are commanded to love. But who should we love? We ask. Even them He commands. Them. Those we whisper about behind closed doors. Those we cross streets to avoid. The addict. The liar. The one who betrayed trust. Yes, even them. The neighbor flying the flag you condemn. The stranger praying a different…
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