Peace

 

In 1867, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the lyrics to the carol, “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day,” after his son was injured in the Civil War and his wife died when her dress caught fire. Walking down the street on a cold winter’s day, Longfellow heard Christmas bells begin to play…and he penned this poem:

 

“I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

 

I thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

 

And in despair I bowed my head:

"There is no peace on earth," I said,

"For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men."

 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men."

 

Till, ringing singing, on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,

Of peace on earth, good will to men!”

 

I don’t know about you, but I get it when Longfellow writes,

“And in despair I bowed my head:

‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said,

‘For hate is strong and mocks the song,

Of peace on earth, good will to men."

 

And I get it when he writes,

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men."

 

I get the journey from joy to despair and back again.

I understand walking through heartache and grief,

Questioning everything I’ve known to be true,

But deciding, in the end, to rest upon peace.

 

Friends: Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of Love.

And even when life is difficult—

Political upheaval, wars raging, people dying, children suffering—

Love, God’s love, is there.

 

Amen.

Hope

 

I was standing on duty Wednesday morning

When one of my 2^nd graders showed me a treasure.

“Look,” she said, displaying a quarter with a playdoh frame.

“It says, ‘Hope.’”

And sure enough,

The quarter said hope.

 

Evidently,

The US Mint has been producing

A series of American Women Quarters

Since 2022.

In a society that increasingly carries plastic instead of cash and change,

Who knew?!

 

The idea was to feature notable women in US History.

According to Wikipedia,

“The women have made

contributions to the United States

in a wide spectrum of accomplishments and fields,

including but not limited to suffrage,

civil rights,

abolition,

government,

humanities,

science,

space,

and arts.

Most of the featured women have been from ethnic minority groups.

 

The Hope quarter recognizes Reverend Dr. Pauli Murray,

A poet, writer, activist, lawyer, Episcopal priest, and a staunch advocate for civil rights, fighting against racial and sex discrimination.

The word hope was chosen from a line in her poem “Dark Testament” that says

Hope is a song in a weary throat.
(I will put part of the larger poem at the end of this note.)

 

I ordered a Hope quarter to use as a sermon illustration yesterday morning.

I had the opportunity to preach at my dad’s church.

I spoke about hope.

 

I left the quarter at home.

But I still spoke about hope.

God’s hope.

And now I have a quarter by which to remember.

 

---

 

Dark Testament: Verse 8 by Pauli Murray

Hope is a crushed stalk
Between clenched fingers
Hope is a bird’s wing
Broken by a stone.
Hope is a word in a tuneless ditty —
A word whispered with the wind,
A dream of forty acres and a mule,
A cabin of one’s own and a moment to rest,
A name and place for one’s children
And children’s children at last . . .
Hope is a song in a weary throat.
Give me a song of hope
And a world where I can sing it.
Give me a song of faith
And a people to believe in it.
Give me a song of kindliness
And a country where I can live it.
Give me a song of hope and love
And a brown girl’s heart to hear it.

Free

Oh God—

I want to live free

Because I AM free indeed.

You have made me so, Jesus,

And you ARE MAKING me so—

Every day, every moment—

A release of the fears that bind.

You say do not worry about tomorrow—

You say live today for today.

You, who is the WORD,

Have spoken truth as are YOU ARE the truth.

Help me to live in that truth—

Always in your truth,

Not as fiercely independent and self-reliant,

But in community and relationship and service to others,

In you,

In Love.

Amen.

Blackout Poetry Anniversary

 

Yesterday was my three-year blackout poetry anniversary.

Since June 2, 2021,

Heidi the Librarian and I have each written over 1000 blackout poems,

Completing 20 books while working on our 21st,

Covering modern fiction, science fiction, adolescent fiction, autobiography, lovelorn classics, horror classics, political documents, and books compiled specifically for blackout poetry—including one made just for us!

 

Three years ago, Heidi was searching for inspirational quotes

When she came across the image of a blackout poem.

She immediately knew that she wanted to try it.

And that’s what started it all.

She had some copies of Anne of Green Gables that were in disrepair,

So we started with those.

She walked into my room that Wednesday,

And asked if I wanted to write a blackout poem with her.

She said, “We’ll each write a poem and then compare them.”

I remember thinking, “We’re probably going to come up with the same poem.

There aren’t that many options on the page.”

But, oh, how many options there are!

In all our years and writings,

We have only written one identical poem!

 

The words on the page become the word bank.

The experiences that we bring provide the lens through which we read the words.

We each slow down,

Sometimes for 30 minutes to an hour,

Read the text,

Focus on something beyond our immediate concerns,

Open ourselves to what I believe is the Spirit,

Listen for what message lies on the page,

And then transform what’s obvious into something new.

 

I don’t know how long we will continue with this discipline,

But I don’t plan to stop any time soon.

As dramatic as it sounds,

I feel like blackout poetry is making me a better person

By causing me to see things from different perspectives,

And reminding me that there is always more to a story,

Two people may read the exact same text and

Hear completely different messages.

Isn’t that how it is with scripture?

And shouldn’t we all be open to the Spirit’s leading?

 

I will close this anniversary celebration 

By sharing my June 2 poems.

 

May each of us find a discipline that is meaningful for our lives,

And then may we each engage it with purpose and intention,

Seeing where it leads.

 

Amen.

 

----

 

From Anne of Green Gables, June 2, 2021

 

His tongue,

abstracted,

unswervingly and unseeingly,

nervous,

uncomfortable,

odd,

unaccountable.

That was Matthew’s way.

Silence persistency.

I’ve had so much experience at that.

What’s to be done?

Matthew is a most ridiculous man.

I think he’s lovely.

Sympathetic.

I felt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as I ever saw him.

 

----

 

From Blackout Poetry Journal: June 2, 2022

 

Give

it

all

to

the Light.

 

----

 

From Blackout Poetry Journal (A Creative Writing Journal): June 2, 2023

 

The moment is near

But I am a coward,

And shame pursues me.

 

----

 

From Passover Haggadah: June 2, 2024

 

I am

A leader

From the middle.

The Journey of Writing

 When I was in the 8^th grade,

My Sunday School Teacher gave me a journal for graduation.

On the inside cover,

It said, “Congradulations.”

I used that journal to record middle and high school songs and poems,

And I’ve added many other journals to the collection since.

I used to write a lot of songs and poems.

I still have many of the rough drafts—

Scribbled on yellow legal paper, or napkins, or envelopes, or anything I could find to write upon.

These days, I write less by hand and more on the computer.

I also write less poetry and more prose.

I’ve never been a diary keeper or a fiction writer,

But I enjoy reflecting upon “life, work, and spirituality.”

I think my love for writing began during my junior year of high school,

When my English teacher, Mrs. Royal, encouraged me to write.

My senior English teacher, Mrs. Smith, continued the encouragement,

But then I got to college where my freshman English professor, Dr. Colby, dealt me a major blow:

My only B in my undergraduate studies.

I could not write a thesis statement to save me!

I spent many hours in Dr. Colby’s office,

Talking, crying, working, trying to become a better writer.

For a year after that class, I remember being hesitant to write.

I was afraid my writing wasn’t good enough.

I was afraid that I was going to fail.

Thankfully, life brought me out of that depression and I wrote more freely again.

When Live Journal was a thing, I posted dramatic posts of my life and work at the time.

When I was in Divinity School, one of my favorite classes was the Ministry of Writing, taught by Dr. Cartledge.

When Facebook became a thing, and I finally joined,

I wrote to give glimpses into the life of a full-time vocational minister (although I wasn’t called a minister at the time).

That was almost fourteen years ago.

I have written two notes per week almost every year since,

And I have watched my writing style change over time.

At Johnsonville, I held a weekly writing competition to get students writing.

I didn’t care about the quality of their writing as much as I cared they were writing!

At GW, I have taken it upon myself to become the point person for the Young Authors Writing Competition.

I have a vague memory of writing for the competition when I was with Mrs. Royal,

So when I became connected with it again,

I knew that I wanted to encourage my students write.

This year, GW had 16 State Writing Competition Winners!

Thanks to a handful of classroom teachers,

We had writers from every grade level, and almost every grade level was represented on the state level.

This is huge!

And I am so proud.

And I am so thankful that that middle school girl who dramatically wrote in her “Congradulations” journal didn’t stop writing…

And I hope that she never will.

 

Amen.  

Shame

 

My dad is old school. He still reads the newspaper cover to cover. Yesterday, he found an article that he wanted me to read: “The High Price of Money Shame.”

 

Someone who carries money shame is someone who feels that he/she is fundamentally flawed and unworthy because of his/her financial problems or successes. Persons can be ashamed of their debts, or they can be ashamed of their wealth. In a culture where money tends to be our worth, money shame is become increasingly more prevalent.

 

Shame moves beyond guilt. We feel guilt when we’ve DONE something bad or wrong. We feel shame when we believe that we ARE bad and wrong. Shame is a deep, dark feeling. Shame leads one to believe that he/she is unworthy of being loved and that he/she doesn’t deserve to be connected to others. Shame leads to isolation. Shame leads to feeling alone.

 

A few years ago, I realized that I struggle with shame. One night, in the middle of a dark night when I couldn’t sleep, I wrote a poem in response to this shame. I wrote in response to what I was feeling for myself and I wrote in response to what I was feeling for those around me. I was beginning to realize that shame was a damning force that many people were struggling against…and I’m realizing now that shame is still a damning force that people are struggling against. After all, it made the paper yesterday. After all, I saw it in black and white.

 

I’m going to close this note with that poem now. May these words speak to you or to someone you know in a very real way. You are loved, friend. For who you are. Rich. Poor. Black. White. Gay. Straight. Minister. Lay person. Teacher. Business person. Male. Female. Struggling. In a place of peace. Whoever, wherever you are. You are loved. Period.

 

-----

 

I think that we each just want to be loved for who we are.

Period.

Not the idea of who we could be.

Or the roles in which we function.

Or the services, gifts, and talents that we offer.

But who we are.

Good, bad, ugly.

I think we each need to know that
we are honored and adored not by virtue of
performance and perfection but by the triumph of waking
up each day, breathing, and giving life a try.
When we are uncertain of our value, though.

When we question and doubt the inherent beauty of existence.

When we feel used, or reduced to function and performance,

or we fear failure and disappointment.
When we're forced into a mold that was not
ours to live, paralyzed by discomfort, lost.

When our spirits are not nurtured and allowed the freedom to soar—

to explore the world and discover the depths of creation,

the places where we fit,

the points at which we flourish—

we slowly begin to die:
our bodies exhausted, our hearts wounded, our minds numb,
our spirits suffocated and…

Then what?

I suppose we pick up the pieces and begin to live again.
I suppose we apologize for reducing people to ideas and roles and function,

for identifying individuals by what they do rather than who they are—

what they like, how they love, when they dream—

for not celebrating unique personality but honoring the status-quo.

I suppose we vow never to let anyone feel as if she is not loved for who she is. Period.
I suppose we fill the gaping hole called needy beast

with the unfathomable love of God, manifest both
in God's still small, unexplainable voice and the loud
voice of tangible community, and let that love transform
the very core of our being.

I suppose we allow ourselves to feel again,

to experience and release emotion, however raw and difficult,

however many tears it brings, and give it permission to

bridge the gap between knowledge and understanding.

We are all loved for who we are.

We are all created to be who we are.

But I think we each just need to be reminded of that fact

through words and deeds and actions and gifts and time—

that we each need to know that we are loved for who we are.

Period.

Over and over and over and over and over again.

Stillness

On Saturday, I lay in my hammock for the first time this year.

It was nice. But it was also weird

As soon as I leaned back and let the strong fabric hold me,

I was transported back a year,

To the beginning of the pandemic,

When the world stood still.

 

All of the feelings and sensations of that

Strange and uncertain time

Enveloped me,

And I could feel

The stillness that characterized those months

Like no other time in our lives.

 

I remembered those early months of online learning

And I marveled at how far we’ve come.

I remembered not knowing how to teach virtually

And I smiled at the knowledge that it’s now second nature.

 

I remembered the toilet paper crisis

And I visualized the empty shelves of the grocery store.

I remembered not knowing how the virus was transmitted

And I laughed at us wiping down our groceries in fear.

 

I remembered the discomfort of wearing a mask

And I thought about how mask-wearing is now normal.

I remembered longing for time with friends and family members

And I smiled at the beauty of family Zoom calls and Face-Timing with friends.

 

But most of all,

I remembered the stillness.

It’s a feeling I can’t describe.

It was a deep-down restfulness of the soul,

Knowing that the demands of the world had stopped

And that God was calling us just to be.

 

We’ve come a long way in a year.

The year has taken and given so much.

Yet as the world has opened back up,

And the busy-ness of life has ensued,

I have to wonder if the stillness that was forced upon us

Isn’t something that we should fight to preserve.

 

Yesterday, I wrote a simple little Sabbath Day poem that I will leave with you now.

Blessings upon blessings to you, my friend.

And may your soul find moments of peace today—

Even in the midst of the busy-ness.

 

Amen.

 

-----

 

This world is so fast,

Everything fast—

Fast food,

Fast cash,

Fast results,

Fast cars—

Sometimes it’s nice just to

Slow down and be—

In God’s love,

In prayer,

In silence,

In peace…

A Bear and A Creature With A Gaping Mouth

 

There’s a cut-back bush at the front of the school.

I see it every day when I’m on duty.

On the cut-back bush, there’s a bear. 

And a creature with a gaping mouth.

I don’t know where they came from.

The bear and the creature with a gaping mouth.

I don’t know why they’re there.

I just know they’re there.

Each on its own branch.

Alone.

Abandoned.

Possibly waiting for someone to claim them.

Possibly waiting for the moment when someone will see them and recognize their worth.

But what is their worth?

A bear and a creature with a gaping mouth.

 

There’s a cut-back heart walking the halls of the school.

I see it every day.

In the cut-back heart, there’s a boy.

Or a girl with a longing soul.

I don’t know exactly where they come from.

The boy and the girl with a longing soul.

I don’t know exactly why they’re here.

I just know they’re here.

Each in his/her own private hell.

Feeling alone.

Feeling abandoned.

Waiting for someone to claim them.

Waiting for the moment when someone will see them and recognize their worth.

But what is their worth?

A boy and a girl with a longing soul.

 

Everything.

Their worth is everything.

And it’s up to us

To see them

To claim them

And to give them home.

Bus Driver Appreciation Week

Nothing can make everyone happy.

I checked my Facebook Feed after last night’s Super Bowl Halftime Show and

Found myself scrolling between posts either loving or hating the performance.

One post would love it.

One post would hate it.

One post would love it.

One post would hate it.

You get the idea.

I didn’t watch it. I have no opinion.

All I know is that

Nothing can make everyone happy.

And yet…some things should.

 

This week is Bus Driver Appreciation Week.

Have you ever thought about how difficult it is—or would be—to be a school bus driver?

Bus drivers are the only adult with sometimes 72 children on a bus.

Drivers must face forward, which means their backs are turned away from said 72 children,

Yet they are responsible for keeping order and discipline on their buses,

All while maintaining their routes in a safe, expedited manner.

They are the first school representative that children see each day.

They can make or break a kid’s mood right for the day.

They are the last school representative that children see each day.

They can make or break a kid’s desire to want to return to the school on the morrow.

Bus drivers must leave incredibly early in the mornings and

They must drive late in the afternoons.

They must drive in perfect weather conditions and perilous weather conditions,

Sometimes without heat, sometimes without air,

And they must keep their own buses clean,

Oftentimes having to provide their own cleaning supplies.

 

To be highly appreciated for one week is a drop in the bucket for the work that our bus drivers do each day.

And so…this week should make everyone happy.

And yet…I would wager that there are some people who think that Bus Driver Appreciation is unnecessary—

That bus drivers shouldn’t need special recognition

And that they should simply be thankful to have work…

Yet I disagree.

I think that bus drivers DO deserve the special recognition.

This week and beyond.

 

And so…if you are a bus driver: THANK YOU.

And I stand by this thanksgiving…

Whether it makes people happy or not 😊.

Joy

Maybe it exists through everything. Maybe it’s there Like the air we breathe, Unseen, But very real, Life-giving and life-sustaining, Waiting for us to recognize it and Give thanks. Maybe we don’t have to look so hard to find it. Maybe it’s right in front of us, Like the next second on the clock, Unnoticed, But very real, Life-supporting and life-expecting, Waiting for us to recognize it and Give thanks. Maybe we simply need to receive it Because maybe it’s been our gift Since the dawn of creation. And maybe we need also to join it Because maybe it’s best seen When we embody it with skin. So maybe it exists through everything. And maybe we don’t have to look so hard to find it. Because maybe God is Love and Maybe Love is Joy and Maybe both are eternal- -Ly waiting for us to Recognize them, Receive them, Join them, and Give thanks.

And So I Wear The Earrings

A lot of my friends are carrying very heavy burdens right now. Sudden loss, Lingering grief, Anxious stress, Messy divorce, Unprecedented loneliness, Rapid change. In more cases than not, I don’t know what to do to help. In reality, There’s not much I CAN do to help. I cannot take away burdens, Nor is it my job. And so I listen when words start to flow, And I sit silently when they do not. I send thinking of you texts ever so often, And I offer prayers of light, love, and strength. And I wear the earrings that one of my friends gave me As a sign of solidarity. It doesn’t seem like much, But it’s what I can do. And it’s what you can do, too, friends. It’s one small thing at a time that changes a world…

There Was Jesus

I have this image in my mind: A mom and dad are fighting. The dad is using his fists as weapons and His words as swords; The mom is cowering in Fear; The children are behind the couch, Hiding. They are curled into balls, Hoping not to be seen— Afraid… When Jesus comes to Sit beside them, Hold them, and Comfort them in A storm of deep rage. Even there, Especially there, In the darkest of times, There was Jesus. I wish I understood why Jesus doesn’t stop the storms of deep rage all together. I wish I understood why evil is so often allowed to prosper. I wish I understood why darkness so often prevails. And yet I don’t. All I know is that somehow— In the midst of it all— There is Jesus. Always. Somehow. There is Jesus. ----- “There Was Jesus” by Zach Williams and Dolly Parton *listen to their version—it’s really awesome* Every time I try to make it on my own Every time I try to stand, I start to fall And all those lonely roads that I have traveled on There was Jesus When the life I built came crashing to the ground When the friends I had were nowhere to be found I couldn't see it then but I can see it now There was Jesus In the waiting, in the searching In the healing, in the hurting Like a blessing buried in the broken pieces Every minute, every moment Where I've been or where I'm going Even when I didn't know it Or couldn't see it There was Jesus For this man who needs amazing kind of grace For forgiveness and a price I couldn't pay I'm not perfect so I thank God every day There was Jesus There was Jesus In the waiting, in the searching In the healing, in the hurting Like a blessing buried in the broken pieces Every minute, every moment Where I've been or where I'm going Even when I didn't know it Or couldn't see it There was Jesus On the mountains In the valleys There was Jesus In the shadows Of the alleys There was Jesus In the fire, in the flood There was Jesus Always is and always was, oh No, I never walk alone Never walk alone You're always there In the waiting, in the searching In the healing, in the hurting Like a blessing buried in the broken pieces Every minute, every moment Where I've been or where I'm going Even when I didn't know it Or couldn't see it There was Jesus There was Jesus There was Jesus There was Jesus

At Water's Edge

It took me almost 43 years to realize that there is something special about sitting on the beach where the water meets the sand. I realized it fully last week, and I’m so grateful for the time that I had to sit and think and pray…at water’s edge.

i.
At the water’s edge
Feet in soft sand, gently cooling
Safely here at rest

ii.
At the water’s edge
Waves crashing, not consuming
Peace washes o’er me.

iii.
It was raining.
I walked down anyway.
I planted my chair in the sand
Alone.
I sat
At water’s edge.
I waited.
I waited some more.
And then the sun peaked through
Grey clouds
And bathed me in
Warm, orange light.
I smiled.
Even as the rain returned
I smiled.
And sat
Content
At water’s edge.

What is something that you’ve realized recently? What is an experience you are grateful to have had? Please share. I’d love to hear.

When A Storm Comes

Dear God:
When a storm comes,
Give us the wisdom
To know if we should
Run away from it,
Stand and face it,
Push through it,
Or take shelter and wait for it to pass.
Different storms require different actions.
Help us to know
What to do when
And then
To trust you with the rest.
Amen.

Monday At The Beach

Waves crashing
Steady
Wind blowing
Invisible
People laughing
Happy
And still there is silence
Present

You're Growing

Mom and I just finished cleaning out the freezer and the pantry. It seems just like yesterday we were doing the same things, and yet…three bags of trash later, I realize just how long it’s really been.

I thought to myself, “Time moves so quickly. The days just keep turning to months and the months keep turning to years before we even know it.”

And then I thought of a song that I wrote many years ago.

For anyone who knows anyone who is growing in any way (which is really all of us)—especially for those of you with graduates this year…this song is for you.

May it express your feelings toward your loved ones…and may we be life’s biggest cheerleaders for those we love most.

You’re growing up fast
Time’s slipping away
I can’t do a thing to make you stay
With me
You’re growing

Days turn to months
And months turn to years
And years turn to memories that I have to hold dear
To my heart
You’re growing

I’ve known that in this life God would bring me to a place
Where I’d have to lag behind and let you run your own race
But now the time is here and it’s harder than it seemed
Letting go’s not easy though I have to set you free
‘Cause you’re growing

I look at you now
And I have to smile
Knowing where you’ve been and where you are
Right now
Growing

We’ve weathered some storms
As we’ve chased our dreams
We’ve laughed and we’ve cried and we’ve learned how
To love
Growing

(repeat chorus)

I’ll think of you every day
And when I do
I’ll fall on my knees
And pray
As you’re growing

I can’t carry your cross
But I know one who can
God’s standing beside you and reaching out
God’s hand
As you’re growing

I’ve known that in this life God would bring me to a place
Where I’d have to set you free and let you run your own race
But now the time is here and it’s harder than it seemed
Letting go’s not easy though I have to set you free
‘Cause you’re growing

Jack Abram

Today, my oldest nephew graduated from high school in a quiet family ceremony at his school. I had the privilege of seeing him in his graduation regalia before the ceremony, and I couldn’t have been much prouder.

Jack graduating in a tough time. He’s moving into a tumultuous world. But I believe in his faith and in his ability to make a positive difference in this world. So I thought I’d write him a poem that combines advice, hopes, dreams, and reality.

This is my poem for Jack…but may it be a poem that speaks to you as well.

Just ask when you need help
And don’t forget to
Call when there is something you need to
Know you are loved
Always
Be willing to fight for justice
Right the wrongs of polarized society
And respect the diversity around You
Make a unifying
Difference In this world
Each person has a voice
And your voice matters
To me You are the bright hope
Of Tomorrow
Never forget to live in faith for today

With Time And A Lot of Love

We are broken,
In thousands of pieces shattered.
Time has not yet
Healed gaping wounds of injustice and hurt.
Time, instead, has proven that
Institutionalized racism and sexism are real.
More hatred prevails than should
Ever be harsh reality. Us
Against them divisions are fault lines on which
Numerous people stand.
Destruction and deception are norms.
Apathy and affluence eat at the core.
Love does not always win,
Only the hope for Love and peace remain. In
Thousands of pieces, we are shattered.
Oh, how broken we are!
Forgive us, God, for making a mess of this life.
Let today be a fresh start
Of repentance and forgiveness, of time and
Voices coming together as one, overcoming the brokenness of
Earth, of society, of humanity, of hearts, of us…

Amen.