On this cool fall morning with the taste of wood smoke on my tongue
and the nip of Old Man Winter on the wind, I am pulling up the dead
yellow stalks of Jefferson Grass that I sprayed in the summer.
They chose to grow in the space of my neglect behind the cottage
beside the stonewall until I grew tired of seeing them in the morning
when we pulled back the curtain of the bedroom window,
like the unwelcome and exotic species that grow in me
suddenly revealed by thought or conversation
and I go on another inner killing spree.
Honesty and self-love are at times uneasy bedfellows.
In the air above me, two ravens chase a hawk from the meadow.
Rolling Ridge, WV – October 24, 2003
I have been admonished not to worry about tomorrow because each day has enough trouble of its own.
But here it is another morning and I find myself worrying about what troubles may come today. I can’t even begin to think about the troubles of tomorrow. I am too worried about those that may happen in the next few hours.
So how do I spend the moments of today not in fear of the sound of another shoe about to fall, but rather in anticipation of the soft padding of angels’ feet?
There is always the potential for possible joy and whatever happens, I must trust that I will not be alone or abandoned.
I bought some really excellent tea and was excited to try it. It arrived yesterday. I promptly opened it up, took out a bag, and chose a special mug with Grace stenciled on the side for the occasion. I put the mug of water in the microwave.
And promptly forgot about it until later on in the evening. So I put the mug back in the microwave, thinking what a nice thing it would be to have a cup of tea before bed.
The mug was still there, the water quite cold, when I remembered it this morning.
I heated the water up again, put in the tea bag, and drank it with my breakfast. It was quite delicious.
Earlier, while waiting for my breakfast to cool, I put a plate on the stove. I forgot to turn the burner off and the plate cracked right down the middle. It was not one of my better moments.
I am pretty hard on myself. I am not exactly easy on others either. The beauty of grace is that no matter how many times I forget about it, it is always there, waiting for me to take a sip.
Like tea, it warms my entire body. But a strange thing occurs. Grace is such that once it fills me up, it has a tendency to overflow.
And then I become a cup of grace too.
i tell her she should be a doctor
so she’ll have more patients (patience)
but the physician should heal himself
for i often find that I am lacking in the same
and aren’t we all
Thank you for the follow
though I do not wish to wallow
in my self-congratulation.
I simply hope you find some
as you continue to grope
through life’s blind initiation.
In a world that places stock
in the number of follows one has or hasn’t got,
there is only one Follow worthy of celebration.
That Person is not I,
though with every word I write,
I seek to point in that direction.
(And perhaps by following me
you are led to see
that Who I follow is not some mere infatuation).