The Agony Of Defeat

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The Agony of Defeat
I ask him
what happens when the Super G competitors
wipe out as they are winding their way
Down
Down
Down
making hairpin turns, carving the
ice and snow like a man takes
a new Gillette razor to the side of
his square jaw line
carving carefully to avoid a
ripping of flesh, a tearing of skin
avoiding blood at all costs

one wrong move
tactically taken
down the Russian mountainside

and pride and ego
land in the soft snow off to the side
spine and bone and muscle
in tact or broken
like the dream
bruised and busted up

we children of the sixties remember

we recall the Saturday slogan on TV
the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat

I scream at the screen
as the athletics
dissolve into a pile
a medal-less mess

and I want grace extended and do overs and second chances
for every last one

oh but that we would
extend it
the comforting caress
Balm
of the Spirit
Blow the winds of Mercy
Comfort a suffering saint

these elements of blood and grace and death and life
the Spirit’s there
at the moment of impact
always wiping the skinned knee
of his child
lying in a mangled heap
paralyzed
frozen by fear and disgrace

the agony of defeat
loss and pain
sadness and disappointment
roll down the cheek, by-product
of defeat
like an avalanche

He who makes us white
As snow
Mercy
He makes it new

Comforted in loss

Raising us up
from dejection
and defeat

I cover my eyes
Like a child
Look away
So much to bear

I tell him it’s the stories I love

Of the overcoming ones
The get-back-up-again ones

Tell me your story
Of mountaintops and mountainsides
Of trudging in the valley
Of defeat
And I’ll tell mine

The thrill of victory
Battle cry of those who
Break the seal on the package of grace

and at all costs
run into the arms
of a Carpenter
whose flesh was ripped
skin was torn
whose blood was shed

We look into His eyes
And
Forget

The agony of defeat.

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Joining Laura Boggess at Laura Boggess dot com for Playdates At The Wellspring & Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory

The We Factor

wpid-20140207_144630.jpgThey sit
A James Beard quote
Captured in black-tie fancy
Letters dance
Whirling in a  circle on a wooden
Square
Across from her
She sips her soup as I sip mine
Gnawing the marrow off the bone
Of shared words
Ravenous for more
Ingesting life through the straw of
Friendship
Words carry a life-blood
And we are carnivores for more
We
Seek sacred echoes
Affirm me
Confirm my call
Hear what is
Burrowed deep
Mine with me
Sort with me
Dream with me
Stop and stare awhile with me

I was formed
For fellowship

Propped in a corner

Quiet attends a soul
Peers out of solitude
Peels back layers
Blood and flesh
To the core

They are
Nestled in between
Swirling words
Bubbled up above
The din
Of a crowded room
Filled with pairs
And groups of
Two’s and ten’s
We’s breaking bread

Empty she came
Full she departs

We
Birthed into a world
Cravers of community
Fellowship feeds
The sisterhood hole
Formed for filling
By another

We
Are
Meant to live as we’s
Alone and lonely, but for a time
The season of communion is ripe
Ready for the longing
One
Called into
This time

To live as one
In him
Holy exponential
Multiplier of all

I Am So Very Sorry

ms georgia

That when it rained it poured
Perfect love casts out fear, I fear
My sin hurt you
Are loved
More than you know
How very much I want you to heal
The broken places in your life
Is filled with hurt
Breaks your heart and mine as well
Let us drown in grace and seek forgiveness
Is the gift that Christ offers me and you
Are forgiven
Am I
Love
Is  patient and kind, forgive
Me, I
Love you
Are perfectly and wonderfully made
By God
Knows I am sorry
I hurt your
Heart
Breaks
Mercy
Breaks
The chains
Bind an unforgiving heart.

Joining Laura Boggess at The Wellspring

Jesus and The Barefooted Man

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Jesus and The Barefooted Man

In the sixties she sat on red-velvet and stared at dead mink eyes
Staring back at her while she listened to the sermon
Teased hair, hats and some white gloves, confetti sprinkled among the faithful
The South, the  Methodists,
The pearls, sprinkled on a few
Folks listening or planning lunch at the Country Club later
Prime rib or fried chicken, thousand island or blue cheese, sweet tea or sweet tea

And now she wonders about the man with no shoes

He told me the day he went to the Episcopal church without me
I cocked my head and tried to get a visual on the thought
We walked to church a few Sundays later, together down a tree- lined street dripping with moss
On more than a few, old oaks
Passed him, smiling big, he not us
You’re going the wrong way aren’t you?
Headed away from church
He not us
Yeah, going to teach Sunday school
Cheshire cat grin on the barefooted man

And that was the man with no shoes
Seen through the eyes of of the lady who wears the pearls, sometimes
And we sat and rocked and smacked some jaws and asked some questions
Later with folks on the porch
Because this is our sometime home
Who was that man in the barefeet
We asked

And there were opinions and there were things said
And it is still the South
And that is good not bad, but true
Really, we all have a story
And this was an old Episcopal church, after all

Suits and ties, after all

The more I thought
And wondered and took myself down to the deep soul places
I had to dream and cry out to myself
Come Lord Jesus and teach us
Now, how to love all the barefooted souls
Who  sit among the mink and pearls

Show us how to love like you
And smile like we are all barefoot
Walking in the wrong direction

Heck, I think every man Jesus touched
Back in the dusty sandal days was barefooted
Walking

I want to walk beside
And wash and love

All the feet
And know the name of the barefooted man

I loathe labels
But I do love a Cheshire cat grin on a barefooted- man running after Jesus
In the “wrong” direction.