We Are Human, Siri


We Are Human, Siri

Last night Siri didn’t want to talk about God or Jesus
And my daughter asked her too about heaven and the cross
She didn’t know about Boston or pain
Or the burning desire to run and scream
Or run and hide, or just run ragged to the end of an outstretched
mirage of a horizon, legs burning lactate build up, gripping pain
So we let her off the hook and laughed
But we are still hanging by a thread
She told Siri to call her princess and to wake her up at 6:40
That’s nice
She can refer all those questions to a human and she did
She has a nice new Lilly Pulitzer case to hide in
But  we are cradled in the arms of the most High while
We ache about shattered limbs
And life in a chair, but it is still life
What were we thinking
A little mother daughter chat with an android voice
When the Creator of the Universe was available and is
We are human and so there is grace

I want to run and scream like a wild one and fling and flail
Arms swinging like helicopter blades
Expending crazy mad energy
I am human and I hurt
And I am in the company of millions
But we are covered by The Creator
Each deliriously painful moment of grief and loss heard
Siri can defer the questions to a human
I, thankfully can take all of mine to Him.
Bent, weak, bowed and shaken.
Humanity runs to the cross

under  a covering of love.

Siri, if you only knew such love

But the last word is always hope and His
And fear won’t strangle bold and brave
And bombs can’t rob our souls
Human kindness runs to aid
Man helps man and God loves man
Broken, fragile, wounded man
And hearts are broken but still beat
Blood runs hard and fast but so does
Compassion at the scene and in the world

Siri, if you only knew

The love of God most High


With Jennifer today for #tellhisstory and with Emily and my team at Imperfect Prose on Thursdays

Grieving and Rejoicing

wpid-2012-06-29-13.00.59.jpgA co-mingling of
A grief so heavy handed
Sip by sip we drink of it
And the quenching does not come
The grief of man seems never ending
Life in grieving is prolonged
The heart so heavy finds no solace
From sharp pain the season long
The heart ripped open in the sadness
The depth of loss defined in terms brand new
The weary souls of hearts beat different in this sea of sad
And tremble, quake at news of death

But somewhere while the tears still wet
And as the human heart is weak with pain
The glimpse of Light and then bright rays
Will shine anew Hope, co-mingled with the pain
As healing comes, no matter at what rate
As healing comes in mercy wrapped in love’s still fragile lace
As healing comes and joy streams mingling,
Mixing with rivers of life’s salty tears
Our Hope in present darkness sings to hearts
And Love born in a manger, Love radiant will
Proclaim, that though the pain in life cuts deep
A manger holds life’s Comforter and Healer
And we will, we will rejoice again

And while the pen that writes the words
Is colored, shaded in charcoal greys or
Ebony black sorrow monochromes
A Hope restored brings Love anew
Creating slowly colors, brilliant Hope’s bright hues
And writes a love note to the hearts of men
And wipes the tears on cheeks and weary souls
Proclaiming Love and Hope and Christ’s Love
Still makes mercies new, all the mornings
Of all the days to come, everyone
Replacing broken fractured with healed and whole
Co-mingling tears of weary grieving
With those of a weary world’s rejoicing
A world still grieving
Will see a day, in days to come
Of Hallelujahs, broken
Still Rejoicing
Rejoicing still over
News of Comfort and Joy
Comfort and Joy
And though faint and weak,

Alleluia Anyway


Joining Laura for her Play Dates at the Wellspring



Women At The Farm

In the sharing of this place

We gather by reflective pond.

And share the past, the hurt and pain.

While cobb webs break by hand with broom,

Not knowing what tomorrow brings.

We curl beside the waters edge

And wrestle with a gentle breath,

The unknown places yet to come.

Smoke fills the air from grill and burn pile

And all the while

Grief shared is grief diminished

On the lips, of the women at the farm.

No ride of whimsy on the road

With men in search of folly in the wood.

A vigil held by weathered chair

As if the words can heal a soul.

The weathered chair bears  burdens well

Of words flung through crisp fall air.

Words of women woven on the porch,

A tapestry of trials.

Worn grease coat feels but  feather like

When compared

To the heaviness of the words,

That fall as jet-propelled autumn acorns on tin roof,

Like heart bombs dropping from azure blue


And won’t His Words heal our souls?

Proclaim the women at the farm.

This is the very best way to love. Put your life on the line for your friends.

John 15:11-15

I am joining my friends Sandra, Deidra and L.L. Barkat.

Have you discovered the beauty of wordcandy.me? Its delicious. Courtesy of the folks at Tweetspeak Poetry.