Occasionally I write weirdo non-rhyming poetry, and sometimes I even share it here.
This is one of those days. (Guinea pigs for anyone who can’t take it).
Dropping a balloon
Sometimes there are two sides.
And on one we have everyone and
They’re saying, “smaller, smaller, smaller.”
Because unknowns should apparently
Be handled cautiously, us like tiny mice–
Shivering and rounding corners wide-eyed,
Ready to scamper.
But, God is here, too, and
When I think I’ve dreamt the impossible to the fullest,
Like a balloon just on the smallest-breath’s edge of bursting,
God seems to disagree for He whispers, “bigger, bigger, bigger.”
But I never understand,
So I just hold my balloon,
Gently cradled in my fingertips,
And listen with half an ear to everyone else.
I think about the fragile nature
Of balloons and futures
And dreams and souls…
Then I realize that God knows these limits, too, of
how the lilacs bloom and also
how the whales rise from the sea and also
how torrential rain patterns down my city’s streets and also…He knows what He’s doing.
I can cast myself upon His goodness, as I’ve done before.
So I let my balloon drop
and I turn to walk towards Him.
If He will not be bound by
The limitations we insist on
Neither will I.
Matters of grace and mercy
Sometimes when I pray I just
Want to stick my head in
The side-wound of Christ.
And I’m not the type who
Likes blood or innards-water
In everyday occurrences
But if we’re talking an
Outpouring of the most
Overwhelming grace and the
Clearest mercy, then my
Needs and my wants
Align and in my needs
I want to absorb all
I can: red-and-white fluid coursing and
Running through my cropped-hair,
Down my face and chin,
Across my whole body, Lord,
Lord, remember me, sinner who I am,
In need, once again,
Of this grace and mercy.