Last Chance Don Quixote

Last night I prayed for answers, and
when I looked up in the light-of-day
I still saw those same dangling dilemmas
that were hanging over me before I prayed.

Which one should command my action
and end my desperate inaction,
charging me up as I charge into the wind,
singing out my battlecry alongside other
no-longer-procrastinating chargers,
aiming our spears at the evil windmills like 
so many last-chance Don Quixotes
who had to finally move before
"Too late" became the only dragon left to slay?

Until I know,

I'll close my eyes and pray,

and wring my hands and pray,

and pretend I don't really know

and pray.

 

Loudly and Urgently

I've always loved the hymn, "Softly and Tenderly," and Cynthia Clawson's voice, singing it in the opening and closing credits of the lovely movie, "Trip to Bountiful," made me weep like a brokenhearted teenager. I liked it so much that I bought the soundtrack a few years ago. I heard it recently with new ears, and have been musing over it with a new thought: Why do we imagine that Jesus calls us softly and tenderly when there is, clearly, so much work that he urgently wants us to do?

I know it's just a song, but it's a theme I've heard over-and-over that goes all the way back to Elijah, who spoke about his "still, small voice," supposedly referring to Jesus. But I'm not so sure that his voice is so small, or his knock is as gentle as such poetic descriptions would imply. And that's good, because it seems like we need much more urgency around our call to conversion today, anyway.
I’m not talking about some pious, finger-wagging conversion, being saved from hell or from a lifetime of bad choices. Nor am I talking about one day feeling a big, divine “thumbs-up,” finding a way to free myself of personal demons, or even suddenly realizing what grace is and seeing that I’m covered with it, even though I didn’t earn it. Those are starts to conversion, or stops along the way. (Hopefully, short stops, in some cases.)  I'm talking about the next part--the big part, where we are literally converted into new kinds of people.

I must admit that from a marketing perspective, if I were shopping around for enlightenment or conversions, it does sound better to imagine a soft and tender call, with little risk, than one that will ultimately change my spiritual DNA. But looking around, and knowing what I know now, I wonder why we expect him to be so nice about it, even long after we should know better? Too often, for too long, I’ve stayed in that beginning phase, picturing him waiting beside a road, calling for me to come when I'm ready.

But what does real conversion, or the next phase in real conversion look like? Obviously, this conversion isn't easily achieved through some inner search to resolve my pain, to make wiser choices, or to assure my place in Heaven, all of which are ultimately self-serving. It must take us in a direction away from our selves, till we become more heroic, even Godlike creatures.  It can only happen when we lean away from ourselves and into the place where we set loose and lose ourselves in the soothing of suffering, in the healing of, and saving the world. Although this conversion could even bring about the Kingdom of Heaven here, on Earth, we somehow don't hear his call, or suppose he's calling someone else.

Everyday, unfathomable tragedies, reported on the news and on the internet demand our attention. Every hungry person shouts out to those of us blessed with abundance and the opportunity for self-indulgence. Every neglected child cries to us for comfort. Every beggar reminds us who we are supposed to be.  Every broken or fragile person hopes that we will recognize how beautiful and important they are. Every victim of oppression lies before us, begging for someone to see them and help. Every hero who steps in shows us that help is possible.

True, Jesus said, "I stand at the door and knock," but he also said, "Whatever you've done for even the least of these, you've done for me."  With those words ringing in our ears, doesn’t it sound like denial to imagine that such a call is soft and tender?

I’ve always loved that song, "Softly and Tenderly." It’s beautiful. But truly, the words should sound more like this:

    Loudly and urgently Jesus is calling,
    Calling for you and for me.
    Why pretend not to hear him? He knows you can hear him,
    Talking to you and to me.

    'Get up! Go now!'
    'You who can hear me, go now!''
    Urgently waving to get your attention, 
    He yells out 'Get up and go now!' 

I don't know what this means about my conversion.
I only know that it is about my conversion.
I want to hear.
I want to answer.
Amen

Just a Speck

Just a speck of dust, stirred up by the sun
Streaming in on a beam through the window.

Not even a speck; Just a fleck of a speck of a grain of sand or of dust,

Detached from its whole, but no smaller than others,

Also broken in parts and drifting in on the whim of a star.

But while it stays in the light where it can be seen,  

Let's call it a speck.

Let's call me the speck. This speck of energy, or lethargy,

Swirling through space in the moment I wrote this,

But perhaps already gone by the time these words reach their target:

You. Another speck or a fleck spinning through space in your time,

Perhaps separated from me and from mine,

But connected by this thread of words and flecks of earth,

And this same light we spin and swirl within, 
seeking our original wholes.

Are you part of me? Were you 

before we were just specks of dust dancing about on rays of light?

And if I float into the shadow will I cease to exist?

Or does it just seem that way while we
stay alight within the lines?

Grace Acquired

I pretend I don't but I've been holding onto grudges
that rarely see the light of day,
Living on, unspoken, in the woodshed of my heart.
Regardless of repeated punishments
For their very existence, 
I keep them alive by nursing dreams of recompense.
 
How many times have I wished I could take back
all the times I tried too hard,
and return the disdain I received
with the same apathetic breath?
Or imagined that your desire for my affection
would fill your thoughts, and I could withhold it,
or hold it out like a carrot on a stick?
That a new hope for my forgiveness
would catch in your throat like a fearful prayer,
And my goodwill might become your unattainable goal?

This won't do, for every time it felt like someone took a little bit of me,
At least one hundred others gave me something even better.

So, whether you know about my grudge,
or even desire my forgiveness,
I give it and release you from any guilt or obligation
that I assigned to you before.
I am thankful for the blessings you brought me
and the lessons you taught me.
Right now and ever after, I will try to remember you
with gratitude instead of grudge, and will
send up prayers for joy in your life and in mine,

And for forgiveness for waiting so long to do so.

My Most Recent Reckless Wreckful Word Regret

I am not a wallflower, however much I ought to be,
Or wish I had been, in the aftermath of my outspokenness.
Prideful words have led me down many regretted courses,
or discourses, to be precise,
In which what I wanted to say was lost in how I said it,
Or should have remained lost,
In the better-me-unspoken-space-inside-my-head.

So I try to follow my mother's advice, to let the cat get my tongue
and stay quiet although I really want to speak up...
But I don't, so I do,
And how many times will I learn this lesson, anyway?

And as I reflect on past regrets, in which my tongue
was loosed along with the cat,
out of the bag and into curious trouble,
Which might not have killed us,
But needlessly wounded my friends and scratched up my character,
I think, "Only trolls burn their own bridges just to prove their might."
GRRRRRRR

Oh God,
Please fill me with humble wisdom so that
instead of speaking prideful, pointless words
that shame my heart,
I only ever do grace-filled, loving kindnesses
that make you smile.
Amen