this summer, my sacrifice

This summer I will give up days at the pool, lunches with friends, trips that I should really take. . . Instead I will glue these fingers to this keyboard, I will turn my sails toward sentences and a Word Document--in an uncomfortable marriage. The type of marriage that could never last a lifetime, but for a season somehow possible.

For fifteen weeks, I will write like mad. I will squish words, soak words, and breathe words, until the work is done, until I can stand--perhaps not at perfection but at completion and somehow a bit more road wearied. With each Friday night will come summer and a reward that waits.

I will hate it, and yet somehow I will find immense joy in the struggle, and I will still have a summer. I will still live this summer, and yet in a state of immersion, I will purge myself of this task--this check mark that I must complete for my own sanity and well being. And next summer. . . oh next summer. . . the sacrifice won't seem quite so painful, nothing but a memory.

dear God

Students wrote notes to God at Confirmation yesterday. Some made me smile. Some made me cry. These few shall remain anonymous.

Dear God,

How are you? What is it like up there? What do you like, dislike, love? Hope you answer these questions.

Wazzup Lord?

Don't be a hater on the sinners. They maybe deserve it, but they'll (hopefully) straighten out and follow Christ.

Dear God,

At the moment of the test help me become more intelligent.

Dear God,

Please help me go through Confirmation and really understand and feel it. Not just way a bunch of words I know I'm supposed to say.

Dear God,

I haven't really openly talked to you. It's because I want there to be nothing wrong in my life. I know I'm screaming inside for people to notice me, but nobody looks up. Please God. Help me.

For July 1

Today I lived a real day.

It hurt. Walking in color.

Not the daily gray that I usually

Step, step through leaving no footprints

or echoes

Today I lived a real day, and emerging

I sit on the totter edge of difference.

My breath has been short, my guts turning

Thoughts bouncing, jumping, squirming

My anxious thread of existence

Taut.

Trying to guess at the text, the dialogue

Of the “conversation” coming

The words, the realities like a Jell-O fluff casserole

That I must push myself through

To emerge here.

In the now.

In the middle of this real day where life sprung

Zesty and sharp.

And on the other side of this huge serving

verbal tennis match

Where I stop---

Realizing the ball is out of my court--

He surprises me with his grace, in soft return.

His humanity

His ability to set emotion aside

And not to hide behind the easy way

Wet in corners his eyes smile,

In a way that make it okay

This horrible thing I’m telling him.

The words punching

Kicking

Scratching

His best intentions and life’s work.

That I wish I could will myself into

Costume me up for our real shared passion

I tick through the words. . . a slow cadence

From a hidden pool, leaked

They’re out—

And I’m naked.

But instead of punching back with his own river

Of words that punch from the azure spring of rage

That’s there if he rides in default

But he shifts gears

Melts grace over me like a warm butter quilt

That’s far too fancy for me.

It’s comfort scratches, but I sit. . . soaking.

Knowing he’s given his best

Though undeserved

It’s given.

Today I lived a real day.

And I’m tears, and I’m wrung out, and I’m alive.

A little broken. . .

Yet thankful.

That dialogues play out creative

Unforeseen, unexpected, unwiched between

All that is predictable.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I shall pray again.

For today’s answer was so beautiful. Real.

Courage was mine. Grace was Yours.

And I give You thanks.

For smiling at me through his eyes.

As the two of us lived a real day today.

Meeting at a faintly lined crossroad

on this Pilgrim Journey.

I throw away my Kleenex

Balled and transparent as

tomorrows line up.

I look past them right at today

And my hope sits

Shiny

Quiet

Listening

In the real day, today.