Grief

The drawer of grief
spilled its contents upon my soul,
flooding me with
absence --
leaving me
awash in emptiness,
sorrow --
buried beneath feelings
that have no voice,
and mourning
that has no dawn.

39th

Today
I
Listened
To
Mystical
Music,
In
A
Moment
Of
Nostalgia
And
Was
Mysteriously
Moved
To
Joyous
Tears
Remembering
Intimate
Delight
Enveloped
In
Vulnerable
Openness,
Recalling
What
Has
Been --
Anticipating
That
The
Best
Is
Yet
To
Be –
Ah,
Mozart!

Hunger

There is a hunger within --

crying out,

begging,

yearning to be fed.

There is a hunger within --

searching,

longing,

pleading to be known.

There is a hunger within --

aching,

craving,

demanding to be noticed.

There is a hunger within

that needs you

to need me

to need you.

Detours

On a recent trip with my family, we ran into a couple of different detours. I'm not exactly sure, but I think -- all told -- both detours added a total of about 30 miles to our trip. Not bad on a 900 mile journey!

I tend not to like detours. They do not fit into my nice, neatly planned schedule. It is the unpredictability that makes me uncomfortable.

These particular detours, however, have afforded me the opportunity to think, not about detours while in the car, but instead about the detours of my life. There have been many -- more than I can remember, and perhaps even more than I realize.

Like most detours while on a road trip, the detours of my life have typically been met with unwelcome exclamations. Oh, no! Where will this take me? How much will this send me out of the way? How long before I will be back where I know where I am going?

But looking back -- going forward while looking in the rearview mirror -- I see that it is on the detours, or through the detours, that I have encountered and realized some of my life's richest experiences. On the detours, I have stretched, and grown, and lived.

By the detours, I have made my home -- often too briefly -- in places I never would have otherwise dwelt. On the detours, I have met people who have altered and transformed my life for the better, and for good. On the detours, my perspective has changed, and my worldview has been granted visions I never thought myself capable of seeing.

I must confess that I have not always enjoyed the detours: on the contrary. I have often railed against them, but today -- for this moment, at least -- I can honestly say that I am grateful for many of the detours I have encountered. They have sent me off the anticipated path of predictability, out into my own forested, uncharted wilderness, and driven me to seek earnestly, trust completely, and live deeply.

I wonder what I will think the next time the detour sign stands as a sentinel beside my Emmaus road...

On Callings and Cloisters

Funny how words change over time, how contextual they are -- defined by space, experience, culture, situation and location.

When I was a child, I would often hear my farmer-father calling out to his sheep to bring them home at twlight. My sister and I could readily be heard calling out to our beloved dog, drawing him to our side. My mother's voice -- at meal times especially -- was as a hearld, calling out to gather us in.

Voices calling out meant good things --
serenity
peace
comfort.

As a young teenager, I wrestled with another voice calling out to me. Thirty years later, I still do.

This voice is not alwasy so predictable -
or perhaps it is.

At times it frightens me, causes me to doubt and overwhelms me with a desire to flee.

At other times, it fills me with confidence and certainty -- too much so at times -- bordering on arrogance -- puffed up in my own self-importance.

And at still other times, this voice sends me deep into the receses of myself --
into the I that is me --
in introspection,
humility,
and quiet reserve.

It is a voice calling me toward something,
into something,
away from everything --
beyond the cloistered boundaries of my soul.

By it, I am called.
Through it, I am called out.
Under it, I am set free to call forth myself.

Can I?
Will I?
Dare I?

It is the voice God --
calling out to me to be.

Will you let me?