reality

As I drove home late last night, I scoffed at the sprinklers watering the trees on the medians that separate the sides of the street in an upper class neighborhood.  Water spilled into the street and I thought, There are people in Africa dying because they don't have clean water, yet our tax dollars pay for clean water for the trees.  

Don't get me wrong, I love trees--probably more than the average person loves trees.  But I don't love trees more than I love the average person.

Or so I like to tell myself.

I got home and brushed my teeth with the water running and flushed the toilet and took a hot shower and poured myself a cup of water to soothe my allergy-scorched throat.

And now I wonder. . .

once upon an adventure

the world is yours so take it over.

take over the road and find a farm 

in Lima

where lies the piece of your heart you've been missing.

soak in the shine

of the best monday you've had in a decade

then eat the famous burgers

and sweet sugar pie.

stick your arm out the window and let your hand fly

in the rush of the country breeze.

this road leads to anywhere

somewhere you've never been

so take it and find yourself

in Bell-frickin, Ohio,

heading toward West Libertarianism

until you stop for ice cream

just because the sign is hot pink flashing

lights lined with lime

and the best butterscotch milkshake

ever.

spit your gum out the other person's window

just because it's fun to watch them jump

and hear them squeal.

then drive

and watch the sun dust the golden rowed fields

with a brush dipped in rose and lavender, 

light dripping over treetops

and you know your heart is free,

and safe.

drive--

sing old 90s music and be young--

until the end of the road.

then turn and drive

back home where you began

because tomorrow is tuesday.

Then Sings My Soul

We went to see Mumford & Sons last week.  Simply put, it was amazing.  I was freaking out.

It was a much bigger outdoor venue than we had anticipated, so, rather than fight the crowd and get stuck in the middle of thousands of sweaty drunk people, we stood near the back where we had a clear shot of the stage and the big screens that magnified the four specks that were Mumford & Sons in the flesh.

For two years I have loved Mumford & Sons.  I first listened to their album as I drove down country roads into the sunset (windows down, of course).  In a time of my life when I felt lost, trapped, and confused, their music filled me with an incredible sense of freedom and empowerment.  Their spirited soundtrack made me feel alive and lifted my soul.

So when the sun set behind the stage and I heard them begin to play this live

I was freaking out.

I realized at one point that my hands were clasped together because the beauty and power of their music had lifted my soul in prayer.  It was a sort of spiritual experience for me.  The energy was palpable. We watched the lights move over the people--like raindrops on a pond, as Nick so aptly described it.  The band used that energy of the people like an instrument.  In fact, they used every element--the energy, the instruments, their voices, the lyrics, our location (they said "O-H" we said "I-O")--to create something alive that moved through us and we were all a part of something bigger than ourselves.  We were a part of their music, a part of their show, a communion of lovers of music, hearts beating and souls searching for truth, beauty, freedom, love.

The Prodigal Patient

"You have beautiful teeth," the dentist and his hygienists told me  "But they're extremely weak and cavity-prone.  There's not really anything you can do about that."

This was their explanation for why, after I'd spent the last six months putting extra work into taking special care of my teeth, I returned to find out that I had two cavities.

That incident was a few years ago, and I kind of gave up on the dentist after that--why bother?  I wondered.  If there's nothing I can do, why go through the torture of sitting in a sticky chair with a blinding light in my eyes while someone scrapes my teeth and pokes my gums with a piece of metal?  I remembered all the times I'd spent in the chair in my youth with my mouth propped open by metal contraptions, my gums shot up with Novocaine, and my teeth filled with who-knows-what. *shudder*  No, I decided to spare myself anymore of that pain.

Lately though, I've had a little voice in my ear telling me how important it is to visit the dentist regularly, how it's good to have your teeth cleaned by someone who knows what they're doing every once in awhile as a refresher and a preventative for future disease and decay.

Finally, the prodigal patient returned.  I was received with a fair scolding, then loaded down with a new toothbrush, free floss, and coupons for fluoride rinse to encourage me to do better this time around.

A few days later, I stood in line for confession and studied the crucifix at the front of the church.  I suddenly imagined Jesus as a dentist, scraping away at the plaque on my soul.  Like my teeth, I am weak (and sinful), and there's not much I can do about it except keep trying to do what He tells me--and keep coming back to the sacraments for a deep cleaning, for guidance, for grace.

Maybe that's the best part--God  not only receives us back with open arms, but He also doesn't scold (though sometimes the transformation comes with pain), and He always loads us up with grace for the journey, to restore us, to nourish us so that we can do better next time.

inertia

an object in motion wants to stay in motion

but not me

i fly and flit then come back down

and burrow in my happy.

pass by a gas station late at night
and hear the murmur of souls filling up
to keep on the journey.
there they are but i am gone
and keep moving
in my little red car driving
with the windows down
and i keep moving--where does that mean i am?

opportunities make themselves known,

but we remain faceless friends.

the future about to take shape goes back to what it always has been--
i am tired and oddly relieved

to be out of control and in the familiar.

i would have stopped time watching shooting stars in a boat on a lake,

but then i wouldn't have lived for months in the alps with my second family.
i would have stopped time riding for freedom in the country,
but then i wouldn't have splashed through sprinklers in a moonlight serenade.

these are mere moments--

sprinkles

of grace
in a cup of black coffee
in a heart beating fear.