Death struck
One called
One went
Together wept
Nothing more
Nothing less
Love
4 April 2013
Amtrak 185
Tag Archives: love
Enough
You smiled.
Across the room,
across the miles,
across the years,
across the veil
between the worlds,
you smiled.
At me
you smiled.
You smiled.
It was, it is,
enough.
Shire on the Hudson
29 January 2013
Knight of the 21st century
Battered, but unbroken,
he rises.
Beaten, but undefeated,
he rises.
Bruised, but undaunted,
he rises.
The shine long gone,
dents make his armor
appear infected
with a rusty pox.
Still he rises.
Creaks and squeaks,
from metal joints –
or human joints –
fill the air.
Yet still he rises.
There be no dragons,
no endless tasks,
no giants,
but simply living –
decent, loving,
just living,
day by day by
endless day.
And to that quest,
the highest quest,
again he rises,
still he rises.
always he rises.
He rises.
He rises.
He rises.
25 January 2013
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Poem
From Time to Time
Maggie Smith did it again. She almost always turns in a great performance. Today’s film, chosen because of her presence, proved no exception.
From Time to Time is not a great movie. The story is more than a tad sentimental. Many characters remain undeveloped. Some seem out-of-place. Dialogue is often stilted. One strand of the story has a fairly unbelievable ending as do some scenes. Another strand ends in a predictable manner.
But the movie deals with great themes – class, slavery, life, death, and character. Most of all it deals with relationships and love. In the end, it gets no greater than that.
One piece of dialogue stays with me. When faced with a situation that worried her, one character observes:
What will people say?
To which comes the quick response:
Nothing that will interest me.
A wonderful attitude. A difficult attitude to keep. But an attitude to which it might do well to aspire.
And of course, Dame Maggie was wonderful as the grandmother who has much to teach and maybe even more to learn.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Movie
Silent night, 24-25 December 2012
The familiar words of “Silent Night” filled the sanctuary of Forest Hill Church, Presbyterian as the 11:00 PM service drew to a close.
Outside at least six Cleveland Heights police cars, lights flashing, roared past.
It occurred to me that the world is rarely silent.
Life is messy, chaotic, confusing, and noisy. And much of that noise stems from our violation of one another and God’s creation.
Gun shots.
Drone attacks.
Land mines.
Shouts of anger.
Tears.
Bombs.
Hate-filled rhetoric.
Collisions.
Screams of fear.
Clanging chains.
Machinery ripping at the earth and its resources.
A cacophony of pain and abuse and exploitation fills life’s sound track.
But it is precisely this messy, chaotic, confusing, noisy life to which God comes. In Jesus, God enters this life freely. Experiences this life fully. Embraces this life wholeheartedly.
This un-silent life, filled with deafening days and noisy nights, matters to God. Matters so deeply that God gives us Jesus to offer another way, inviting us anew to:
accept new beginnings,
offer forgiveness,
pursue peace,
seek justice,
love kindness,
live into hope,
and walk with God.
May we do so
on silent nights
on noisy nights
on this night
on all nights.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Cleveland Heights, Current Events, Music, Worship
Again
Again
in the night, the fire went out.
Devoid of pity, winter
invaded the room,
assaulted my body –
my thin blanket offered little resistance.
Cold chews my knuckles,
gnaws my knees.
The weak sun forces
pale shafts of light,
but no warmth,
through the dirty window.
I faintly see my breath
as I turn my head
to gaze on gray-black ash
within the fireplace.
For a moment, I ponder:
stay put, let go, give up
Then their faces rise before me
laughing, loving faces,
gone forever yet
somehow with me always.
And for their sake,
and perhaps for my own,
I stretch my painful limbs
and force myself from the bed
to shuffle stiffly across the floor,
light the fire,
begin another day,
again.
3 December 2012
SW 208
MDW – SDF
Filed under Poem
Reminders
The Easter egg tree
(are they leftover or are they rushing the season)
of the First Presbyterian Church of Annapolis,provides a reminder,
however imperfect,
of the hot air balloons of
Albuquerque;
they in turn,
call to
mind
and
heart
and
spirit,
dear friends
Gladys and J.C.
and wondrous memories
and adventures
and love that never dies
but accompanies us
always.
See you along the Trail
Sometimes we sit in witness
The country matters. Context always matters. Each situation plays out in unique ways due to the specific circumstances in which the people find themselves and place helps shape those circumstances.
The country matters not. What my sisters and brother told me could happen – happen exactly as they described it or happen as variations on a theme – in too many countries of the world.
We sat in our conference room and they told me of human rights abuses in their country of birth. Each of them had fled for various reasons. And while they each fled to different countries first, they all ended up in New York.
At first they told horrible, but generic stories. Stories of torture, disappearance, deprivation, separation, violation. Such stories prove hard for me to read; they prove harder still to hear – to hear from sisters and a brother who know the people, the children of God, who are ill-used and abused. But out of respect for God’s children, I refuse to turn away from such stories. I read and sit in witness. Out of respect for God’s children, I refused to turn away this afternoon. I sat in witness.
Then they told the stories of their family …
… of cousins tortured …
… of brothers killed …
… of a sister repeatedly raped and finally shot …
… one bullet to the brain.
“I have two sons,” F. said as tears dribbled down her cheeks. “I do not know where my sons are. Do you know what it is like for a mother not to know where her sons are? Not to know if they are safe? Not to know what might be happe … ?” She could not finish, did not need to finish. I do not know. I can never know. I can only imagine what it might be like for a father. I can never know her pain, her grief, her anguish. I can only sit in witness, honored that she would share it with me.
Tears flowed from eight eyes.
The stories continued until they had spent their need to talk. Pain and heartache filled the silence surrounding us.
Finally, B. spoke, “But we have hope.”
And my heart cracked again. Unconquerable love breaks our hearts as surely as does unspeakable evil.
“We have hope. And we will continue to work to change things in our country.”
More tears flowed into the silence that followed but, at least for me, hope and courage and grace now danced amid the moisture on my cheeks. I wiped away the snot that clogged my nose. And somehow I had the good sense to say nothing, but simply to sit in witness.
M. broke the silence by asking me to look for ways to support them and to pray for them, for those they love, and for their country.
I did. I will. They stood to leave. We shook hands. We hugged. They left. And I remember. I pray. I write in witness. And I wonder what more I will do. To be continued …
See you along the Trail.
As I was writing this entry, a friend posted a link on Facebook to a story that spoke to me in similar ways: ‘Comfort Woman’ Activist Still Going Strong at 89. Ms. Kim Bok-dong was forced to serve as a “comfort woman” during World War II. For years, she and other survivors lived silently with their scars. But in 1991, things changed when a Japanese government official blamed the system of “comfort women” on civilians, denying any government culpability, the women broke their silence and told their stories seeking an acknowledgement of the truth in an effort to “help other victims who go through the same atrocities.” In March 2012, Ms. Kim Bok-dong founded the Butterfly Fund to aid victims of sexual violence in Congo, Afghanistan and Uganda.
Unspeakable evil and unconquerable love break my heart once again. Thank you, Yena, for sharing this story at this time and for our brief virtual chat.
Filed under Human Rights
Never grow old
My spirit soared and my heart broke at the same time today.
Songs by Tommy Sands have a way of doing that to me.
Sands wrote “You Will Never Grow Old” for his brother Eugene (“Dino”) who died young, way too young, in a 1975 car accident.
Lines from the chorus spoke to me of members of my family and of friends:
You will never grow old
But you’ll always be growing
In our hearts, in our minds
In the home you left behind
Amen.
See you along the Trail.
In memory, E.L.W.
I remember courage.
I remember faith.
I remember wisdom.
I remember grace.
I remember sorrow.
I remember tears.
I remember grieving.
I remember fears.
I remember laughter.
I remember song.
I remember welcome.
I remember joy.
I remember hard work.
I remember toil.
I remember changes.
I remember pain.
I remember caring.
I remember hope.
I remember sharing.
I remember love.
I remember you, my friend.
Thank God,
I remember you.
22 July 2012
DL 1776
MCO – LGA
Along the Graybeard Trail 