Category Archives: Poems

Stir my soul,

Stir my soul,
my God, let your spirit
cover me,
wake me,
for now I fall asleep dreaming of you
only to wake bleary, and forgetful.
Send your Spirit to rest
beneath me,
beside me,
like the small child who climbs,
crawls, creates his own space
and sits atop my hip, triumphant,
as I lie resting on my side at midday;
he nudges me with his whole body,
rocks me with his bouncing,
laughs to me when I open my eyes.
Stir my soul, Lord, like that –
boundless, persistent, desperate, joyful,
for I fall asleep dreaming of you
only to wake bleary and forgetful.

Advent Chain

Our advent chain is cut
from years-old construction paper,
faded green, pink, red.
The still-unlooped-strips lie flat
and slightly crumpled in the “stuff cupboard”
until I move them to the stairs
until I move them to the piano
where the tiny pile sits for weeks.

I did not toss those loose pieces
in the Christmas box in January;
now it is one day before June
and I realize Jesus is Forgiveness.

The colored, crooked bits of paper bear notes,
in tentative, and young, and solid hands, (and scribbles, too)
on how we are like Jesus;
this year I discover a theme,
and it’s not just “forgiveness,”
it’s quick-forgiveness.

There’s a special soul living here
whose capacity for this virtue is unparalleled.
Grace swirls around her,
invisible, surprising,
lilac and honeysuckle on the breeze.

Though the advent chains will
tear
and rip
and scatter,
quick forgiveness will
hold us together.

household gurus

My yoga happens in the middle of things —
playtime,
bedtime,
mealtime,
in the middle of the house.

I am in downward facing dog
and the little ones run toy cars
over the side table,
over the piano bench,
over my back and leg.
They put their little hands on my waist,
their sweet foreheads on my side,
hugging me because I am there.
They camp out beneath my upside down “v”
so that my jump forward becomes a leap, or a walk.
They stand, sit, or squat at the top of my mat,
and now my forward bend is many breaths longer than I planned.
They show me where to go deeper
and when to breathe slower
and how to move faster.

I am in corpse pose
as my husband walks by —
he lifts, lengthens, and releases
each leg in turn,
coaxes my shoulder blades into lying flat,
holds my head and extends my neck.
He’s been paying attention.

When I come back to sitting
the little ones bring the strap for my rolled up mat
saying, “here ya go” and giggling.
My husband smiles at me from the chair.

I am loved.