A slender white feather fell from the sky,
young angel apprentices passing by.
They flew loops and formations three days a week,
pushed the flight limits to stay fit and sleek
because one day, perhaps very soon,
they will soar and twist in the light of the moon
and as every old angel knows very well,
flying at night is like flying in hell
where it’s smokey and dark, strange sounds fill the air
and all the young angels maneuver in pairs
until one day soon, with confident grace,
they will bring Good News to the whole human race.

What an honor it is to earn your wings!
The training is hard and everyone brings
a deep desire to fly for the Lord,
but all admit it is pretty hard.
Early mornings and again late at night
they read the manuals then start the flight
that takes them over rivers and streams.
To the average onlooker it mistakenly seems
very easy to wing over deserts and seas,
to dart among pines and ancient oak trees.
But now and then, not too often I’m sure,
a renegade angel, on his very first tour,
pushes the limits, tries too hard,
and that’s when a feather falls in your yard.

But give them time, they’ll come around.
The best flying angels that can be found.
And, just like all angels who have flown before,
one may decide to knock on your door.

I will not give in. I will not quit.
I will not surrender one little bit
of the disdain I feel when you flash that sign:
“Try again later. Too bad! I’m offline!”
You wretched assortment of “x”s and “o”s.
I’m smarter than you; everyone knows
that you are the product of human design.
We made you, Buster, and you are mine!
I will not give in! I will never quit!
You can blink and sputter, but from where I sit,
you will never win the day.
Listen, laptop, to what I say:
I want this printed and I want it now,
so you and that printer figure somehow
to put those words on a clean white page
because you are about to see the rage
of a man determined to have his way.
Your game is done! I will not play
this sadistic game of “Let’s drive him mad!”
I suggest you perform and avoid the sad
outcome of insisting that printer’s offline.
But if you insist, let me give you a sign:
do you see this hammer I hold in my hand?
I’m usually a peaceful, gentle man
but you’ve pushed my limit, so here’s the plan:
you print that page and life will be fine;
if not, if you tell me that printer’s “offline”
I’m going to fill and trash bag or two
with the bits and pieces of both of you.
So, one more time: is that printer offline?
Are you sure you won’t blink and change your mind?
Your plot to drive me completely insane
is the source of my anger and emotional pain.
But ten seconds from now I will sit here and smile
because you will be in a neat little pile
right here on my lovely hardwood floor
and I’ll be off to the nearest store
to replace you both; it’s up to you.
Five seconds left and then you’re through!
Connect! Perform! Get back “online.”
Print that page and I’ll be fine.
Three two one…

Life doesn’t stop when the day disappears,
when the desert heat is humbled by
long shadows, when cool breezes off
granite mountain cliffs draw
little ground animals to the
doorways of their dens,
twitching noses sniffing
the fresh fragrance of
night’s arriving.
Moonlight
is magic.

While humans and creatures of labor rest
in night’s dark embrace, gardens grow in
nourishing shafts of moonlight. Gardenia buds
crack open with an almost audible sound, rose
petals unfold gracefully, lupines stretch their
long, blue bodies to touch the moonbeam’s
approach. All living things breathe in night’s
gifts of sacred aroma. Gardens grow in the
moonlight. Flowers are born in the darkness.
Moonlight works its magic and all is well.

I bought a bag of red grapes at the grocery story yesterday. Crunchy sweet! Wonderful! So, when I got up this morning I thought I might have a couple of them, like a breakfast appetizer. I reached into the cold refrigerator, plucked two from the persistent stem…maybe it was four…and dropped one on the floor. I heard it hit the wood with a solid thump. Did I say the lights were off. This was a 3:45 a.m. appetizer adventure. So, I flipped on the overheads and looked toward the spot where I knew the wandering grape would be waiting. No grape. Now I began slowly walking around the room, gingerly. A smashed red grape loses its appeal. I looked down into brightly lit areas and into shadowy spots. Round and round, back and forth, looking down at every inch of that kitchen floor, but no grape in sight. Then it hit me…not the grape, but a realization. It might be a good idea to see the world like a lost grape, not from up here looking down, but from down there looking around. So I got down on my hands and knees and continued the search from a brand new perspective. Finally, I laid flat on the floor, my chin resting on the hard surface, and I looked again. Eureka! There it was in a place I would never see looking down. Let anyone with ears to hear, listen! Thus endeth The Parable of The Grape. True story. Sweet tasting grape. I recommend the process anytime you need to see the world as it really is.

Sky canvas Engage and enjoy

God of the galaxies, author of infinity,
first word of planets, time and space,
we gather to proclaim, sing praises to your name
in this, a sacred, holy place.

Grant that our humble prayers, offered in humility,
may speak to truth and dignity
for all creation’s gain; Lord, help us to sustain
the truth that comforts and sets free.

Spirit that brings true life, advocate in all our strife,
Source of transforming love and grace,
shine light upon my path, and bring me home at last
where I shall see you face to face.

Jesus, you’ve shown the way; now grant me strength to stay
faithful and caring to the end.
Yours is the path I choose; walk with me lest I lose
the sight of you, my dearest friend.

God of all galaxies, O how I long to be
Christ in this hurting and broken day.
I sing your praises now, but help me, Lord, somehow
to show my neighbors Love’s true way.

(Try these words to the traditional hymn: Fairest Lord Jesus)

It’s a very long way from here to there.
I’ve tried it alone before.
The way is rough, hard to sustain,
a few angry rivers to forge,
but I’ll try again if you’ll come, too.
I can’t predict what’s in store.
The path goes here, then wanders there,
there’s always a little bit more
to excite the senses, catch the eye.
Let’s have a go. Let’s give it a try.

If we fail to reach the goal this time,
there will be another day.
Let’s give it our best, try very hard,
the chips will fall where they may.
Then when it’s done and we’ve faced the task,
accepted the challenge, we’ll proudly say:
side by side, strength with strength,
we pressed on from day to day,
through gloomy clouds, under clear blue sky,
we gave it a go! We had to try!

Can somebody teach me how to pray?
I’m not sure just what to say.
Should I sit or stand or close my eyes?
Am I in for a shock, a big surprise?
What if I get about halfway through
and I can’t think of anything new
and I just keep repeating the same old thing?
What kind of results is that likely to bring?
Doesn’t God get tired of our aches and pains,
our pleas for sunshine or a nice heavy rain?
It sounds to me, with all due respect,
we want God to care for all we reject.
That snooty man who lives next door,
the troublesome neighbor on the 14th floor.
I have neither the time nor the skills, you see,
to take care of them and look after me.
So, I hand them over to the care of God,
and while you may think this a little odd,
I’ve never known quite what to say,
although my friend told me one day
to speak from the heart, whatever that means,
to establish a regular prayer routine.
So, I ask again; I mean what I say.
I need a lesson in how to pray.
A book? A class? A lecture or two?
I really don’t know what to do.
Can you offer any helpful advice?
An Amazon book at a discount price?
I would really like to know just how
to talk with God; to kneel or bow.
In hindsight, I made a huge mistake.
I kick myself…why didn’t I take
Prayer 101 at the seminary?

Your opinion, my friend, if you have the time?
I’ve been accused of enacting a crime,
a disregard for my neighbors around
who struggle to raise their crops from the ground,
while I, clearly blessed by life’s higher power,
rake in the profit, hour by hour.
The grain I gather from all my fields
is more than I dreamed they all could yield.
So, there’s little I can say or do,
just build bigger barns, then when I’m through
I’ll hire armed guards and build a fence,
it doesn’t make a bit of sense
to let the riff-raff plunder and steal
simply because they seem to feel
entitled to the grain my fields produce,
but I will withstand their insistent abuse.
For, as everyone can plainly see,
this grain is mine. It belongs to me!
So, bigger barns are on the way,
and I don’t care what people say.
I’m not a greedy man at all.
In fact, tonight I will issue a call
inviting my neighbors to drop by someday,
receive a handout, no need to pay.
I just insist that they all agree:
this grain is mine. It belongs to me!
Now, forgive me, but I cannot stay.
I’m already late for my hour to pray.
I can’t afford to disappoint God.
I’ll give him a wink, a respectful nod.
I can see them now, those beautiful barns!

Reflection on Luke 12:13-21