ABBA, when the wind blows,

            I think of your greatness.

When the sun shapes and gilds the mountains,

            I see your painterly hand.

If you love beauty so much,

            And show it to us,

Are we beautiful in your eyes?

Make me beautiful as you planned –

            Grace me with your touch.

Abba, your greatness is in this world.

I SEE MYSELF IN GOD’S EYE.

He looks at me and fills my eyes.

I’m always there; he never forgets.

When I look away, where is he?

Oh, stay in my eyes, Image of Love.

Fill my looking with holiness and light.

Look at my neighbor from my eyes.

Look at me and let me see.

When I offer my prayer

Let me listen with my eyes.

Open my heart to seeing,

Lest I stay blind.
 

PRAYER is never the same.

This morning I sought answers.

Tonight I have no questions.

Yesterday I sang a song to God.

WHEN I LISTEN TO GOD,

really listen,

He becomes real.

Instead of saying prayer words,

I place them in His hands,

and I touch His fingers.

Words rush by like the wind.

Thoughts fly over my head.

But love connects.

Thank you for meeting me,

for breathing my air

and singing my song.

THIS PLACE IS HOLY. 

It was always holy, but I didn’t know it.

You waited, knowing that as I grew old

the edges would become thin enough

and I would begin to hear the angels

and feel the whisper of your words.

Now I better understand the saints.

They always lived in that thin space.

They knew you and heard you.

They walked and talked with you

in the daylight of the world you gave.

I missed so much, being earthly,

being busy, being bound.

I can’t go back to begin again,

but you tell me it’s all right:

I am going forward to ever time.

 Abba, I love you.

DO YOU KNOW that God is here?

See his handprints on the hills.

Look at the smooth, shapely strokes

out there on the mountains.

Rugged boulders and thorny trees

sculpt the robust forms

of living earth and growing land.

Nothing lacks grace –

the intimate marks of his love.

Tumbling, blowing bush,

fence-leaping deer,

clouds touching mountain tops –

all harmonies in God's song.

Hear his laughter in the wind,

delighting all creation.

Love Mine Enemies?

When we talk about ‘enemies’,

GOD, who built the fences?

You are the door for entering;

You are the path to follow.

You call us with your voice.

“Come!” you say, “and enter in.”

We built the fences –

We shut the doors and block the paths.

We talk and talk so no one hears your voice.

“Listen to us,” we say.  “This is the only way.”

Forgive us.  Forgive the fences.

Forgive our arrogance.

We are dead.  We are cold.

Let us hear your voice.

Let us call to the world –

“Come!  Enter the joy of the Lord.”

SILENCE HAS MANY GUISES.

She is calm, comforting, cheering.

He is demanding, direct, daunting.

They are waiting for me to accept

the gifts they want to give me.

I enter their company timidly,

looking back involuntarily.

It’s hard to step over the sill

and leave off my busy-ness,

trusting the outcome of trust.

My chair is too hard, too cold.

The light is too bright, too clear.

The sound is too cluttered with ME.

I sense the patient Presence here.

And I begin to warm, to wait, to see.

“Just be; don’t seek.  Stop, don’t listen.

I’m here with you as I’ve always been.

Let’s enjoy the silence together.

We have time to recognize each other,

to know my Name and see your face.”

TRANSFIGURATION

HOW LONG HAVE WE KNOWN HIM
(and never knew him)?

Why couldn’t we see Him

(and look with our eyes)?

When did we hear Him

(and listen to what He meant)?

Why does He love us

(and call us friends)?

Where will He lead us

(and how far can we go)?

 But we love Him.

I sit here in the shadow and move away to other times,

remembering the warmth of sun on hill under tree.

The breeze carries the smell of rainy leaf through my window,

taking me to spring days spent too far from time to see.

But if I recall at the touch of sun and taste of scent that day,

nothing has gone from me in reality that can’t be felt again.

Moments of pensive thought quickly come and draw me away

to the riches of memory living in my heart, the ever-time.

Seasons and cycles,

records and reports.

How absurd

to think that we

capture the patterns

of this earth.

Drought comes;

death follows.

Rain falls;

life begins.

How many times?

I don’t think we’re born blind.

Children see where adults no longer can.

But we gradually forget how to see.

And we don’t know that we forgot.

We begin to learn what is right.

We are often told what is wrong.

We learn to recognize good and bad.

We know how to judge everyone.

But we’ve forgotten how to see.

We flee from the light because it hurts.

We don’t have to look for answers.

We’ve already memorized them.

Then One comes who brings Light.

It’s a pure and gentle true light.

If we look into that light things change.

The blindness burns away.

And we see.

You fill our lives with your radiance.

Welcome

Psalms & Poetry by Ann

Pastels

Links