That's Still Nuttin - 8,000

As of today, this blog swept past eight thousand visitors.

That's quite a few folks wandering by since December 9th, 2006, and with me posting less lately, due to the interesting nature of my life, it seems like a milestone I should mark by reprising my poem 'That's Nuttin!'

...And thank you for dropping by, all eight thousands of you. See, there was plenty of room after all...


That's Still Nuttin:

Eight thousand folks came knocking
Eight thousand at the door
Eight thousand people searching
Eight thousand, and now more

Eight thousand hidden smiles
Eight thousand who came by
Eight thousand from all countries
Eight thousand who drew nigh

Eight thousand quiet moments
Eight thousand friends to tea
Eight thousand 'I understand's
Eight thousand friends for me

Eight thousand people questing
Eight thousand asking why
Eight thousand gleaming stars
Eight thousand in the sky

Eight thousand cups of coffee
Eight thousand bits of toast
Eight thousand hands held in comfort
Eight thousand times a host

Eight thousand questions answered
Eight thousand, more or less
Eight thousand joined in prayer
Eight thousand joined to bless

Eight thousand is so little
Eight thousand is so small
Eight thousand is not many
I have space for one and all

So come in off the doorstep
Come in, come through the door
Come into my guest room
There's room for many more

Thanks to each of you for coming
I'm sad when your visits end
And please do come back often
And please do bring a friend

I'll be waiting by the doorstep
I'll have the kettle on for tea
Come by whenever you want to
And spend more time with me

-LE

I Want Only Those Books Which Are Worth Reading Twice

I want only those books
Which are worth reading twice

And why read it again
Lest it’s worth reading thrice?

And if I must read it thrice
It should be worthy of more -

The number of readings
It must exceed four

It must be worth reading again
It must always be new

It must tell me things hidden
It must tell me things true

It should grip me and draw me
It must make me lose sleep

It must teach me to laugh
It must cause me to weep

The story must flow
through my body and soul

It must make me feel wounded
It must make me feel whole

So when I hear ‘oh, I read that’
I think ‘oh, how sad’

A book you read once
Must be unbearably bad.

And just so may we be reading
The good book of 'The Other'

Good books much worth reading;
Book Sister and Book Brother

Dreaming of the Father

I dreampt that I was a father,
An adoptive father,
Posessed of a particular race,
A race different than my usual;
And that I had seven adopted children,
Of all different races,
At first I was suprised,
That I had adopted so many children, and that I had dared to adopt children of other races;
But then I saw what a joy and wonder it was;
and how full of love we were;
I saw that it was good in a profound way;
And very, very right.

Happy Dreams
LE

That's Still Nuttin:

As of today, this blog swept past two thousand visitors.
Not so long ago, on July 14^th , it hit one thousand,
And I posted a poem to commemorate the event, which poem I update below.
I promise, I'll wait till at least FIVE thousand before I make any more fuss.

p.s. I do see that lots of you are coming here wondering about your dreams and visions, and I do have a post that discusses discerning about the dreams, signs, visions and the like you have here, and I will be posting more on that subject. Please also feel free to post as comments dreams that you have, and I will share the ones that inspire me as blog entries. Do also feel free to share any comments, prayer requests, or other requests that you have.

...And thank you for dropping by, all two thousands of you. See, there was plenty of room after all...


That's Still Nuttin:

Two thousand folks came knocking
Two thousand at the door
Two thousand people searching
Two thousand, and now more

Two thousand hidden smiles
Two thousand who came by
Two thousand from all countries
Two thousand who drew nigh

Two thousand quiet moments
Two thousand friends to tea
Two thousand 'I understand's
Two thousand friends for me

Two thousand people questing
Two thousand asking why
Two thousand gleaming stars
Two thousand in the sky

Two thousand cups of coffee
Two thousand bits of toast
Two thousand hands held in comfort
Two thousand times a host

Two thousand questions answered
Two thousand, more or less
Two thousand joined in prayer
Two thousand joined to bless

Two thousand is so little
Two thousand is so small
Two thousand is not many
I have space for one and all

So come in off the doorstep
Come in, come through the door
Come into my guest room
There's room for many more

Thanks to each of you for coming
I'm sad when your visits end
And please do come back often
And please do bring a friend

I'll be waiting by the doorstep
I'll have the kettle on for tea
Come by whenever you want to
And spend more time with me

-LE

Returning Evil for Good

Why do some;
Shun you when you try to share your plenty with them?
Exclude you when you try to include?
Hate you in your efforts to help?
Return evil for Good?

One reason is that they need you to hate them.
They need you to be evil, angry, to be against them.
Their worldview does not allow for someone like you to be;

Nice,
Friend,
Partner,
Helper,
Companion,
Good,
Pleasant...

And the nicer you are, the more painful the dissonance between how they must see you and reality.

You can't be nicer than their grandma, their family, their spouse, their circle of friends. Your 'goodness' must be a lie, a scam, to lull their alertness, dull their senses so you can take advantage of them. They want no part of that, and need to strike out at you, make you stop, put you back into a steriotype that they can understand.

Don't make it easy for them by hating and excluding them back. It is hard work, but keep them on the spot as much as you can: be nice, be vulnerable, be weak.

Maybe, just maybe, they might start asking questions and come to different conclusions. They might change.

It has happened before.

Let us pray for opened eyes all around.

P.S. I myself am pretty lousy at this

Outrageous Easter

In my dream we were planning the funeral of a good friend, someone we loved a lot.

We were just getting started, gathering around a large table.

Family and friends were there, and around the table there were several who did not feel wlecome, or worthy to sit, and we were encouraging them to do so.

There was room for all.

And once we settled, and had started discussing, we realized a funny man was behind us...
...painting huge Easter eggs on the picture window that was there.

Even funnier, he didn't paint from his imagination, which you might think he would with such a simple subject. Instead, he had a friend who was arranging and holding large colorful Easter eggs so that he could paint them 'from life', draping fabric about them, and positioning them just so.

We talked about the two of them, and thought they were just a bit crazy.

But upon waking, I am not so sure.

In your times of mourning may you find moments of outrageous Easter.

LE

We Are Alike

We are alike
We love
We care
We love beauty
We care for others
We are alike

Our hearts beat
Our blood flows
We can be hurt
We can cry
We are alike

We make friends
We like to share
We like to talk
We like to take food together
We are alike

We can walk
We can walk together
We can help each other
We can help others
We get joy from helping
We are alike

We can give
We can give to the needy
We can share knowledge
We can see justice done
We can comfort the sorrowful
We are alike

Our love can flow
Can flow out from us
Together it can be
It can be a river
A cataract
A torrent
A flood
An ocean
Covering all the earth
Filling every hollow
Rushing into every closed room and cell
Washing out every dark hole and sewer
Flooding the caverns and canyons of the earth with liquid light
We are alike
And together we can do wonderous things

Let us begin

The redemption of Bully McFister

I looked up Bully McFister today
You know, the one that used to steal your lunch money, and hit you for no reason? Who liked shooting small animals with his bb-gun and bragging about it? At length? The one who liked to make fists with one knuckle sticking out and hit us as hard as he could in the bicep to give us bruises? That guy, you remember.

Well I felt like looking up the old crew and I 'Googled' his name. I thought I might at 'best' see a police blotter report of a robbery or a shootout, or even more likely nothing at all. But no, he pops right up, I see evidence of a creative soul, a sharp mind, an analytic, go-getting man who writes beautifully. I enjoy reading what he writes, and he is relatively prolific!

I squint at his picture in awe, trying to see the wise-acre who flicked boogers at us all from the back row, who enjoyed picking fights and causing trouble, who left us achingly writing our homework with bruised arms. A faint echo is all I get. Yeah, it's the guy. Who knew? Clearly my elementary-school self judged him prematurely, and I carried that predjudice forward. Somewhere inside the obnoxious troublemaker were the seeds of this new person. A person who contributes much to our world.

So Bully made good. I am glad that he did... ...it somehow seems redemptive. But I feel guilty for assuming he wouldn't, and wonder if we aren't failing many of our boys if they can be percieved as so futureless in school, and yet be so much once they hit the real world. I wonder what Bully's story is... Did he change all at once? Was there a series of transformative events in his life? Or did he just slowly start opening up, once he was away from the strictures, cliques and repressions of the school environment?

I wonder...

But I'm not sure I'll be reaching out to Bully to discuss all this. My arm is still sore.

Peace,
LE


'Bully McFister' is a fictional name that I made up to relate this story, but the story itself is true. For anyone who is actually named this, I pray your life is at least as redemptive as that of my 'Bully'. And for those working and suffering with today's 'Bullies' I ask you to take note. God is everywhere, indeed. Maybe your 'Bully' needs an outlet, a friend, a big brother, or a role model, maybe the investment in him is hard and painful, but he has real potential too. (And I reccommend thick sweaters to protect your arms.)

The Business of Love

Are you awake?
And if you are awake, do you see?
And seeing, do you speak?
And what manner of speech?
Are you welcoming or hard?
Available or distant?
Helpful or not helpful?

Do you note those around you who are hurt?
Those who are regularly put down, insulted, excluded, assaulted? The ones you see being harmed?

And if you did notice, would you offer them a word of comfort? Some direction? A hand of assistance? Or do you stand coldly with those who do the harm?

Remove your steel gauntlets.
Take off your armor.
Put up your barbed helmet.
Pull off your hob-nailed boots.

Wash yourself, cleanse your face, your eyes, your ears, your skin, and be clean;
Annoint yourself with scented oils;
Don soft garments for gentle interactions;
Silken slippers and gloves.

We are about the business of love,
And steel will not serve you today.

"They'll Take Anyone"

Jesus stands at the door and knocks,
But not just at your door,
You'll find him knocking along every street
Mine, and theirs, and yours

This feast that we are called to
Is open to all who'll come;
And it's our job to welcome
Each and every one

We must mean it when we say that
Our sins belong to God;
Jesus himself has told us
We may find the guest list odd.

Forgiveness is for sinners,
For us sinners, every one;
And a mixed lot of repentant sinners,
Will make our feasting much more fun.

So may we be among the guilty;
Told: "You'll take anyone",
And be numbered with those oddball saints,
When at last our lives are done.

Peace,
LE

That's Nuttin!

A thousand folks came knocking
A thousand at the door
A thousand people searching
A thousand, and now more

A thousand hidden smiles
A thousand who came by
A thousand from all countries
A thousand who drew nigh

A thousand quiet moments
A thousand friends to tea
A thousand 'I understand's
A thousand friends for me

A thousand people questing
A thousand asking why
A thousand gleaming stars
A thousand in the sky

A thousand cups of coffee
A thousand bits of toast
A thousand hands held in comfort
A thousand times a host

A thousand questions answered
A thousand, more or less
A thousand joined in prayer
A thousand joined to bless

A thousand is so little
A thousand is so small
A thousand is not many
I have space for one and all

So come in off the doorstep
Come in, come through the door
Come into my guest room
There's room for many more

Thanks to each of you for coming
I'm sad when your visits end
And please do come back often
And please do bring a friend

I'll be waiting by the doorstep
I'll have the kettle on for tea
Come by whenever you want to
And spend more time with me

-LE

God in The Waiting Places

...

Why does the darlky-tanned hispanic man wait at the shelter of the rural spur line? The trains there are rare, yet I watch as he lets one go by. Is he the same man I glimpsed sleeping in the hot shelter a month ago? It makes no sense to sleep there, in sight of green, shady bowers.

If he has an appointment with someone, or something, why not come closer to the right time? Or perhaps his appointment is with something or someone more mercurial - and he cannot know when, or if it will arrive. Something mercurial, but still worth waiting for.

And who is the older woman in yellow waiting for? She stands in the shade of some green trees, on a sidewalk away from the commuter's shelter and the platform. A freight train rumbles through, I turn for a moment and she is gone. Did someone arrive and I missed seeing them? Did she give up? Is this just a happy pause on her morning walk... ...watching a train or two pass, or does she daydream that someone will arrive, someone she misses?

Who rides all the dozens of bikes that are chained up by the station? They are here when I arrive and there are less when I return, indicating an early schedule, but I never see their riders. Do they ride for pleasure, out of a sense of economy and environmentalism? Are these students off to school? I doubt it. I suspect they are fry-cooks and baker's assistants and day-laborers, and bicycles are what they can afford.

Some religeous pamphleteers arrive, young men in starched yellow shirts and striped ties, soft-covered black bibles and literature clutched in their right hands, bending gently in their grips. They make a vague attempt to reach the commuters at the station, but they are on the wrong side of the tracks, and a train arrives to foil their efforts, whooshing their prospective converts off in the direction of the big city, and leaving no one save me. They glance briefly at me, but the cost/benefit of saving my soul must not seem promising, and they climb back into their beat-up suburban, and motor off, its hole-y muffler resonating loudly.

I resolve to try to meet all these people in the future. This is a waiting place, it is true, and people don't think of their lives as happening here, in the waiting places, but they are wrong. God also waits for us at the way-points of our lives, and while we wait, our lives are going by, and God is showing us people and situations and wondering: "Who will go for us?" And "Whom shall we send?"

May we often meet and recognize God along the myriad paths of our lives, and moreover, enter into God's labors.

Peace,
LE

Why Do You Teach Sunday School?

I teach Sunday School because:

Once upon a time, someone asked me to help.
I got over my fear of caring for other people's children.
It is needed.
I had good examples in the other parents.
I get to create a welcoming, safe, friendly, happy place for children in church.
I get to play with the *other* children.
I care about the place that the children are.
I get to hear children explain God.
I get to see quiet, shy children turn into outgoing, engaging little people.
I get to be an unnofficial God-parent, over and over and over.
I get to draw, color, stamp, paint, and make up silly crafts and lessons.
I am building memories that will last forever, both with the wee ones and with me.
I worry that sunday school will become rote following of pre-packaged lessons.
I think that coloring even a poorly drawn lesson from me is worth much much more to a little person than sitting in a long and confusing service.
I know that sometimes, the families come to church because the children want to color, paste, stamp whatever I have made up for them today.
I get to see the Bible and Prayerbook through a child's eyes - (and they need some healthy editing to be accessible to young ones).
I help build relationships and communities of faith.
I learn that everyone can bloom.

And because it's wonderful to see everyone bloom.


On a similar topic: Click Here

Pente-Caust

This Pentecost I was made humble
This Pentecost I was made small
This Pentecost I was shown foolish
Perhaps the most foolish of all

On Pentecost we spoke as our brothers
Not in words known just to the elite
We spoke in tongues that were humble
Like the savior who washes our feet

Fire fell on us from heaven
Fire not of anger but of love
Fire made us one with our brethren
Fire fell on us from above

So next time we feel we are better
Next time we judge our way best
Let's remember the fire from heaven
That marks us all equally blest

And laugh at me that I am foolish
And laugh that we are all so weak
And laugh with the joy of the spirit
Who stands with the humble and meek

In the Land of Palaces

I have spent the last few days in the land of palaces, and the place is spectacular.

Brightly-colored palaces with tile roofs and bowed balconies jostle each other for space along canals and beaches. Fountains splash along cleverly bricked walks and streets, while gates and walls, (not all of them visible) enclose their manacured lawns and carefully planned plantings.
It is an amazing and startling land, a place where new palaces rise every day, and extravagence tops extravagence.

Certainly the owners of these stunningly perfect poems of architecture must be superior, happy and generous people, noble beyond common measure.

But walking among them, even where they are dining together on sumptuous feasts I see no joy, no happiness. Their palaces stand empty most of the year, unenjoyed by any, their yachts and watertoys hoisted and tarped over. They only visit for a few weeks out of the year and then they are off to the next house or palace, flitting from place to place in persuit of a happiness that eludes them as they spend on foods that cannot fill their emptiness and wine that cannot slake their thirst.

As I passed through this stunning land of palaces, only one smile of friendship greeted me, stranger though I was. Some prince, or merchant, or wealthy lawyer or trader?

No, an outcast, Hispanic and middle-aged but proud in his cowboy boots and straw hat, as he sat on his bicycle. I was greeted by one smile, while the palace-owners and their guests sourly dined and went about their leisure among their jewel-like palaces and shops, unable to find smiles even for each other.

The Hispanic on the bicycle was wealthier than all of these, and the center of their beautiful city.

I wish that they could see it.

The Sex of God

It isn't so much
That God's a He or She
Or some kind of it

It's not like God has arms or legs
Or a tush on which to sit

But sometimes it is lovely
To use 'He', 'Him' or 'Father'
To call God 'Mom' is also comfy
To use 'She' or 'Her'.

Let's not affirm one gender naming,
Rejecting all of the rest.
Because although our God is sexy
With one gender (S)He is not blessed

And in our pan-gendered thinking
Please include Satan too,
And not for good affirm just girls.
While for bad just boys will do.

So let's sometimes call God 'Father'
And sometimes call Her 'Mom'
Let's try not to get bothered
Like someone dropped a bomb

I really like your gender
And I hope you'll honor mine
If we can be respectful
I'm sure we'll do just fine.

Posted early for Saturday

Together

Together
We are together;
We do things together.
We want to be together.
Sometimes we do things apart,
Even things that our partners don’t understand or like,
But we like to do things together.
We eat together;
We pray together;
We are together.

We think differently about a lot of things;
We discuss, argue even, but at the end of the day;
We are together.
There is no physical chain that holds us;
There is no law that compels us;
There is no force that prevents us from leaving;
We can go separate ways if we like;
And sometimes we will go separate ways;
But we like being together;
And we will come back together;
We are together.

May God bless us with many relationships like this;
In our relationships with God;
In our relationships with each other;
And in our corporate relationships;
May we be always
Together

To The Saints Of The Church In Dar Es Salaam

When needed, we are there
We visit you in prison
We feed your hungry
We clothe your naked
We heal your sick
We rebuild your homes
We bring sight to your blind
We tell you of God
We restore your Faith

Every day, if we obey God, we should be doing these things for those in need, free of concern for labels or borders, free of concern for names, or orientations.

We are all sorts of people, and invite all sorts of people to join in our ministry, but our souls are one.

Our calling is the same one that brought us to you when you were called sinful, unworthy, soulless, and irredeemable.

Our calling continues, welcoming and healing others called sinful, unworthy, soulless, and irredeemable.

May we continue always to do what we see our Father in Heaven doing.