Be Strong

by Maltbe D. Babcock 1858-1901

Be Strong!
We are not here to play, to dream, to drift;
We have hard work to do, and loads to lift;
Shun not the struggle-face it; 'tis God's gift.

Be Strong!
Say not, "The days are evil. Who's to blame?"
And fold the hands and acquiesce-oh shame!
Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name.

Be Strong!
It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,
How hard the battle goes, the day how long;
Faint not-fight on! Tomorrow comes the song.

Justice and Mercy

We are called to do justice, show mercy
This calling requires great strength
Wringing our hands will help no one
We must both speak loudly and act
Words without actions mean little
Oppression ignores empty words
We are called to do justice, show mercy
We must not be silent and still

Care of the Dead

We honor and care for our departed in many ways.

Some of what we do is profoundly practical;

-collection of bodies by families and health workers;

-cleaning, preservation, and clothing or wrapping of bodies so they can be neatly managed;

-documenting and displaying of bodies so that those who had dealings with the departed can know that they are truly dead;

-final disposition of bodies that prevent them from becoming food for hazardous beasts or disease-spreading vermin.

And these are practical, sensible steps that humans execute to properly manage the dead in almost every culture, and which we have done since the days of the Neanderthals.

These tasks have also a 'ritual feel' to them, a depth. I think that few can care for the dead without being moved. Like children, or the very ill, the dead cannot care for themselves. They will not complain. They have no words, arguments, or expression any more. What filled them and gave them life is gone.

So we care for them. Sometimes we can express things to the dead we could not, cannot, to the living.

The dead do not judge.

The dead do not get angry.

The dead wait on us, and on God.

So we care for their mortal shell;

We place pictures, reminders, and little offerings;

...Where they died,
...Where they are buried,
...At memorials,
...In our workplaces,
...In our homes,
...In our lives

The dead cannot use these things.

The dead don't need flowers or sea shells,
Pebbles or crosses,
Candles or pictures

But we do.

We living, need to remember;

This one was, and is no more
This one lived
This one loved and was loved

This was one of us.


-for Boomer, and all our loved ones

Keep Dancing in Your Heart

The other afternoon I saw the girl-fox;
Dancing along on her toes;
Both forward and shy at the same time.
Young, yet careworn.
A morsel of food in her mouth.

Guessing where her path might take her,
I moved to where I could see her again,
and she boldly came within twenty feet of me, and stopped,
wary, yet bold, watching me.

I hadn't intended to interfere with her, so I spoke gently to her, and stepped to one side.
She trotted back to where a curve would take her out of sight, and stopped, looking at me,
almost daring me to follow,
and then she went around the curve, not fast, not slow,
dancing on her toes.

I wasn't going to follow, either.
I was mindful of why a girl-fox might carry food,
Instead of eating it.
But then a yapping, fox-singing noise broke out;
The sound of young foxes greeting their mother.
So I walked to where the edge of the tall grass curved, and looked down the dirt road.

At first I saw nothing,
But then the girl-fox danced out,
Eyed me proudly, and sat.
And in a moment, two beautiful young foxes came to join her,
Playing around her,
Bouncing and pouncing.

They looked well fed and cared for,
And I understood the pride in the girl-fox's eyes.
She was care-worn from tending to her joy,
for spending her love on her children.

I asked God's blessing on her little family and headed off to my own little family,
Feeling just a bit less care-worn myself,
And somewhere inside,
dancing on my toes.

- - - - - - - - - -

And maybe this is a sign for me:
My work is very demanding
And not what I would choose
But it is what I am forced to do
What I must do for now
To care for my family
And perhaps I need to approach
My work with more joy
Because doing this work
Is caring for my family

Peace,
LE

Baaa!

Meow!
Maybe she is lonely, I hold her.
Meow!
Maybe her litterbox needs changing.
Meow!
Maybe she is hungry, I feed her.
Meow!
She doesn't know what she needs, does she?
Meow!

Wah!
Maybe she is lonely, I hold her.
Wah!
Maybe her diaper needs changing.
Wah!
Maybe she is hungry, I feed her.
Wah!
She doesn't know what she needs, does she?
Wah!

Lord!
Maybe I'm lonely, hold me.
Lord!
Maybe my life needs changing.
Lord!
I am hungry, please feed me.
Lord!
I'm worried.
Lord!
I don't know what I need, do I?
Lord!

Push towards the Light!

When a child is born
Sometimes it seems to sleep in the womb
And the mother works hard to push it out
Other children feel the womb moving and squeezing
And push with their legs
Striving to be born
We are like unborn ones in the womb
Push towards the light!

Deliverance

Yesterday I was doomed.

There were wolves at my heels,
And ahead, smoke and fire.
My way is blocked,
I have no escape.
I will not despair-
I will either march through the flames,
Or fight the wolves.

The wolves who run and run
And never tire,
And never stop,
And never die,
And show no mercy.

The fire is high and hot.
But as I come close to it,
Chased by the relentless wolves,
It is less, and I am able to pass through.

I am not burned,
I am not less,
I am not hurt,
I am clothed in a new garment.
White clothing of celebration
And peace.

And today I am free,
And the wolves howl distantly.
And it was none of my doing.
I merely moved ahead,
In a Godly direction,
But without much faith.

I am going to leave this writing
Unresolved.
I do not have an answer.
I am not sure of the question.

Soldier on.
Have what faith you can.
Pray.

We will meet again,
The wolves,
The fire,
And I.