Anxiety, I Know Your Name and Your Game

Is that you anxiety

I think I know your name

The feelings you bring

I recognize your game.

You come attached

To the news of this world

To times and places

Ugly flags fly unfurled.

You leave us unsettled

We want things to be serene

You leave us in a mess

Or is peace too much of a dream.

Explosions left

Explosions right

Coming during the day

And in the dark of night.

Shootings on the left

Shootings on the right

Kids are out protesting

Offended by our slight.

The news cycle is full

Of all manner of things

That raise our angst

And make us dream.

We feel our humanness

Down clear to our core

Sometimes we wonder

Will we face what we abhor.

We have no trust

Of the man in that position

He stirs us up

We are his opposition.

He tells us lies

Day in and out

Our friends believe him

Sanity is in the middle of a drought.

We choose up sides

We blame and shame

But peace is what we long for

Our human game the same.

Looking for who to trust

Safe places an absolute must

Living anxiety free

In that place we long to be.

And from the storms that rage

I want to find a sweet reprieve

From the things that tear at my soul
Just breathe, I just want to breathe.

What gets us to that place

Is what I oftentimes wonder

It’s because of what we value

That is what I ponder.

Give us rest, O Lord,

From the stress of these insane days

Help us to breathe and march

And reside within your gaze.

Today is the Day to Trust, or to See it Come, for Them, But Most Probably For Me

The sun gently eases into the weary sleep and into the ears which may still be listening to dreams.
The sun is coming up outside your room, the glow is fading fast easing you into this day.
The moon and the stars lingered to say goodbye,but they had to hurry on at least for now.
The gentle breeze has words only it knows and reveals only to you.

Today may be very much the same, familiar may be its name.
Today may be novel, asking you to step out of the normal way things are done.
This day seems orchestrated by some that we've only come to know of late.
On this holy day, high and holy trust is felt, heard, seen, and suspected. Maybe touched.

Off as a group we go filled with wonder and delight, with anxiety and joy intertwined.
We enter the basilica with prayer and delight in the company of the Holy One of Israel, arms outstretched, a thorn-made crown caressing his head, and we come to a rare face to face with mystery.

The thorn-made crown is not my taste of wearing apparel. I wince in pain, so no cross I'll own. Too big for my mantel at home. Too showy of faith. Let's look for smaller, more subdued one, if you please. Maybe one made of trees when we live. I feel a little down about the crown, but I think I'll come back around to superficiality.

We saunter the streets make eye contact with all we meet.
Trying holy moments to create even after we just ate and hardly spake.
Space for superficial conversation pushes so as to replace the normal ruminations.
And more serious strains to meet as our paths criss-cross and we greet, and will it be sweet or intrusive.

We have things that do speak of generosity and caring, and we are curious.
Some saints and sinners when let through a front door or back door have little over which to pour, but
When they can sense the holy trust we carry in our back packs and in our hearts, and
With the Spirit of the Holy One we discern their battles, at least from the edges.

We create a holy space in which hearing is done, speaking is done, understanding and  understood are out on the tables of the cafe. Risk is rewarded. Fears are pushed away. We may even feel an extra ray of sunshine on his any otherwise chilly, windy day.

Each day is never the same and each encounter always different.
We are simply called upon to wonder about the wounds carried by the wounded seen or unseen.
For when we lean into doubt, respecting boundaries, and offering hope,

A new thing is born which slowly decodes mystery shared and trust develops and people talk about things that are real relevant life here and now and then even when the then crowded into the now.

When is a trip to the restaurant just that? When is a quick in and out of the grocery store just that? When is a trip to the small BBQ stand on the corner on a Thursday afternoon just that? When is wondering through the shops of all the sales of baby clothes at the going out of business  just that?

When is it more.