The last one there

He was the last one there. Like that high school quarterback, who after his team wins the state championship, yells and hugs his teammates and get buried on the bottom of the dog-pile and then becomes entranced in a stupor amidst the celebration. He stays to sit on the fifty yard line after everybody else has left. He doesn't want to leave because he wants to breath in and breath out the vapor of sentiment that lingers in the place. He wants to let the joy in his heart run out his eyes in tears that roll wet down his cheeks just so that he can touch them. He wants to know that such a feeling is real.

And so the last one there was like that guy. When the girls came in he was sitting there on the right, still in his celebratory attire, that perfectly white robe. He didn't have much to stay, still overcome by the reality of the morning. Never, ever had there been such a victory on this earth. And so never, ever had there been such a celebration. They had never heard such sweet, melodious singing, and they had never seen a light so bright and penetrating. They had never witnessed a power so shattering, and they had never felt so loved.

This is why when the girls walked in unaware and he sat there replaying in his mind every moment of the morning and every reality of the present savoring the music and the light and the power and the freedom and the love, words didn't seem to be enough. And so that's why it came out in a flat, still voice, "Don't be alarmed; I know who you're looking for. He's not here though, really he's not. But he's coming to see you, so go tell your friends."

That was all they needed to hear. They left at once and he sat some more.

Lloyd

He was always there when danger was close behind. With a casual wave of his hand he shooed it away and waved goodbye to her worries. In these moments, his appearance had hardly been observed. But this time she knew of no threats at her heels, so when she rounded the corner toward home and spotted him halfway to her door, she surveyed him up and down. His rickety body was weighted with a round stomach that hid under a holey sweater. His white beard frosted his dark skin as it grew up his neck and down his face and all around his withered lips. His feet shuffled one in front of the other, toes peeking out for fresh air.

He didn't have to look up to know that she was coming. She could see the corners of his mouth stretch further across his face with her every step. Her hips led the rest of her as her golden hair trailed a half pace behind. And then finally when she was near, he let out a deep chuckle and said, "Girl, every time I see you, it aggravates my integrity. I just want to put my mouth on your bottom and gobble you up. I think you'd taste sweet as honey."

A mix of bewilderment and fear rushed between her mind and her bones. He knew that just like that it was all undone. They peered into each other's eyes, his wise from the years and hers fresh with youth. And for a moment neither of them knew what to do. But then it became clear. They laughed. They let it roll out of their bellies through their wide open mouths to be set free in the crisp Autumn air. That's all there was to do: laugh that good laugh as they walked down that Harlem street and invited everybody to stare.

home

My soul just thumbed through a few thousand pages
and breathed in life and goodness.
Then it closed the book's cover
and knew it was home.

Uck is in Stuck

Perhaps there is a reason that Uck is a part of Stuck.

Stuck keeps us in a place that we likely don't want to be. Otherwise we would be Content, as if we were living in a Tent.

So maybe Uck is in Stuck because while we are Stuck, we can't fully see and that keeps us saying Uck. And then when we are Unstuck we'll be able to see that we were just Tucked inside a time.

Perhaps one day there will be no more Uck and just the realization that I was Tucked.

Wet and Heavy

She couldn't wait to get to that bed. It was there that blankets and pillows nestled her in while comfort stripped off every temporal emotion that wrapped her body and bound her core throughout the day. There was so much to be undone that she wasn't aware of how much she needed this rest. And so she lay down and her head pressed upon the pillows and her arms pulled the blankets soft and consuming over her body and already the tears were there.
They had become like snowflakes to her, every one different than the ones that had come before. These teardrops were wet and heavy. They made puddles in the curves between her eyes and her cheeks. Their depth so great they couldn't be wiped away, couldn't be taken by the habit of her hands. They were meant to sink through her skin and and return to her core from which they had come. And so she shut her eyes with those tears resting wet and heavy.

Reality

First I felt the sting and then came the pain. The arrows continuously pierced my chest. They were laced with poison; it rushed into my veins and raced through my body. I couldn't take my eyes off my wounds, and deterring my mind was just as impossible.
The torment overwhelmed me. Of nothing else could I conceive: not the source of these arrows, not a hope for relief. Only my ache and my agony. This offered no escape.
Somewhere inside of me, humility gasped for a breath, and my eyes and my mind escaped myself.

For on my left, I saw the enemy's army approaching--from the bottom of the hills they flooded. Troops of vandals leaving a path of destruction in their pursuit of me. They sought my flesh and my soul. And now my pain was accompanied by despair.
But with a glance to my right I saw the sun beaming off the armor that cloaked the troops perched up on the cliff, keeping a steadfast watch over me. With the first syllable of my feeble utter for help, they swept down from above with their wings spread wide. In no measure of time were they at my side.

While some surrounded and kept me, others set off to level the enemy. With their swords they slaughtered the ferocious beasts from head to toe. Upon this sight, many of the enemy cowered and retreated in fear. Triumph was declared. With this, all glory befell upon the victors' lord. Such beauty demanded that never again should I hesitate to call upon His care.

If only I never failed to see that there is so much more to this battle than me.

Love's Beauty

There before the wedding altar they stood.

Their love so young and fresh and pure. Nothing could come against it. So love created flowers all around them. Each colorful and creative, a celebration of their care for each other. They said, "I do" and stepped off the altar and out of time.

With each stride they were greater in their years together and deeper in their love. Their eyes ventured up to survey the canopy above. The green life of each leaf illuminated by the most beautiful of sunlight, which continued down to dance upon their faces. They walked along paths and over roots that drew life and health into strong, towering trees. Their adventures led them down secret passageways where mystery made its home. Placid pools became watery mirrors so that they could look at the two of them together. They held their cupped hands under misty waterfalls and satisfied their thirst. The wind carried pollen for new flowers to bloom and remind them of the first site of their love.

Looking...

I've looked everywhere.

Searching across country borders, surveying from atop their volcanoes
and sifting through the sand of their beaches and the crashing of their waves.

Scouring open fields that stretch further than the eye sees
with flowers and grasses that danced and chased the wind.

Scrutinizing the concrete jungles and scanning from atop their towers' high peaks
with their everlasting flow of people passing in every direction.

But I cannot find it.

Freedom where are you? Nowhere that my heart has been.

Destruction. Beauty

We were supposed to gaze upon the beauty of stars and bright planets, but that was taken by a thief of the night.
That morning should have marked the joy of celebrating family and the creation of new relationships, but instead there were negotiations made with the enemy.
It was meant to be about the hope and passion of lives planned to be a part of a bigger story, however there loomed one who sought to steal, kill, and destroy.
And what was intended to bring a lasting peace of reconciliation and forgiveness was swept away by a jealous, lying hater.

I am overwhelmed by the beauty that You desired for there to be, in which you intended for us to share. And then to consider the fatal way in which we twisted it--the destruction of which leads only to despair.
It was supposed to be about your glory. Instead the glory was given to one who doesn't deserve to be named.

Yet to stop there at him couldn't be further from just. We must always return to you, for from you we depart and to you we must go.

And so to consider the beauty of your glory and how to it there is nothing to compare, except perhaps the extent of your mercy and the riches of your grace. And therefore despair will have no claim, instead the victory of grace that restores and renews will be declared for your renown.