When I began reading scripture (many years ago now), I was surprised to find real people in every book of the Bible. I think I expected stodgy folks who were (mostly) perfect and had an answer for everything (or at least pretended they did). Instead, I found self-doubters, whiners, and weaklings; people soaring to giddy heights or sinking to abysmal lows. A couple prophets all but told God off, and Jesus Himself said He was sorrowful to the point of death. The honesty was refreshing and encouraged me to be transparent with God in my own prayers. (And doesn’t He know everything anyway?)
One thing I’ve been learning, is how much God just wants to be with us. He’s more interested in relating than religion, in presence than proving Himself, in being than doing.
“Warmth” is a mundane moment turned meditation. This poem will be in my next book, A Song of Glass: Dreams, Stories, and Poems.
Warmth
In the kitchenette at work,
my back to the glass exterior door,
I listen to the microwave drone
and wait for popcorn kernels to burst.
My head is water-logged,
a mass grave of tears,
bones of grief in a hole,
lost to history.
Through the glass,
the sun comes like God:
not with answers but warmth,
like a speechless hand laid on my back.
A Wandering Minstrel 