what was it like
i wonder as i wait…
for the people to pass
through the tunnel…
that passage in the night.
   a birth to the other side.
pushed by the labor, then
   pushed by the army…
out of the womb of Egypt
   out of the familiar past…
      through that passage in the night
to the other side of the sea.

the veil is thin
when we sit upon the birthing stool.

   what must i do
   i wonder as i wait…
      to pass through this tunnel…
      this passage in the night.
in the moonlight
in the starlight i struggle.
   so i might see
      out of the familiar
         through a passage in the night
            to the other side
of me.

 

Jesus why did you cross the sea
and only one man set free?
From the chaos in his life,
and the rags of his mind,
from the fragments of family,
and the shackles of time?

You saw that man
with eternity’s care,
You took his rags
and claimed them as yours,
and clothed him instead
with a mind that was clear

Jesus, you crossed eternity,
You spoke peace to a man,
peace to the world,
you silenced with your word…
and gathered fragments
and rags…
to replace what was…
for eternity’s chair.

I spent 4 months meditating on Luke 8:22-39 in the early months of 2015. Four months of thinking about what it was like for that man, for the observers, and for the family in the story.  One man whose mind was filled with so much chaos created by demons past and present. A man rejected and separated from family, friendship, society… from love.  Then Jesus came.

My daughter-in-law, Kelly Herbert, with all her gifts and talents, joined our family in 2015.  Recently she shared 2 poems with me, one of which I will share now.  Both Kelly and our son, Tim, have an eye for beauty and a love for the earth.  They understand stewardship and their involvement  with stewarding the wondrous place they live and that we all share.  I absolutely love some of the phrases she uses.

All Things Big and Small
by Kelly Herbert

Have you ever stood next to a tree
Squinting up at its shimmering leaves,
Contrasted against the brilliant blue sky,
And thought about how this massive trunk of carbon sprouted out from a tiny seed?
A double helix,
A minute message of instruction,
Invisible to the eye,
Orchestrated the intrinsic dance of energy and nutrients that the seed did not have to practice to perform perfectly.
The seedling sucked up nutrients out of the earth and air,
Reached and reached and reached,
Collecting rays and rain drops until it was a giant vertical log tickling the clouds,
Its branches leaning over you now.  

Have you ever looked down at the mosaic of mosses beneath your feet?
Little green fairy sized ferns,
Terrestrial sponges of bluish green
that bounce back
Others, fragile, crumble with a touch
Even smaller and more complex yet,
Are the little critters trekking singular granules of sand up out of their intricate home of tunnels.
Do they even know I am here?
I do not think of them except now.
This world is so big and small.

This was written as an outpouring from experiencing 7 medical emergencies in the past 8 years.

There is a place where fear resides
After the calamity of the moment
When time stands still
Where breathes are counted.

There is a place where fear is effective
After the terror of the quake
When stillness is not calm
Where a pause is eternity.

There is a place where fear is realistic
After the horror of ten minutes alone
When two had to be one
Where breath was forced from clenched jaws.

There is a place where fear is
And to me
That is the night.

I’ve called and cried
hoping You would listen,
Spread my arms and
waited for you to answer.

Where is grace?
I feel lost and out of place.

Oh so slowly
As I’ve given up
you have found a way
to pull me close.

Where is grace?
I feel lost but have a taste

My heart you’ve changed,
so I won’t grasp
for what I long,
to what is gone.

For where is grace
when I feel lost and out of place?

In that taste.