Pie in the Sky Thoughts...

Lately I’ve had an imaginary conversation with someone who asks why I’m a liberal snowflake (or some such). I’m not sure when I think this conversation would take place because I tend to avoid confrontation whenever possible. But I’ve been thinking about my response:

Because I believe that God wants everyone to have a place at the table, 

and I believe that our task on earth is to make sure 

that all of those welcome people can find the dwelling, 

that they can open the door, 

that they’re able to step over the threshold, 

that they can find a seat, 

that they have the proper utensils, 

that the food is sustenance, 

and that the fellowship is beautiful.

All of the things that we do that make the table unavailable for all of God’s people? 

I’m against those things.

The Story

For the record, we both acknowledge that mistakes were made. Opportunities lost. Incorrect paths taken. But, given all of the things that could have & should have, this is what actually happened.

On Saturday we got the truck in the evening. On Sunday we said goodbye to the refrigerator (donated to my church), and our bed (donated to a lady in town). On Monday we started putting things on the truck. That night I volunteered to sleep in the recliner, but it was too awkward for me and I got about 4 hours of sleep.

On Tuesday, we worked HARD. Especially Dr. M. Up and down the ramp, lugging and pulling and toting, rearranging, offloading & reloading. It rained, hard at times. There was a thunderstorm. I worked in the house stuffing our belongings into whatever container I could find. We had planned to stay in a hotel about an hour away, and needed to get there by 2 a.m. on Wednesday (we laughed when we saw that – not a problem, we thought!).

At 1 a.m. Dr. M finished loading the truck and my car & took a quick shower. I was staying behind to finish cleaning. As he got ready to leave we realized that my car battery was dead. We opened the trunk to pull out the jumper cables & just stared at all the things. We were not going to unpack the car to get to those cables. Not at 1 in the morning. I told him to just go – I would call AAA. He headed off into the wind and rain. I headed back into the house to call AAA and the hotel (to let them know he would be late). While I waited for AAA, I cleaned. Please keep in the forefront of your mind that I am not a good house cleaner. And that it was after one in the morning. At one point the vacuum cleaner stopped working, and I spent about half an hour digging into the hose with a clothes hanger, pulling out wads of carpet fluff.

AAA came & started the car. I left it running for a little while, but needed to get back to cleaning. Does one wonder why I didn’t just leave it running while I cleaned? In retrospect, one DOES wonder.

I finally finished – or I was finished. At that point, nearly 5 a.m., I was drifting into a fugue state. I put (shoved, crammed) all of the remaining items into the car, and walked back into the house to say a final goodbye and lock up. And saw a painting on the wall. It was one that I had brought back from Zambia. Quite large. I might have said some words that I don’t usually say. I took it down, found a place in the car, and then locked up the house.

My car wouldn’t start. I called AAA. I waited in the empty house, sitting on the carpet I had just vacuumed, noticing all the things that hadn’t gotten cleaned. I listened to my audio book (Hamilton: the Revolution, by Lin-Manuel Miranda). I considered just sleeping in the house. But at this point, the house was my enemy.

AAA came, I drove down our street for the final time, and headed to the leasing agent to drop the keys, and then drove to Chillicothe. Through a monsoon, apparently. Wind, pouring rain, an urgent need to pee. I had been awake for over 24 hours and drove 80 miles per hour. I was reminded of the time I drove Mom & Mamaw to Victoria Falls and was trying to outrun my fatigue. I reached the hotel shortly after 8:00 a.m., had some breakfast and then slept for 2 ½ hours.

At noon, Dr. M & I headed out to drive through more torrential rain to our new home. I felt a little tested, you know? God, Satan, Ohio, North Carolina… For or against? Expelling us? Repelling us? Drawing us home? I do not know. We arrived at just after 7:00 p.m., slept for 10 hours, and awoke to a beautiful new beginning.

Note: Dr. M is a BEAST. So strong & strong-willed – powered through pain and rain and mental calculations. By the end he had bruises on his bruises, and could barely use his hands. I worked harder than I ever have (being a sloth by nature), but he KILLED IT. Have mercy. 

Not So Wordless Wednesday

Unbroken Heart

My heart beats the same as always

(really, I’m healthy as a not-too-elderly horse named Felicity).

What happens when the world crashes down around me

(or even when it’s just a non-load bearing wall crumbling at my feet)

is this:

I feel the punch in my core and it shakes loose.

The chasm opens and there it goes and I with it - down down down.

Every time.

 

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide. The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide. When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me. 

~ Abide With Me, The Hymnal 1982

Wordy Almost Wednesday - The Children of the Corn Edition

I've been having such a crazy fall. Super busy work. Church duties. Failed root canals... There hasn't been room in my brain for being very creative. Or attentive to other people's blogs (sorry!).

And it doesn't really look like winter will be any better. My boss is leaving the company (his last day is this Friday) & my job will change in ways that I can't really imagine. We're getting a new roof put on the church, and replacing a vanity in the basement bathroom. And on Thanksgiving day I found a lump in one of my breasts that is probably just a cyst, but will need some kind of attention (I had a mammogram yesterday & the technician agreed with my assessment - but of course I'll need to hear the official word from the radiologist). 

And now it's Advent. We sit in darkness waiting for the great light. If you're Episcopalian like I am you try to tune out the Christmas music and settle in for the wait. Christmas Day is coming, but it's not here yet. So I'll add in some extra waiting to the season. The "what the heck will my job look like" waiting can mingle with the "what the heck am I going to do with the grape in my breast" waiting. 

I imagine myself, sitting in a darkened sacred space. One worry is in my left hand. The other clings to my hip like a small child. And we wait in peace for the light.

We interrupt this Lent…

The table is waiting.

It sits without judgment.

Bread and wine

and open arms

waiting.

What can I do?

Nothing but walk to

the waiting table

and say yes.

I’ve accepted a leadership position at my church. I just composed this long explanation of what it is (Junior Warden) & why I’m nervous about it (total lack of experience) & why I’m excited (I get to learn new stuff). But really, unless you’re an Episcopalian none of that matters. Anyway, prayers if you pray, good vibes if you vibe, nice thoughts if you think… Please and thank you.

But he’s already made it plain how to live, what to do,
    what God is looking for in men and women.
It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor,
    be compassionate and loyal in your love,
And don’t take yourself too seriously—
    take God seriously.

Micah 6:8

The Message (MSG)

Rainbow after the storm...

I used PicMonkey to intensify the colors of these pictures Dr. M took this evening.

I woke up today with a heavy heart after yesterday's passage of Amendment One in my home state of North Carolina. I have lots of sad and angry thoughts, but I don't need to add my voice to the babble. To read a couple of excellent posts that mirror how I feel go here (Despite Amendment One's Passing, NC Is A Better State Today) and here (A Matter of Civil Rights, Not Marriage). 

A Facebook friend posted part of the lyrics of a Casting Crowns song. Those words really are the heart of my bleeding heart liberal philosophy of life. It's kind of my mantra.

"Jesus, friend of sinners, we have strayed so far away
We cut down people in your name but the sword was never ours to swing…
…Oh Jesus, friend of sinners
Open our eyes to the world at the end of our pointing fingers
Let our hearts be led by mercy
Help us reach with open hearts and open doors…"

Rainbows are symbols of hope to me. I have hope that someday all of our decisions will be based on mercy and not judgment. 

Prognostication

On Fridays Pearl does this thing where she uses the songs on her iPod to predict what the weekend will be like. Since I'm between audio books and actually listened to music this morning on my way to work I decided to try the same thing. Yes, I'm totally stealing this idea from Pearl. So, what did my trusty ancient old Palm Pilot have to say this morning?


"Bluer State" by John Gorka (Writing in the Margins)
"New Kid in Town" by Trisha Yearwood (Common Thread: The Songs of the Eagles)
"Arms Length" by John Gorka (Writing in the Margins)
"Polly Gone Home" by Allison Krass & Robert Plant (Raising Sand)
"Miss Chatelaine" by K.D. Land (Ingenue)
"Perfect Love" by Marc Cohn (Marc Cohn)
"Cocaine" by a bunch of guys (Pickin' on Clapton)
"Lyin' Eyes" by Diamond Rio (Common Thread: The Songs of the Eagles)
"Get Right with God" by Lucinda Williams (Essence)
"He Waits For Me" by Eliza Gilkyson (Beautiful World)

It looks like someone is going to have a really crazy weekend which will require some repentance on Sunday. Frankly, I hope it's not me - I need some rest!
 
I've been looking forward to baseball season FOREVER (as you may or may not have noticed). But it's dawning on me that unless something changes, the Braves won't be all that this year. I mean, I'm still singing, "...and the home of the Braves..." in my car in the mornings, but there's more of a question mark at the end now ("...and the home of the Braves?"). On the other hand, my adopted team, the Reds, seem poised to have a most excellent year. They just signed that surly cutie Joey Votto to a long term deal (he even has his own cereal now!) & they still have that ebullient cutie Brandon Phillips. So there should be some baseball enjoyment this year.
 
To totally flip this post on its head, I'd like to mention that it's Easter weekend. I've already been to a Maundy Thursday service (foot washing!) and tonight is Good Friday. Both of these services are somber as we consider the events of the last days of Jesus' life. And I find it so ironic to be focused on this, the greatest advocate of the poor and sick in human history (where do you think Mother Theresa learned her stuff?) during a time when the poor and sick are being swept away by what some people consider righteousness. Can we really celebrate resurrection on Easter morning while "the least of these" are still dismissed as inconveniences? What Would Jesus Do? Really - what would Jesus do?

Not Quite Thankful Thursday

Is this what depression looks like? I am daydreaming about winning the lottery. After thinking about what charitable bequests I would make and considering the matter of trust funds for niece & nephews & other children we know, I get down to the nitty gritty. What special wonderful things do I want to have money for, for myself?

I would pay off our bills.

I would pay someone to clean my house.

I would get to sleep late.

I’m obsessed with sleeping. I want to put a pallet in a spare office at work so I can take an afternoon nap. I want to (but rarely do) go to bed at 9:00 pm every day. I never want to get up in the mornings – whether it’s 6:00 on a work day or 9:30 on the weekend. The idea that I might have enough money so that I don’t have to get out of bed is bliss.

I go through the motions of prayer (using the Anglican rosary that Dr. M gave me), but I really don’t want to have anything whatsoever to do with God. I skip church. I do the happy dance when Bible Study is canceled. I glance at God sideways and go, “shoo!”

On the other hand, I’m happy with my job and my husband. I love our little house & the things we’ve planted and the birds that make us laugh. I don’t even mind my long commute because I get to “read” a lot more books that way (currently playing: Whisper to the Blood a Kate Shugak mystery by Dana Stabenow).

I’m content, except for that business of wanting to sleep late. Perhaps my dreams are filled with the God I’m avoiding and I think that five more minutes will provide the secret to life. Hmm. I think I’ll pay closer attention when I do my rosary tonight. 

A Psalm

I.
Unsayable and unformed prayers
Carom off of hope and dread
Until there is no part of my being
That doesn't commune with God


II.
By day I see your face
In the crowd around me
By night I am wracked
By doubt and insignificance


III.
The dark swallows
Communion and joy
But in the morning hope
Perches by my bedroom door


IV.
I will close my eyes
And dream of the ones
Who love me and
The One who loves me


V.
Come morning I will
Take hope's hand
Once more.


This is a One Shot Wednesday poem.

The Poetry Bus goes to Meetin’

Argent is driving the bus this week. She has asked for a poem about a meeting. The ones at work are so deadly that I went back further to an entirely different type of meeting.

I suppose camp meeting means different things to different people. My church didn't have the tradition, but when my cousin KJ was a youth minister she took me to the one her church participated in. I was in college at the time and I was fascinated. Staying in little shacks for a week (which were coveted – if you were a family with a shack you were gold). Going to revival meetings. Hearing the bellowing that meant there was a good revival preacher – just in the background as you walk around and around the circle, cruising without cars. As far as I know, my mother never attended one, so the poem below is a work of fiction.

Camp Meeting

Cammeetin' is
an elaborate
courtship ritual.
Chasing and being
chaste under the
watchful village eye -
avoiding the glory tent
where my mother
is being washed
in the blood
of the lamb
one more time.

Pictures from here. Definitely check out the website if you're interested in learning more! And go visit Argent to read other what the other Bus commuters have to say.

In Which the Bug is Molested by Cockleburs

My goodness! I spent the weekend in a veritable writing frenzy – producing three stellar pieces of word art (four, if you count the limerick). And here I go again with the writing. I do believe this blogging business really is an addiction. But I can quit any time. Really.

Anyway, when I wasn’t writing yesterday I was studying the passage I’m responsible for at our Bible study tomorrow night, Joel 2:23-31. This section has one of my favorite passages in the Bible, but first I’d like to point out the irony of verse 23:

Be glad, O people of Zion,
rejoice in the LORD your God,
for he has given you
the autumn rains in righteousness. [e]
He sends you abundant showers,
both autumn and spring rains…

Hmm – I was all prepared to talk about how parched we’ve been, but weather.com indicates that in September we had just under the average rainfall (although my dad’s area in NC had about half of its average rainfall). So maybe we’re always draughtish in fall. But, with the exception of a couple of good rains, we have seen no abundant showers here in middle Ohio. I know, I know – every year is different & blah blah this & that. I was just amused to read about all this abundance last night after we’d tried playing bocce on the concrete slab disguised as our lawn.

OK, enough about the non-irony. Here’s the passage I love, verse 28:

I will pour out my Spirit on all people.
Your sons and daughters will prophesy,
your old men will dream dreams,
your young men will see visions.

So, Spirit for all! Sons & daughters even! Why, I do believe that daughters are women – are you listening Southern Baptist Church? Hmm? It goes on to say, “Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days.”

Oh for heaven’s sake – I’m sure that there’s no one reading my blog (among those who believe that there is a God) who would disagree that women can’t have God’s spirit. There’s just this debate about what they’re allowed to do with it.

I really did not plan to go down this path today – mostly because as far as I can tell it’s more of a meander full of those cocklebur things that stick to your pants & then you spend a half an hour afterward pulling them off. This is what happens when you leave your mind to its own devices. Isn’t there a meme I can do tomorrow – just to keep me on more manicured paths?

Baseball, Politics & God

I’m feeling rather random today. I’d like to blame lack of sleep, but actually 7 ½ hours should be enough, don’t you think? I would have gone to bed earlier but I’m taking an antibiotic for a potential abscessed tooth & I have to stay up until 10:30 to take the 3rd dose of the day. Now that both of my teams are out of the playoffs I’m ready to start going to bed at 9:00 each night.

Speaking of baseball, I read that when the Texas Ranger’s won their division series, Josh Hamilton’s teammates doused him with ginger ale instead of champagne. He’s a recovering addict & I love that they wanted him to participate. He sat out the last celebration so he wouldn’t be tempted – left, in fact, to go talk to a church group. But this time they wanted to include him so they broke out the Ginger Ale - & waited until he left to start the usual champagne & beer-fest. Very cool.

Here’s another baseball gem. I have a problem with praying for victory in sports events – or with attributing victory to God. What does that say about the other team? Are they Godless? Does God hate them? Or our team if we lose? Apparently, Bobby Knight, appearing at a luncheon at Southern Methodist University, agrees – and if you think I lightly mention that Bobby Knight & I agree on something you are surely mistaken. He’s the kind of basketball coach I love to hate. Anyway, here is the info from Big League Stew (where I get all of my baseball news), quoting the Dallas Morning News:

Knight jumped in before his speech officially started — heck, before lunch was even served — after the Rangers' series win over Tampa Bay was mentioned in the benediction.

"I think Cliff Lee had a hell of a lot more to do with it than the Almighty," Knight said, after grabbing the microphone at the podium unexpectedly. "If in fact the Almighty was involved in the game, what he ended up doing was screwing the other team. And I don't think he works that way.

"You've got to get up there and throw the ball over the plate and swing at good pitches. You know, He doesn't give a damn about that. Let him help the Republicans."

Let him help the Republicans. Oh that just made me laugh loud & long when I read it this morning. I do believe in separation of church and state, but goodness, I think all three parties (Republican, Democrat & Tea) could use a bit of help from God.


Although I’m not exactly sure that I believe politics is more important than baseball.

Feed My Sheep

Dr. M is guest posting this morning. I read his homily regarding the giant Jesus statue on Facebook last night and immediately asked if I could steal use it on the blog.

He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. John 21:16

Let me begin by saying that my grandfathers, one a Baptist preacher, the other a Baptist deacon, would simply be aghast at the idea of ANY statue of Jesus associated with an evangelical church! Worshipping graven images is a violation of the Second Commandment, and my grandfathers took all those pesky Commandments very seriously. No graven images = no temptation to worship them, and so we had no graven images…not even a crucifix! Alas, my grandparents were products of an older age, still clinging to the remnants of radical Protestantism, knowing what they believed and why they believed it. They were descended from Lutheran and Reformed or Presbyterian traditions, but drawn to the Baptist church by its local church autonomy, simple liturgy, and emphasis on The Word. They sang the old evangelical hymns, read the Bible with zeal, and, for the most part, practiced what they preached.

As I have grown older, I have found it fascinating being an "insider" in Preacher Friday's family: his children (my mother, aunts, and uncle) often resented his selfless nature. They resented that they would never have much of anything in terms of material possessions, because their father would literally give the shirt off his back to someone in need. He preached many years for small congregations, lucky sometimes to get much more than a Sunday meal for his efforts. Though he loved Jesus with all his being, I dare say that never, ever, in his wildest fantasies, did he envision an evangelical church that would think it appropriate to build a six-storey statue of Jesus, King of Kings!

You see, that's precisely the point here: my grandfather did not worship King Jesus! He worshipped God. Yes, he believed in the Trinity, and like most Trinitarians struggled to wrap his mind around the whole "father, son, spirit, yet one God" concept. He believed that Jesus, as part of the Trinity, was the son of God, the Christ, and his personal savior. Preachers of his generation knew the difference between proclaiming Jesus as Lord and worshipping a false god: King Jesus. They served and ministered to people because that was God's will for their lives, and they had sense enough to know that the Lord's work did not involve building giant Jesus statues!

Unfortunately, over the last several decades far too many evangelical ministers and their congregations have lost touch with their Protestant roots and with the basic mission to which they should be called. It is not that they invented the Cult of King Jesus; no, far from it...that cult is many centuries old. What they have done is to convince themselves that what God wants from them is to shout the name of Jesus at the top of their lungs, to shock the world into realization that Jesus is King of Kings and Lord of Lords. In screaming the name of Jesus over and over and over again in oh, so many ways, they seemingly strive to shout him down from the heavens, no doubt in the form of the Second Coming they so eagerly await. What these ministers seemingly fail to understand is that, with the din and clamor over King Jesus, they have drowned out the still, small voice of God, whose son they claim to be praising. Moreover, they have strayed from the path of humble service to which all Christians should be called. And so we have the story of the giant Jesus just off of I75, built by a wealthy former horse trader turned minister. How on earth can one reconcile this statue with the church as revealed to us in the New Testament? You know the one: the church Glen Beck rants against, the one that cares for the poor, divests itself of wealth, seeks to serve, keeps a low profile, and yet grows by leaps and bounds precisely because it is true to its calling!

Admittedly, this whole bigger Jesus than thou thing is an extension of the quest to prove one's piety by building bigger stuff than thy neighbor. History bears witness to this in the form of the quests to build the ultimate cathedral, the world's largest crucifix, etc. Having grown up a radical Protestant, I can blame much of this on misguided "high church" types ;-) and, more recently, woefully misguided televangelists. Folks, the bottom line is this: one does not earn God's favor or approval by building a giant cathedral, or a giant crucifix, or a giant cross, or a giant Jesus.

Do you love Jesus? Then feed his sheep! It really is that simple, folks. Feed the sheep...all the sheep, for we are all HIS, according to scripture. No building of Big Butter Jesuses, no gaudy, ghastly displays, no bowing at the feet of King Jesus instead of worshipping the Lord Most High. If you love God, care for God's lambs. That's what Jesus would do...indeed, to the best of our knowledge, that's what the historical Jesus and his faithful followers actually did!However, one most certainly CAN stray from the mission of the church, one can SQUANDER the bounty of a given congregation or the faithful masses, and thus one can SIN AGAINST GOD! If you want to prove your love for God, then follow God's commandments. That's the name of the game, straight from the source: Jesus. By all appearances, it is far easier to build giant cathedrals or Jesuses than it is simply to follow God's commandments.

And so in the case of the Solid Rock Church and its leadership, I am greatly disappointed. While I am sure that this church does many positive things, I must challenge their decision to spend so much money on the giant Jesus, which they now plan to rebuild! Solid Rock, if your church is founded on what you say it is, Christ, the Solid Rock, then you need to demonstrate your love of God by doing what Jesus Christ asked of you.

Just Do It!

I must say that the second day of Lent (or is this the first day & Ash Wednesday is its own day?) has just let me have it with both barrels. I have often practically bragged about how sluglike I am – slothful, lazy, slacker, "Piece of Sh** Housewife" (sorry for the language - this was the result of a Facebook quiz – and is terrifyingly accurate!)… These are all adjectives I've used for my usual demeanor. Well, now I'm forced to admit that this behavior is probably not the best me that I can be – or the me that God would like me to be.

Here is the reading for the 18^th from this website (emphasis added):

We call it procrastination. Sometimes it is fleeting and temporary. At other times it becomes so habitual that we lack the energy or motivation to do what needs to be done. Sly as a snake, sloth has slipped into our soul and shut down our desire to be active in bringing God's goodness to the world by what we create. Sloth feels like pampering at first, but gradually our soul grows heavy, and it feels like our meaning has been stripped away.

I'm on the mailing list for Barbara Cawthorne Crafton's almost daily motivational emails (eMo's). She's a bit of a hero of mine. Here is an excerpt from the eMo I received on Thursday:

Jesus resisted his temptations to satiety and power better than I resist mine to indolence -- no surprise there. As always, I am impressed by how gentle and reasonable my temptations seem: Oh, never mind, sweetie, they say, you're tired. Just take it easy. God loves you just the way you are.

Indeed, God does love me just the way I am. Always has, even at those sorry times when what I was has been significantly south of what I could have been. But the fact that God loves me as I am doesn't mean God wants me to stay that way forever. Part of love is challenge: Be what you can be. Grow into the full stature of Christ. Use what I have given you, and take joy in using it. I will give you the energy for it if you will step up to the plate and begin. See? Feel the stream of living water that flows straight from my heart to yours? Let that stream rush with power into the world, and you will know why I put you here, in this place, at this time.

I think I'll be spending some serious time this weekend considering how to get up out of this chair and do something!

Up A Creek

This picture is for Ellen - see? No snow!!

I climbed the bank

Sobbing with effort

Red with the mad-beating

Of my heart

This memory is faint

An echo of what

Probably wasn’t

Probably was

The water calls

Again

And I will answer

Again

Better put on my

Climbing shoes

Dontcha think?

Haiti

My heart is heavy. All the things I want to write are meaningless - I've read many blogs today whose writers have said it better. So I'm just going to ask for three things:

1. Pray. That's self-explanatory.
2. Give. Here are a couple of options, but you can't turn around twice without hearing about more: Episcopal Relief & Development & Red Cross.
3. Appreciate. Take a couple of days off from whining about the cold, or lack of sleep, or your diet, or your arthritis (I'm talkin to YOU Bug!). Perhaps even reflect on the ideals expressed by Martin Luther King, Jr. whose birthday we in the United States celebrate Monday. Here is a quote from a speech in 1967: A true revolution of ideals will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth (source, Wikipedia).

Rest eternal grant unto them, O Lord: and may light perpetual shine upon them.

Gone South

You know how

some folks leave

at the crack of dawn?

Um, no.

We piddle around

and play on the computer

and remember 9 last

minute absolute necessities.

By 10:00 we’ll be

barreling down I-35

headed to home.

It’ll always be home.

There’ll be hugs and

laughter and sadness,

playing with a new baby

and pie

It’s the place

and the people

who sent us forth.

We’ll carry them

back to Ohio

after our days

of giving thanks

to the God who sustains us.

This is my father's family (he's the bored kid in front in the white shirt and tie). My grandmother is the tall woman in white, standing in the back. To her right is my grandfather.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

See you on Sunday!

The Invitation

It is a ritual I remember well
from those bad old Baptist days…
The pastor is wrung dry
from bearing his heart to the people.
And now he stands, head bowed
while we sing all six verses – twice:
“Just as I am, without one plea
but that thy blood was shed for me…”

When I was young, there was
comfort
in that place of confession.
That walk up the aisle.
That cleansing.
Sins exhaled to a waiting ear.

Today I wonder what
I would confess if
I were to take that walk
toward the praying man.

Perhaps that the dress I’m wearing
costs more than my weekly pledge.

Or maybe, that this narrow place
feels seductively safe
but is no longer my home.