Taste and See

It's just that my heart can be so small
pieced together with scraps
pinched, tired and tragic

I feel a stone there beneath my breast
weighted with distractions
wary, watchful, worn

But you,
You say "Taste this!"
Triumphant grin, open palm

I take it in hand
set it softly on my tongue,
let the moment slow right down

And it truly is marvelous
unbelievable, really
a wonder, if I may hyperbolize

Scrappy little heart softens,
plumps up

Not because the gift is so reviving, no
It's something altogether bigger
than taste on tongue

It's you, smiling there
inviting me to pause, consider
that what's ahead is sweet and good

And you are in it
with endless choice samples
of a savory, satisfying life

-lisa, 30 April, 2013

One of the things I love about the line of work we're in is the fact that we, by default, get to be part of a global community of people doing innovative things to try to make a positive difference all over the place.  In the case of Peter and Karie Stephens, it's not just by default.  We're related by our in-lawness.  Karie is Annie's sister, making her Jesse's sister-in-law and our not-really-relative but certainly something-more-than-just-a-friend :)

Peter, Karie, Mikey and Mason are helping bring solar power to a remote village in Papua New Guinea.  I like that they're doing this while still living in California.

Find their story and follow their adventure at Power Up Papua.

Dancing with Jesse

I was recently asked to write about some transformational events in my life.  This was the third one that came to mind, but my favorite to relate...

     The third event took place on a dance floor last December.  It had been the most beautiful ceremony as our son, Jesse, exchanged vows with dear, lovely Annie under a spreading oak in an open meadow.  Now the celebration had moved indoors and it was time for the groom to dance with his mama.  It wasn’t required, but we had decided to do it.  I don’t know why, really, because I’m hopeless at being led.  I dance alone.  I dance in my bedroom and at the stove as I wait for the kettle to boil.  I don’t dance with a partner in public.  

     We had decided to go for it even though there was no time to practice; no time for me to unlearn the stepping on his feet I was sure to do.  As we faced each other, holding hands and waiting for the music to begin, I smiled into his sweet, young face and asked, “So, what are we going to do?”  “We’re gonna go crazy,” he grinned.  

     The first notes of Queen’s Crazy Little Thing Called Love began, (a song I had chosen, for goodness sake!) and we did exactly that.  We went crazy.  We danced all over that floor and we had an absolute riot.  The crowd was wildly enthusiastic for us.  I danced with abandon and the utter joy of celebrating Jesse and Annie’s love.  When I came off the floor, a close, long-time friend said, “How have I never known you had that in you??”  I laughed and looked over at my folks, “Don’t worry,” I confided, “My parents didn’t know it either.”  

     I was transformed through that dance by the sheer delight I sensed from God as I cut loose and celebrated all that is good about love and marriage.  Completely at ease in my own skin, I experienced the pleasure of being myself.  I was transformed by the assurance that God enjoys a good party—and so very thankful I don’t have to be a Puritan.

(Photo by Jessica Taylor at 37 Degrees )

And Some Days Are Lower Than Others

There are times, I have to admit, I tire of you.
I tire of your demands-- the way you take and take and take.
It seems that our efforts to placate you come to naught.

We travel.
Not for leisure.
We travel because there are hidden places where friends struggle.
And you make it very hard.

"He was dead," a dear one said.
"Perhaps thirty minutes before I got there."
"A shot to the head.  I could tell by where the blood was in the cab.
They dragged his body into the bushes.  I guess he didn't stop when they ambushed his car."

Do stop.
(Always stop.)
Who cares about the money?

And how about that fevering one?
Wracked and reeling.
Pounded.
Malaria beating the crap out of her.

Because she just loves hanging out in South Sudan?
Because she has nothing better to do?
She gives.
You take.

And last week,
in the crush of traffic.
The four lanes made six lanes, made eight lanes,
made I-don't-know-how-many lanes.

That man's body
fallen there.
No blanket.
No ambulance.

One casual policeman standing
as the rest of us
veered slightly round him.

I turned my eyes and thought of his family
hearing the news.
(However they finally do.)

Who do you think you are?
So ravenously needy.
So brutal, so broken
and so beautiful.

Oh, Africa.
Shall we at least try
to be friends?


-lisa, 26 February, 2013

Berry and Oliver

Well, I suppose we have to eat
which means, of course,
that I must shop

I'll pull myself from
sapid words, plump, darling
and delicious

Leave these thoughts
that spark and blaze
and linger

To speak it plainly
I'd rather forgo the meal
or nibble toast with quiet tea

These words
they feast my heart
and give abundance

Rich and satisfying
more than enough


-lisa, 4 February 2013

December 9th

And I would like to think that I can capture that day
the cold bright air
steeped in light
sparkling

We had worked hard, and played some
grilled, feasted
thrown our weight into it
and laughed

(How we laughed)

The empty meadow under the heavy oak
spread her lacy welcome
freshly green and
magnificently tender

And while we could not add to her beauty
we brought small gifts
fresh flowers and our own
bonny faces

But more than that
we brought our love
to surround, yes, embrace
to stand with you

The meadow said--
"This is the place!"

You declared--
"She is my love!"

Radiant, she confessed--
"As he is mine."

And then, most truly
it was time
to dance

Love is better
than all else
and yours is deep and fine
and true

And I was unspeakably proud
of all that was there
the simple and most perfect beauty
the host of most remarkable friends

We danced our joy
Danced our blessing
Danced our wordless, whirling
Wonder

Your lives together from now on--
This, O this,
yes this, is simply
Hallelujah


-lisa, 21 January 2013

Traveling Mercies

And so we take the grace
hold it near like a mask
and breathe

It never seems to matter
how deep or rich or joyful
the time was

When the parting comes
it winds us

The room is stripped
She looks bare but for
the heavy bags packed and closed

What looks so neat and welcoming when we arrive
looks forlorn as we consolidate
and prepare to fly

Grace, then

Grace for the tears
on your shoulder
as I lay my head there

Grace for the
loud void our absence
will create

Grace for the journey
cramped and long
and weary-making

Grace for the transition
to the strange and familiar
of life on that side

Grace for the longing
we will feel
to be near you

Grace for the demands
Africa will be sure
to make

Grace, then

Grace
grace
grace

-lisa, 28 December, 2012