That Moment of Connection

That robin hopped onto the deck,
carefully checking out the territory.
He looked at me through the window;
I looked back, silent, immobile.
We connected for one moment,
then he was gone.

But that instant of connection
made this forest personal, alive.
When have I linked eyes with
a stranger, affirming their existence,
making our shared space in time
full of meaning?

A robin and a human! We had little in common, but our eyes meeting and sharing that pause was enough to make an impact on me.

There are times when a small gesture can reach across differences between us humans, as well, whether the gap is formed by skin color, ethnicity, class or just a lack of personal relationship. Glenn, my husband, will never forget the first time he went into an office in Ferkessédougou, the West African town where we lived, to pay our water bill. He had to stand in line a while, and when he got up to the window he immediately began to state his business. The clerk looked at him, silent for a moment, then said, “Don’t you greet first?” Ah. So Glenn started over, greeting him first very politely, and all went well. Lesson learned: greet first, then do business.

That gesture recognizes the personhood of the one you are addressing, we found out. There, it is a must, even at a cash register or when buying tomatoes in the market. We had some re-entry shock when we returned to the U.S. and saw people talking on their phones while paying the cashier, never addressing her, or walking past each other on a sidewalk on a sunny day in cold silence in the suburbs, eyes averted. Crowded city areas are of course another thing. But why not try the more personal approach in other settings?

Glenn is the master shopper in our family, and he has fun connecting with people this way. When he comes up to an older woman, he may even try adding things like we would do back “home” in Ferkessédougou: “How are you today? And how is your family?” Smiles are the response. After a long day of working as an anonymous servant, someone has acknowledged them as a person.

The city neighborhood where we live is really good at doing that, too — Black culture encourages those connections. I walk by two elderly men sitting on a porch and they call out a greeting. I pass a woman walking her dog and she waves, says “hi” and asks how I’m doing. And there is the farewell that warms our hearts, called out even if the person just opened a door for us at the store: “Have a blessed day!”

Let’s all practice noticing each other, extending warmth especially to those who are different from us, reaching across divides to demonstrate that love that we are called to live out. After all, we are told to “love your neighbor as yourself.” (Lev. 19:18 NIV) A friendly greeting is an easy way to start something that could lead to a meaningful connection. A little further in the same chapter in Leviticus it says: “The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the LORD your God.” (Lev. 19:34 NIV) Israel needed to remember what it felt like to not belong somewhere, even after living there for years. For many of us this verse is a reminder to empathize with our “neighbor” who might be a foreigner in our country or a stranger to us.

We can be like that robin, oh so different from me, who stared at me without fear and connected across our shared space. I was there, he was there. Together. And my morning took on a fresh new feel.

My book of poetry, When He Whispers: Learning to Listen on the Journey, is available on these sites, WestBow Press, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon:

https://www.westbowpress.com/en/bookstore/bookdetails/824658-when-he-whispers

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/when-he-whispers-linnea-boese/1139300248

The Alert Wait

The birds and I flit about
in this gray dawn
inspecting windfall treasures,
breathing the dense perfume
of damp earth
and spectacular blossoms.
The trees wait in silence
for whatever happens next
and now so do I.
This day is one that God has made;
he has a plan,
and I will stay alert to it.
If winds blow and whip me,
may treasures fall about
for those in need.
Meanwhile I’ll drink deeply
of the love soaking in
and pray that my aroma is a blessing.

One of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, captured a key element of how to live a meaningful life with her famous three phrases: “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”. It is so easy to just keep on keeping on without noticing the wonders around us.

The women I join for morning walks in our Detroit neighborhood were just talking about this the other day. I pointed out a young man that we all recognize and called out a greeting to him as he moved quickly down the sidewalk on the other side of the street; he is out there every morning, his limp and strong stride setting him apart. My friend Kitty looked up, startled, and said, “I need to pay attention. I didn’t notice him!” From then on we made a point of commenting on whatever we were noticing – blossoming trees, new fences, daffodils. It is spring, and even in a gray dawn with cold wind whipping by, there is beauty.

I wrote the poem above, “The Alert Wait,” when I was back in my “sacred grove” beside my home in Ferkessédougou. The seasons were changing, dry season gradually giving way to the rains. We had had a rain that night and the ground was drenched; the wind had ripped new blossoms off the frangipani trees and their aroma was gently blending with the strong smell of wet dirt. I walked around then sat in silence, absorbing it all, grateful for the moment of peace and contemplation.

What was going to happen that day? I’m sure you’ve wondered that many times too, as you rise and look out the window. What is God planning for me to do? How does God want me to be his servant today? Will there be another dilemma? Am I going to be frazzled, or will there be peace?

What I was hearing then, and what I hear now when I remember to put myself on alert, is that he does have a plan and I just need to be listening, paying attention. My friend Kitty’s remark about doing that made all the difference on what we gleaned that day on our walk. It reminded me that I want every day to be like that. I want to notice what is happening around me, and see my Father’s fingerprints. I want his work in me to flow out to others, impacting them in the way he desires. It is a daily learning curve.

This poem is included in the collection that I just had published, When He Whispers: Learning to Listen on the Journey (https://www.westbowpress.com/en/bookstore/bookdetails/824658-when-he-whispers and also on Amazon). You can join me in learning to wait alertly, paying attention to evidence of Abba’s handiwork and his personal messages!

Grateful, Listening

Under the wet grass
crickets crick-crick;
perched high near the sky
winged things sing melody.

If I don't pay attention
I miss the concert.

A rooster crows, 
reminding me to listen.
A coucal adds her commentary,
counterpoint in alto.

Are You speaking, too,
and I'm just unaware?

The world is drenched
with Your kind blessing.
I soak it in, on alert,
grateful, listening.

Have you ever been desperate to know what the Lord might be saying to you? I have been, many times. Sometimes his Word made the message clear, but other times I needed personal input from Abba. About 20 years ago I began to deliberately pursue the ability to listen to him. And I discovered that it was often when I picked up my pen to write a poem that I began to realize what he was impressing on my heart.

So in this phase of retirement I have put together a collection of my poems that specifically address this process of learning to pay attention to the Voice. When He Whispers: Learning to Listen on the Journey has just been published by WestBow Press, and you can find it on Amazon and westbowpress.com, where you can get free shipping: https://www.westbowpress.com/…/824658-when-he-whispers

I am launching the book this week and am reaching out to my friends and readers to join the book launch team! If you would like to help promote the book by writing a review that you post on Amazon and any other sites you use, it would be a huge help in getting out the news that this book is available. Just let me know via email at glboese@comcast.net or messenger.

It is a very intimate journey that I share in this book! None of the poems were written with the intent to publish them. But as time went on I would sometimes share one that was particularly relevant to a friend’s situation, or post one on Facebook. The affirmation that I was often startling. It showed me that others could benefit from this journey too, and some just really enjoyed walking the long path with me. So I decided to share what I personally had gleaned along the way by publishing a collection.

God had made me what can be called a “word nerd.” I love books, writing, and languages. I do have a journalism degree as well as two masters, one in linguistics and one in biblical studies (an MDiv). These were all part of the bigger picture that he was preparing me to do, training pursued as needed along the way.

When we entered into ministry in Côte d’Ivoire, concentrating on reaching the Nyarafolo people, I was learning a language that had not previously been written, learning the culture through participation and interviews, then working in Bible translation, I would come home with words in at least three languages whirling through my thoughts. And since one of the highest values in that people group is life in community, we kept our front door open until 8 p.m., receiving visitors – or else went to friends’ homes to visit, especially on weekends. Their stories were added to the burgeoning piles of thoughts.

Since words were the key element to my processing all of this, it should not have surprised me that the Lord could use that very thing to speak to me: words. I had started writing poems at the age of 7, and as an adult I found that one way I could hear Abba was by taking up a pen when I felt him nudge me with a thought. When the words came out in prose poetry I knew that he had impressed the content on my heart. Sometimes lament, often praise or just conversation, those poems became a journal of my learning to listen. The poem highlighted above, “Grateful, Listening,” is included in When He Whispers.

I am so thrilled that now this experience is one I can share through this book! I hope and pray that it will encourage many to pay attention and listen, discovering how it is that the Lord communicates with them. We are each unique, and he knows the way to reach each one of us.

Show Me the Path!

Lord, teach me how
to stay on alert,
watching out for the traps
insidiously camouflaged,
waiting for me
to take one false step
and cave in to fear,
or greed, or false symbols
of who I am. Show me where
the enemy has poisoned
the thorns inside the bushes.

Help me to recognize evil,
and avoid it completely,
clinging to what is good
and promotes love.
When the path is overgrown
and I’m wading through tall weeds
only you can show the way--
your wise kindness
and the light of your truth
pointing out danger,
leading me forward.

Heart fixed on you,
I can walk safely
through the brush
on the narrow path
you’ve chosen for me,
your loved one,
without stumbling.
I will follow without wavering,
rejecting inertia and deviation,
choosing the right way forward
because you’re with me,
holding my right hand.

Everywhere around us, the world seems to be a tangled web of assumptions, and temptations to believe “whatever.” It is so easy to just retreat in fear, to grab onto that which seems safe and dismiss what might challenge our own past suppositions.

More than ever I find myself begging for discernment. Only our Lord knows the real truth, and only he can direct me forward in the way that conforms with his purposes. I was so desperate to be discerning last year that I dared to delve into memorizing Romans 12, attracted by the verse that says: “Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may discern what is the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God” (Rom. 12:2 CSB). In the NIV, it says, “Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is” (Rom. 12:2 NIV). To discern is to test what you are hearing, and to choose to approve that which aligns with what the Lord wants.

What is implicit here is that you must be able to recognize and reject that which is not from him. It comes later, in verse 9: “Hate what is evil, cling to what is good.” What this said to me was that I was not to fall prey to the easy way out, excusing the wickedness that is in some choice just because of the other good that is being used to camouflage it. This is not normal, and it sure is tricky!,

It is, in fact, scary. Like the woman in the picture above, there were times in my African experience when the bush path we were taking was basically covered up by the burgeoning plants. What if there were snakes down under it all? Or scorpions? I always felt safer when I was not alone but following someone, still stamping hard to scare off any threat. How else could I even take the right steps forward?

So it makes a huge difference to me that the Lord has promised to show us the way! He even states firmly that he will hold our right hand, to lead us. In the West African culture, as it was in the Hebrew culture, the right hand is the hand of good action (the left hand is saved for dirty work!). With the Almighty All-wise God holding my right hand, he is not just comforting me but making sure I choose to do what is right.

That is, if I pay attention to him, to his grip and to his pull in the direction he has chosen!

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. (Rom. 12:9 NIV)

Who is wise? Let them realize these things. Who is discerning? Let them understand. The ways of the LORD are right; the righteous walk in them, but the rebellious stumble in them. (Hos. 14:9 NIV)

For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you. (Isa. 41:13 NIV)

On a Thread

It’s a quick walk on a fine thread,
this gift of life, this privilege
of breath and beating heart
and strength to step ahead.
So many disappear, flash out of sight,
thread cut off before its final length
unwinds. We shout “no!” and cry,
and move along, subdued, with more
awareness of the dangers, right 
and left, above and underneath.
It’s a wonder that we live at all,
considering the tragic possibilities
inherent in our threads’ trajectories.

And yet we push ahead, and marvel that 
we share the lavish brilliance of
sunrise, sunset, moon-glow, star sparks,
the precious wash of rain and winds
to dry us off again, the vibrant greens
of grasses and the trees, and sunshine on
the panoply of swimming, crawling,
flying, running, purring, playing,
living things on their own threads.
Woven all together, we are 
the tapestry of Earth. Creation.
Devotion. Delinquency. Destruction.
Survival. Commotion. Celebration.
Revival. Departure. Graduation.

Just one thing holds it together
and keeps it winding towards
a meaningful conclusion, resolution
of stories silenced early
with translation of anomalies 
into the fabric of Truth – one thing:
the Hand of God. I rest in this.
And breathe. And vow to use 
the energy of every heartbeat to 
contribute to his Grand Design.

I sat in my “grove” in Ferkessédougou the morning these words came flowing into my notebook, watching a spider move silently along her nearly invisible thread. She had woven a complete and intricate oval that was shimmering in the sunlight, a miracle of expert lacework framed in the air between two leafy branches. Elsewhere there were leftovers of other webs, tangled threads hanging down, broken off, those spiders gone. All it would take was a strong wind to carry away this masterpiece too.

My mother-in-law has lived a long and fruitful life. At 99 ½ years, she has woven a strong web supporting many loved ones with her prayers and love, and now that her lungs can barely breathe even forced oxygen, her thread is coming to its end. She’s been on hospice for over a week, and although it sometimes seems as though that endpoint has come, she is still hanging on.

Her daughter, Diane, came to help with the long hours of care and accompaniment that were being managed by Bev, Diane’s older sister. After four days, she wanted to leave to go home for the Easter weekend, but was tired so decided to sleep there in Saginaw one more night. She did not wake up here on earth; sometime during the night, her “thread” broke and she left for Glory. Her parting was a shock.

She had truly contributed to the Grand Design, letting her love for the Father overflow to bless others around her. When I picked up my dishrag this morning I remembered that she had made it for me when we were first moving into this home, evacuated from Côte d’Ivoire by war, unexpectedly putting things together in Detroit through the kindness of friends. The red dishtowel was one she brought me just one week ago, the last time I saw her, when we visited the family in Saginaw. She was gifted in giving. After news of her passing had gone out, the husband of one of her immigrant friends back home in Pennsylvania wrote me that Diane was going to be deeply missed: she was his wife’s best friend, and every week she cooked brown rice and brought it over to her. Diane also told the truths of the Word to children in the form of stories that enthralled them. She loved the Lord and his Word, and was a woman of prayer. And I will never forget our last conversation, just last Wednesday – she grabbed me aside to ask how the Lord is leading us in ministry in our new phase, retirement. And she listened. Her spiritual fervor is unforgettable. She left many silken threads woven into God’s plan.

And my mother-in-law still awaits her turn to go.

Diane graduated on Good Friday, when we take time to remember that Jesus offered himself as the sacrifice that would open up the way to life forever with him. And Sunday we celebrate his resurrection. He is alive! Those of us who trust in him pass over from this fragile thread to a real, solid life that will never end.

It moves me to renew my commitment to live a purposeful life, aware that my thread is also only temporary, but part of the Creator’s Grand Design. He knows his plan and how he wants me to participate in it. And he is love; his purpose is one I can rest in.

The same is true for you: may you also find peace in the truth that his Hand holds the world, and you. May we pay attention and savor the moments we are given as we take this brief walk on the fine thread of life.

Worshiping Like Mary

Victorine praying — commitment service at Tiepogovogo
(John 12:1-8)

If I were to honor you
like Mary did that week
before you died, what could I do?
My worship seems so paltry.

Mary, the disciple who
had sat at your feet, learning,
brought expensive perfume –
worth a whole year’s wages—
and humbly rubbed it on your feet,
that sacred space for her.
She anointed the Anointed One!

The aroma filled the room
like an offering of incense,
worship made tangible
for those who were sentient,
prayerful reminder of 
the Presence in the Holy Place. 
Perfume also drenched the cloths
wrapping a corpse for burial.
Had she heard him share
that he would soon die,
giving his own life to save his sheep?

Her offering was sacrifice
to honor the one who would be
the ultimate sacrifice, the one
whose death would rip open
the curtain that separated
the incense altar 
from the Most Holy Place. 
Mary’s hair wiped the ointment
from his feet as she knelt,
the perfume of her prayer
now with her wherever she went.

I have no such costly perfume, 
just the incense of my heart
when the words of my prayer
rise to the skies, gratitude
for your self-sacrificing love
swirling out in hesitant speech
and growing into song.

My white hair can testify
that you are faithful.
It can spread the aroma
of who you are to those
who understand the scent,
the truth that knowing you
has changed me, made me
your disciple, your sent one, 
more and more like you. 

Like Mary, I will kneel and pour out
my love and thanks in worship.
Like Mary, I need to honor you
by offering what I have, all for you.

Mary was a woman who could not let go of an opportunity to be close to Jesus. Her yearning to learn put her in the posture of a disciple, at the feet of the Master. In the past, she had listened. Somehow his teaching, and the concurrence of events like Jesus’ raising her own brother from the dead, had made her desperate to show him that she knew he was God’s Chosen Servant whose climactic hour had come. So she took that expensive perfumed ointment that she owned and proclaimed his anointed status, not by pouring it on his head as was customary, but by washing his feet with it – a humble servant stance. Wiping the ointment on his feet with her hair strikes me as an intimate offering of herself in that act of worship.

Would I have had the audacity to act out my devotion so humbly in that public space?

Mary’s humble, loving worship in advance of the once-for-all sacrifice of our Savior can inspire us, we who live in the informed time following the resurrection, to offer what we have. “All to Jesus I surrender, all to him I freely give . . .”1 And if we do this in a worshipful way, spending time with him and getting to know him intimately, the aroma of who he is will flow out from us to fill the room, the space we inhabit. We can be proclaimers too!

But thanks be to God, who always puts us on display in Christ and through us spreads the aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place. (2 Cor. 2:14 CSB)

1 Judson W. Van de Venter (1855-1939)

Look Up!

golden rain clusters and mangoes hanging above dry earth
Look down, and you see
withered leaves,
parched gravel,
litter blown in
caught on crushed twigs:
death, thirst and brokenness.

Look up, and you see
the tent of love
I’m making you,
tiny green popcorn
exploding each hour
to dangle like grapes of gold.

Remember, hope is high
above your world
and only seen 
when you decide
to focus upward
to what I’m weaving for you.

Here in Michigan we are excited: spring is here, theoretically!  The equinox has passed, and even though the trees and grasses are still dry brown, there are some buds popping out on the branches. And the weather is getting warmer.

I longed for this moment, this time of year, when I was in Ferkessédougou, Côte d’Ivoire, too. And without fail, by mid-March the bare branches of the trees in my yard would suddenly be festooned with flowers. The golden rain trees were my “sacred grove,” the quiet spot where I could meditate for a few hours every Saturday morning. From December through February they were like Michigan’s winter trees, stripped of their leaves. It was dry season, no rain. There was no grass, either. But even before the first “mango rains” would come in March, the green buds would show up in clusters and then, top to bottom, burst into golden blossoms.

This became symbolic of my journey, in many ways. There were long dry spells when it seemed like hopes were being dashed, when little fruit of ministry was being seen. Or the drudgery was just overwhelming. But then there would be these reminders of hope: the Lord is working his purposes even when it may seem impossible.

Maybe you have been going through one of those dry spells during these long months of waiting for spring or for freedom to gather with loved ones, for good news instead of one more crisis or for peace instead of crazy chaos. Instead of focusing on the debris and garbage, let’s turn our eyes upward to catch a glimpse of what our loving Father is creating for us. He is the Master Weaver, who knows how to take colorless thread or dry brown yarn and transform it into something glorious, even when the “rains” have not yet come and all seems hopeless.

We just need to focus upward. Our hope is in him and in what he is creating, while we wait.

Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD. (Ps. 27:14 NIV)

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. (Isa. 43:19 NIV)

The Pursuit of Peace

Chase after peace
when your world is in chaos!
Dodge rubber bullets 
and sharp cutting words,
and raise your arms
to the Prince of Peace,
begging him for the sweet release
of all who are captive
to arrogant whims
and violent solutions
that are just pollution
of all of our hopes!

Be one of those
who wades through the swamp
to wrap arms around
the marginalized!
Open your ears
to the reasons for tears,
wiping away the filth and the fears,
offering safety 
where dreams have been crushed
and the pleas for rescue
have been rudely hushed!
Find a way to make peace!

Picture yourself wading through a swamp. You take off your shoes and consider whether you should really do this – the water is muddy, you can’t see what might be lurking beneath the surface, and you’ve never been in this swampland before. Are there water snakes? How deep is it there in the middle?

But you see that others lift their skirts or pantlegs and wade on through, carefully lifting each foot out of the deep slush to take the next step. When you reach the shore, your feet are muddy. It’s time to shake it off and try to rinse your toes in the swamp water . . .

Crossing a swamp is not done without a purpose. You must have a reason to take the risk, and if there is someone on the other side who needs help or comfort, it is worth it.

The women in the photo are wading across because they were allotted land on the other side where they could plant a farm. Any profits they would make would go to help women in need. None of them have extra money, so this effort gives them something to work with. In their culture, widows and the fatherless are often dismissed as unworthy of honor or attention. These hard-working women want to make a difference, to spread love as well as the Good News.

It is interesting that “peace” in Hebrew is the word ‎  שָׁל֣וֹם  “shalom,” which has a broad scope of meanings, including these: well-being, health, prosperity, peace, peaceful relationship, kindness. In Psalm 34 David is giving instruction to young people and warns them that if they wish to have a good life themselves, they must keep from doing what is wrong or speaking lies, but instead “turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it” (Ps. 34:14 NIV). Respecting the Lord means caring about what matters to him. To be like him, one key thing is to do what restores well-being to the needy. “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Ps. 34:18 NIV) And he specifically blesses the person who does what is right, rescuing him from his troubles – even though he may have many of those (verses 17-19).

This should stimulate us to actually do something to reach out to those who are mistreated by society, or marginalized and neglected.

Jesus underlined this in the Sermon on the Mount, when he said that those who work for peace will be called God’s children (Mat. 5:9, NLT). I self-identify as his daughter; what am I doing to work for the well-being of those who are suffering?

Let’s Join the Dance!

circle dance at Tiepogovogo church
Check out this celebration dance video, the “poyoyo”:

https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/521089973

Neighbors, how can we leap
across this sad divide?
Too many barriers have been
meticulously constructed
to keep us separate –
if not by us in every instance,
at least by history:
the cutting words that sliced our pride
the thrust of our rejoinders that went deep,
surface smiles and habit handshakes,
memories of ancestral cruelty
and strict avoidance of transparency.

Now an excruciating moment
holds us riveted
before a vision of “perhaps,”
drawn in black and white
but etched in gold.

I find I cannot breathe
for aching to step on the scene
with you, those pushed aside,
to join the dance depicted there.
You’re holding out your hearts.
Wary, anxious as it is,
I offer mine. We share
the journey to forgiveness, 
understanding. And grace is
lacing my steps into yours.

I catch my breath again--
see! We are tentatively moving
to a beat we’d never heard
before we joined this learning curve:
blended you and me!

One of the things I miss most about the church community in Nyarafololand where we served for so long is the power of joining in the dance. At the all-night holiday celebrations there are hours of counter-clockwise circle dancing; at Sunday services when the drums or balaphones begin to call out a song, someone will take the lead and go to the space in front of the benches to begin the circle, others dancing their way forward to follow the pattern that best fits the song: meditation, unity, celebration, or working in community to reap the harvest.

It takes fortitude to dance in the night as the dust rises from pounding feet. It demands commitment to join the rhythmic group dynamic, a sharing of the space and message.

There, as well as here, there are ethnic and racial prejudices. There are those who maintain that their ethnic music is higher quality that that of the marginalized peoples. There are even some who, not understanding the redeemed meaning of believers’ worshipful dancing, have in the past pushed back against it. But with time and sharing, understanding and mutual acceptance has grown.

I see this as a picture of what desperately needs to happen here in the United States to heal the hurts caused by racism. Whether we feel ourselves personally guilty or not, the consequences of social inequity and marginalization (not to forget the outright suspicion of people who are black or brown) continue to infect our nation. It is indeed a pandemic.

Healing will require conciliation. This can happen through purposeful discussion processes that improve communication and help parties to work together toward mutually acceptable outcomes. In the Christian context it involves speaking truth in love, being quick to listen and slow to speak or become angry, and intentionally reaching past the distances caused by exclusive housing patterns. It means actually spending time together to build healthy relationships.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to dance together with one great purpose?

P.S. Check out Be the Bridge by Latasha Morrison, and the Facebook page “Be the Bridge.” There is so much to learn and practice.

The Hardest Race

Tiepogovogo believers marching together, on mission

(A prayer in response to John 17)

You prayed your heart that last night,

surrounded by eleven men

who listened, and took note.

And after you had left

(having suffered, died and risen),

John remembered, wrote it down.

For me. For us. For generations still to come.

We need to know what yearning

you expressed for health and harmony:

that we would live in unity: be one.

And it’s the hardest race we’ve ever run.

Most of us have opted out

to run on our own paths, alone.

Some teammates seem so distant,

others’ tongues keep lashing out

with hurtful words, insinuation,

wounding those who pass too close

or whip on by, or stumble in the dark.

We’ve lost the goal! We do not run

to claim a prize for personal renown;

we run to honor you! If we could come

to understanding, and cheer each other on,

we’d make it home, together,

and be welcomed by your smile

at how we have obeyed you, being one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, it is not easy. Jesus never said that it would be. In fact, he knew that we would need the Father’s protection in order to ever attain that unity (John 17:11).  So why are we so divided? All I know is that it is up to each of us to do what we can in our community to increase our unity and become the picture of oneness that Jesus prayed that we would be (John 17:20-23).

It’s a very hard race as we press on to the finish line, especially in these days of so much political and social division. We need to find ways to understand and respect each other. Forgiving the one who hurt me, asking forgiveness of the one I have hurt, rebuking lovingly the one who leaves the path and not rebuking with anger, encouraging the weak one to find strength in God himself while I do what I can to support them – these are all commands I must follow if I want to conform to the character of Jesus rather than to the patterns of this world.

In fact, this may be the hardest race we’ve ever run. Let’s do all we can to run as a team, to be one!