You tell me,

I tell you.

That’s what we do.

When waves are crashing over you,

And everything seems dark,

You tell me,

I tell you,

The Lord will never leave you,

He is right there with you,

Even in the darkest hole.

When life is glorious,

And blessings fall

like summer rain,

You tell me,

I tell you.

Lean harder into Christ,

These gifts are given

graciously,

Be in the Word,

And guard your soul.

Every element of life is His,

Every strength and sorrow overflows

with holy purpose,

So I say again,

You tell me,

I tell you,

Praise God!

He hears,

He turns our wounded hearts

toward greater grace,

He understands our

deep fragility,

He knows.

And time moves on,

Inexorably on.

I cannot stop,

There is no pause,

No quick replay.

And even memories display

a finicky choice,

Somethings left in,

Somethings left out.

I can remember

meeting you,

I can’t remember

who you are.

Memory tugs,

Familiarity

checks the data base,

And hasn’t got a clue.

You look like someone

I should know,

Do I know you?

He used AI

to write a letter

to the editor.

It sounded so professional,

He used AI

To write a script

for social media.

He made AI

His business tool,

While his own voice

Kept growing smaller,

Ever smaller,

Swallowed by the high speed

data flow,

That always followed

certain phrasing,

Certain protocols,

And certain pauses

and vocabulary.

Peter’s brain,

Still shrinking,

Had already decided

AI was enough,

And Peter,

All the personality

that once was Peter,

Had to go.

I fear the day,

Worrying what

it will bring.

I spend my soul

on lesser things.

Afraid to face,

What already has been

conquered

by God’s overpowering providence.

O LORD,

I’m leaning in.

You are my steadfast love,

You are my mountain,

Strong,

Immovable.

You are my refuge.

LORD of Hosts,

You are my King.

We are gifts,

Gifts to each other,

Sometimes raw

and full of pride,

All prickly,

Unrefined,

Yearning,

Restless hearts.

But still,

You use us,

Teach us,

Recreate in us

more noble graces,

Using our sandpaper selves,

To bring a gracious shine

on our own

rough and awkward souls.

How kind,

How great You are,

To condescend,

To let your love and wisdom

flow through us,

Toward those we love the most.

You thought Babel’s tower

was about,

Breaking up the band,

Confusing us with different languages,

Thoughts no longer shared.

Now the tower breaks our hearts instead.

It is a box of apps

that closes us from one another,

Sitting in the same room,

Speaking ordinary words,

We all should understand,

But don’t.

We do not hear,

We do not see a face,

We do not hold each other’s hand.

No one wants to interact,

Except by avatar.

We have become illiterate

of basic facts,

Of messages that only eyes can tell,

Or mouths express.

We have become pretend,

Unreal,

Echoes lost in time and space,

Boxes holding boxes,

Reading boxes

Being boxes,

Cold communities of shadows,

But not the human race.

A square of cardboard,

Follows me this morning

on my walk.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

A tumbleweed of cardboard,

Caught up in an urgent

Summer wind,

That also tosses up

dried petals,

Bits of sticks,

Trying to push me up

into a faster pace.

Too slow, old woman,

Too slow!

Until I turn a corner,

Captured by her

sister wind,

A brat,

Desiring to press me

hard against

the mailboxes,

Stalwart narrow metal doors,

Across the street.

She wants my hat!

I’m exercising,

Trying to stave off

old age

from taking too much

real estate.

Too many parts,

Are reaching sell by dates,

And energies are waning,

Long before I’m ready

to give up the day.

What can I bring,

To God’s own harvesting?

This jar of clay,

In these worn moments,

Is discovering,

That every breath needs gratitude,

And every thought,

Must find God’s capturing.

Priorities are shifting

more and more,

Toward grace,

Toward Christ,

Toward meeting people

where they are.

The days are short.

The needs fill up

a thousand neighborhoods.

They’re overwhelming every town.

I cannot reach the world alone.

I am one servant,

And I’m slowing down.

But I am His,

A listener,

A neighbor

checking in on someone,

That the Lord has planted

in my heart,

Another soul worn out by life,

Another jar of clay,

And we can walk together,

Sharing in God’s

all unfolding mercies,

As we stumble,

Sometimes cheerfully,

Sometimes achingly

through each and every day.

Her natural habitat

is focused,

Busy,

Three kids under three.

A constant flow

of motion,

Like some odd

eternal dance.

Clean clothes

move from the dryer,

Into baskets,

New load in the wash.

Change your partner,

Someone missed the toilet,

Now he’s bellowing,

Poop! Poop!

From up the stairs,

And I hear mommy

starting up the bath.

Downstairs,

One darling princess,

Holds a favorite doll.

She wants to help me

clean the crayon

off the wall.

Her Royal Highness,

Four months old,

Is watching from her own

well-padded chair.

Her job,

Like any other queen,

To nod and smile,

And look serene.

Grandad’s in the kitchen,

Moving dirty dishes

down the line,

While I keep tabs

on dirty pants,

And pass around

the bowl of snacks.

Then Mommy glides in,

Just in time,

To put the queen to bed,

Sweep the floor,

Give stickers out to those

who “tried,”

And start the laundry circle

‘round again.

Jar of clay,

Easily fractured,

Easily frayed.

I could have been

a vessel of destruction,

But Christ

claimed me,

He has named me

as His own.

He fills me

With His glory.

All to show

His all-surpassing power,

Belongs to Him,

And Him alone.

Where was I

when He laid earth’s foundations,

While the morning stars were singing,

And the angels shouted joy before His face?

Did I forget,

Eternity already

has me by the hand?

There’s more of Him

in everything I am,

And do,

There’s more of grace,

And I am more secure

then I could possibly perceive,

Or understand.

Hold fast,

Keep holding on.

Some days

were made for crying,

Letting go

of what I cannot keep.

Some years,

There’s very little sleep,

And every day,

A steady fight for air.

When life is failing,

Swords are growing dull,

And bodies ache

from months of war,

Exhausted hearts

may think,

I cannot do this anymore.

It’s hard work

dying to yourself,

Giving everything away

for someone else,

And for the sake of Christ,

Dying everyday again,

The same day,

Playing out

the way it did before.

But there are moments

where it all makes sense,

Among a thousand

thankless moments,

Where we wish we understood

the reasoning behind this day,

The present crisis,

Looking like so many others,

Knowing then,

Somehow,

That He who has begun a work in us,

Is right now,

In this awful moment,

Re-creating us,

Lifting up two tired heads,

Giving blessing to us both.

Between the quarrel in the car,

The words we wish we’d never spoke,

There is this hope,

That won’t let go.

So keep on holding fast,

Keep holding on.

His all-sufficient grace,

Is guiding you through every task.

I have been reading a commentary on Leviticus by L. Michael Morale, and it is a breath of fresh air. Here are some gleanings from that study.

All religions ask, “How can I get to God?” All of Scripture says, “To get to God, He needs to come to you first.” God doesn’t need us. He is complete in himself. But His joy was to create an entire universe, a world filled with life, and a place to have fellowship with His people. The goal of Creation was not just to make a world. The goal of Creation was the Sabbath day after the days of creating were completed. The day of communion had arrived!

We do not know how long that perfect communion lasted. Genesis 3 tells us that the Man and the Woman fractured that perfect relationship, sin and pride disrupted Eden, the Most Holy Place. For their own protection, God evicted the couple from the Garden of Eden, sending all humanity into exile, wandering outside home, and outside the house of God. (p. 63) The world divides into two peoples; the ones who make a name for themselves, which leads to death, and the others who call on the name of the LORD, leading to an understanding of sin’s boundaries, recognizing they stand under condemnation, requiring God’s intervention.

But God has not abandoned His people. He knows them. He claims His people with the promise to Eve; from her will come the offspring to undo all the unholiness that Adam and Eve brought into the world. God is with Seth and others who followed in his line. He is with Noah. He is intervening, just as He had planned from before the foundation of the earth, that we should be holy before him (Eph 1). After the flood (new beginnings), Abram’s call to leave Ur (new directions), revealed more promises: from Abram’s line all the nations will be blessed.

Egypt is first a human greenhouse, a place for flourishing and growing. In the end, Egypt is redemption, separating God’s people from bondage and death, preparing them for life with God. God is calling this redeemed people to show all the nations that God is the maker of heaven and earth, the One creating humanity for His ultimate purpose, opening a way for mankind to dwell in His presence.

What is required to begin the journey towards home is the blood of the Lamb. Already God has killed animals to provide skins for the first couple, and those who call on the name of the Lord, who understand sin, have been sacrificing animals since. We know that the definitive Lamb is Christ, the greater story will be Christ, and this story hints at it. But now, as Egypt faces God’s judgment, Israel’s redemption, in this time and place, depends on a more local substitutionary atonement. The lamb must be killed, its blood must be smeared on the door posts, and the people must eat the meat to make them holy, to cover them when the angel of death passes over. After the Passover, God begins to institute the feasts, to highlight who God is, and what is required of God’s people. This includes preparing the right place for God’s dwelling with His people, for the Tabernacle, the Tent of Meeting still to come. There are detailed instructions for the building of the Tabernacle; its contents, and for the priests; their clothing and their work. And there are detailed regulations on the Sabbath. (Exodus 31, 35) It is grounded in Creation, it is holy, it is the day to meet with God.

What is it to call on the name of the LORD, as unholy people in need of God’s grace and redemption? It is full of the wilderness, the sinful stumbling and grumbling, and the constant need to lean into God’s grace. God brings water out of a rock, quail and manna for food. Their shoes do not wear out as long as they remain in the wilderness. He protects them from enemies. He guides them, but God cannot come close. He is still a refiner’s fire. He appears as a cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night. Sinai, the mountain of the LORD, is overwhelming, frightening. There is lightning, great enveloping smoke and fire, and the mountain shakes in His presence. From here God makes a covenant with His people:

“You yourselves have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now therefore, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is mine; and you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. “(Ex 19:4-6)

God is dangerous in His holiness. Stubborn unbelief can lead to serious discipline. When Miriam and Aaron rebel against Moses’ authority, God strikes Miriam with leprosy. Aaron and Moses plead before God. He requires her to be put outside the camp for seven days as already proscribed for dealing with skin disorders. All of Israel must camp out and wait until it is safe to bring her back into the community. They do not move on until God heals her. There is healing in her repentance, but her sins will keep her out of the Promised Land. The same can be said of Aaron and Moses. She and her brothers, along with their generation, except for Joshua and Caleb, will be buried in the desert. Unbelief can lead to death. Israelites died along the journey because they did not obey and trust God. This walk home for those who call on the name of the LORD is both daunting and hopeful, frightening and encouraging. Preparation for the Tent of Meeting, the place where God will dwell with His people is still the goal.

Exodus ends on a high note. The Tabernacle is built. The priests are consecrated and properly prepared. Then it says, “the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle. And Moses was not able to enter the tent of meeting because the cloud settled on it, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle…For the cloud of the LORD was on the tabernacle by day, and the fire was on it by night, in the sight of all the house of Israel throughout all their journeys.”(Ex 40:34-35, 38) God’s story with His people is just beginning. But here is the goal at last, a holy God dwells with an unholy people, a people He calls, His “treasured possession.” And this is only a foretaste of more to come…

When I was seven,

And she was five,

She and I

took Sunday morning baths

together,

Arguing the finer points

of law,

And our philosophies,

On whether

TB tests could verify

that color television,

Was in our sight,

Or we were stuck

with black and white,

OR

How to gain

a woman’s form,

Required constant practice

holding in our stomachs,

Making ribs stick out

eternally,

The goal.

We argued about everything,

Two thinkers,

Testing out

the limits of our universe,

Like Archimedes,

Making grand discoveries

with bath and soap.

As always,

She,

More fiercely sure,

Decided she was right,

And being older,

I was left

to navigate the path

of equanimity,

To set the limits

of our weekly fight.

Oh for a quiet moment,

A walk that wanders,

The warm sun

on my back,

And whisps of wind that float

across my face,

And lift the edges

of my hair.

I could dance all afternoon,

with butterflies,

If only you were there.

He played the piano,

Gently,

Meandering through the melody,

Jazz chords building

quietly

into the melody’s connections,

Like some half-remembered

lullaby.

And all my memories

of early years,

Flew past.

Flashes,

Music on the stairs,

Meals,

Soft glowing evening lights

while reading books,

Discussions caught,

Art and music

painted into all the walls,

Fresh air,

Bursting in on old

forgotten thoughts,

On love once part

of everyday,

From people

gone from here,

Who once were

when

the beautiful,

Encompassed rooms and halls,

And for a moment,

I was there again.

He’s standing

in his doorway,

Much too thin,

His dark brown skin

more like old leather,

After years of work.

He’s lost,

Somewhere inside the cracks

between

all time and space,

He’s here,

He’s there.

It’s me, dear friend,

I say,

It’s Susan.

Eternity is hovering near,

He’s staring at his

ancient flexing fingers,

Reaching for the basket

in my hand,

Not really finding where to grasp,

As if his hands

are shimmering illusions,

Passing through the air,

And he

is not quite truly there.

And I think,

How appropriate!

Here it is Good Friday,

Skys are gray,

And we are both here waiting

on this side of heaven,

For that last stone

to be rolled away.

The saguaro

wears a flowered hat,

And every rising arm

holds one bouquet.

A momentary lapse

from desert dry,

The endless sands,

And prickly scrub,

These giants

stand resplendent,

Celebrating once again,

Renewal has begun,

As if the glories

Of a waking spring,

Are in their hands and hair,

And March has upscaled

regular apartment dwellings

for the birds,

A bit more shade

for creatures on the ground,

As hosts of

towering sentinels are crowned,

Before the rising sun.

The Palo Verdes,

With their thick,

Tousled bed-head,

Yellow hair,

Catch the breezes,

Riding waves of heat,

A thousand tiny flowers,

Flying,

Dancing

summer snow,

While underneath,

The smooth green bark,

Is being wrapped

by cozy,

Yellow petals,

Carpeting the earth below.

Love is not

collecting brownie points,

Accumulating merit badges,

Laurels meant to decorate

an ego’s shelf.

Love is glued

to ordinary,

Daily tasks and services,

Choosing to erase

what I want first,

For someone else.

Love somedays

is like a relay race,

Passing back and forth

the means of grace.

Love is undeterred

by messiness,

By life’s distractions,

Ready to put down

the project of the moment,

Never hurried,

Never unavailable.

Hoping for the chance

to help a friend.

Love remembers

time is short.

This moment,

And this day,

Belongs to work

God has prepared,

Where we,

His servants,

Have been called to heal and mend.

Love remembers

both of us are fragile,

Sinners

desperate for a breath of clemency,

Seeking understanding

in our common weaknesses,

Yet willing to lay down our life

for someone else’s

rising from the dead.

Love stays put,

It does not walk away,

Deflect,

Or undermine

what is,

But building up the other,

Graciously reveals

the love of God instead.