Second World

I wouldn't have to whine
if the sun would only shine.
But I guess that it does
pretty much all of the time.
That lucky old sun
just keeps rolling around,
so I guess it's the clouds
that are getting us down.
We think, "If I were homeless,
I could spend more time outside."
Okay, maybe we don't think that,
but we think along those lines.
If only, if only,
we didn't have to strive
as if it's such a chore
just being here, alive.
We're sick of first world stressors
but we don't want third world strife.
Is there a second world that's just right?
Or do we need a second life?

December Rhymes with Remember

December rhymes with remember.
I remember liking the snow
and loving the feeling of sugar highs reeling
and dancing to Mannheim on the stereo.

Christmas pretty much rhymes with wish lists
for new stuff and happy days of yore.
But I'm sure my first year I just wanted mom near.
My wish list was love and not much more.

I can't make Christmas feel like Christmas.
I might have to feel like a child.
But I'm all grown up and sometimes I feel down.
Like when all of the carols rhyme child with mild.

Maybe Mary felt down sometimes,
whether or not she was mild.
She had some stress and some things on her chest
that she'd have to ponder awhile.

The wise men who brought Jesus three gifts
weren't wishing to go back in time.
Nostalgia lay dead when they turned their heads,
a new life, a new king to find.

And Jesus, he was just a baby.
He didn't look back, just above.
If we look back far enough, to what's newer than stuff,
like that baby, our list will be love.

Cover

I could waste my time
thinking it's all mine,
writing my own rhymes,
thinking they're so fine,
thinking I'm so cool
making my own rules
teaching my own school
of thought, like I'm not
just using the same words
everyone has heard
plowing the same dirt,
feeding the same birds,
surprised that nothing grows.
Don't I know
half of this is just for show?
How does the story go?
Oh, yeah: everyone dies,
maybe loved ones cries,
we dry off our own eyes
because it's not really a surprise.
At least we died wise
or at least we tried
but what's left of our lives?
A song of sacrifice
is the one (the one!) we won't forget,
the one that lasting life begets,
and so I'm going to cover it,
yes, that's the song I'll be.
Cover it true, cover it new,
the best cover I can do,
and still I'll need You,
your sacrifice to cover me.

You'll Be Sorry

Being angry won't make you sorry,
so I'm done being angry now.
And when you're sorry, you'll be sorry,
and I will kill the fattened cow.

If a Few More People Volunteered

There are so many people in this world,
and so many choosing to have hope
that if we got ourselves into this mess
then we can get ourselves out of it.
And they want to believe that
there are plenty of ways out of it.
To each his or her own.
All roads lead home.
And I'd be willing to believe that, too,
if a few more people volunteered
to live a spotless life
and then to die to give it away.

By Your Toil

Beans in the fields,
weeds in the beans.
God said, "by your toil"
and we feel what it means.
That nothing is perfect.
There's no magic fairy dust
or magic fairy spray
and so toil we must.
Some toil on foot,
pulling weeds with their hands.
Some toil their minds
to find a balm for this land.

How do You Imagine Heaven?

How do you imagine heaven?
A desert nomad imagines green
and water flowing all around.
A relocated businessman imagines
a family reunion in a small town.
And I imagine something like
the big kitchen in the hostel in Lisboa,
where we're all laughing and talking and cooking together.

Summer Solstice

The longest day of the year.
The shortest night.
I think of those whose days are filled with fear,
their dark with fright,
so no matter where the earth does turn,
they cannot win.
Oh Lord, please give this earth
a brand new spin.

Forgiving

Well there's no such thing as free,
free lunch, free love, free living.
There's a cost for everything…
and a God who is forgiving.

This Easter

I did not go to Iowa this Easter.

I did not sing Keith Green's song "Easter Song."

There's lots of things I didn't do

but I did a few things new

and making all things new

has been a big part of Easter all along.

Pruning

We reach up to prune the trees,
decreasing to increase,
and God with love does the same to us
and with a downward reach.
Yes, you were foolish, you forgot to think,
when you reached too far from the ladder.
But God thought long and hard and knew
that he would wisely rather
fall to the ground, like you, with pain
except more like a seed
that dies, is buried and rises again
to give us what we need.

Draft

What do you do
when a different religion
comes knocking at your door?
"Uh huh, thank you, I've got to go."
It's cold outside.
I don't want to let in a draft.
But could I let a gush of warm air out to them?

When There Is No Time to Think… We Are Unaware

When there is no time to think,
that is when to think.
And when there is no time to pray,
find it anyway.
You can't study by putting a book under your pillow,
but I do believe that we can rest in prayer,
and that God will shape our thoughts throughout our sleeping,
and waken us when we are unaware.

Holding Pattern

We're in a holding pattern,
not sure where to land,
and we're not just going to settle
for just any patch of sand.
We're not planning how to crash;
we're not running out of fuel.
We are looking how to ground ourselves
to work towards earth's renewal.

If All the Broken Glass in Bogotá

If all the broken glass in Bogotá
came to a point
and held itself together
with fine lead at every joint,
and the glow that tints the clouds
in the dark of night
came in close and shone straight through that glass
in one tremendous light,
and if every siren, engine, horn
all were rearranged
in just one joyful symphony,
now that would be a change.

Human Hearts

Human hearts can be so gross
and yet it's human hearts I treasure most.
This Christmas, I just want to hold you close.
All I want to do is hold you close.

Not There

My selfish soul says,
"God, what the hell are you doing?"

                             God says,

                             "Your selfish soul's and hell's undoing."

I ask,
"God, where the hell are we going?"

                            "Not there, thank Me!"

Thank God, not there.