Offering - A Poem

by Angela Josephine
(In awareness for the 40,000+ women and children who are victim to human trafficking during the 2010 World Cup)

LISTEN TO OFFERING
click PLAY under title of poem on Reverb Nation page

will heaven rend
will thunder split
this haze of days
my blood
my sweat
your cheer
your hand
raised up in praise
holey voices
wholly raised
a call
the carnal incarnate
your cheer
your hand
my blood
my sweat
our sacrifice
on altar’s bed
your cheer
my blood
your hand
my sweat
holy voices
wholly met?

Fighting Bees

“When I hear a man preach, I like to see him act as if he were fighting bees.” – Abraham Lincoln

“I’m thinking about raising honey bees.”

Airing a statement like that in front of my teenage sons is like rolling out a field of clover to the hive after a long winter. The buzzing begins immediately.

“Don’t you have to actually like being around bees to do that?”

I feel the sting of my youngest son’s unbelief. It is no secret that a bee in my personal space is a sure catalyst for some mad dashing and theatrical vocalizing. I tell him it is all about overcoming my fears (while silently registering the added benefit of not reacting like a nutcase).

“Well, I wouldn’t be afraid of bees if someone (implying his older brother) hadn’t thrown me in a nest when I was in 6th grade!”

With this subtle adjustment, the direction of their flight changes and they are off to fields of rambunctious forget-me-nots… those harrowing accounts of near death experiences and previous conquests that become legend amongst brothers. This fragrant meadow expands with each new visit and I am left feeling a bit like Horton in peril of losing his Whos in all that fluff. Eventually though, their uncanny navigation skills bring them back to the original issue at hand.

“I’d be so afraid that I’d get Africanized bees!” the older brother rants. “They are so crazy.”

Suddenly, I have a clear recollection of a documentary on killer bees that I saw as a child. An awareness as to the source of my phobia begins to emerge.

“They aren’t in Michigan!” the youngest challenges.

“They are in the United States! How do you know they won’t come to Michigan?”

The youngest hovers, not totally sure that he wants to sink his mandibles into this juicy new detail.

“What? You can’t just run away?”

“No - they just decide they don’t like you, attack and sting until you are dead!”

It takes only a split second, but the youngest strikes with lightning-like precision.

“Well, I wouldn’t be afraid. I’d just punch them… like this!” and with dramatic flair he swings his fist into the air...

just as a real-live bee flies through his personal space...

in the middle of our kitchen.

Pause.

“Like that!”

We all explode into laughter.

(There is a moral to this story that I have in mind. Any guesses? HINT: The moral of this story (like the title) is taken from a quote by another previous president.)

His and Hers

There are two chairs by the side of the road. Abandoned partners. His and Hers.

This is a scene right out of Pixar’s animated movie UP, only the chairs have been lifted from Paradise Falls and set down here at the edge of 5 Mile Road. I am looking for balloons caught in the trees – colorful gumballs disappearing into the stratosphere, a chubby Wilderness Explorer named Russell hiding beneath the porch or a rare bird named Kevin following me.

This lonely upholstered pair is “For Sale” and I wonder what memories come with them. Did they seat a couple who dreamed of going places never realized? Or, are the chairs extra baggage – being sold to fund the next big adventure. Maybe this is about survival in these poor economic times. Or perhaps, they just got old. (The chairs that is.)

We have an empty nest facing us in this next month or so and I wonder about the chairs in our home. They have wide, soft memories. They have seated us well in this great adventure. We could be like Carl, the balloon salesman in the film. It could take a court order and the lift of 10,000 helium balloons to get us off our behinds.

Or… we could avoid all the fuss of talking Dobermans in biplanes (sorry, you’ll have to see the movie for that). We could make a choice now to set those chairs purposefully… atop our own Paradise Falls… to serve as our Ebenezer as we move on to the next leg in this big adventure.

“The word "Ebenezer" comes from Hebrew and is actually two words pronounced together: Even Haazer. Written in Hebrew it looks like this:

It is usually transliterated as a proper name by dropping the definite article (Ha) from the Hebrew word for "help" (Ezer) and putting it together with the Hebrew word for "stone" (Even) to create: "Ebenezer." The etymological roots of the word, thus defined, should demonstrate that an "Ebenezer" is, literally, a "Stone of Help."

Literally speaking, an Ebenezer is a "stone of help," or a reminder of God’s Real, Holy Presence and Divine aid. Spiritually and theologically speaking, an Ebenezer can be nearly anything that reminds us of God’s presence and help…” - Dr. Gregory S. Neal

Our Night Sky

“The reason why the universe is eternal is that it does not live for itself; it gives life to others as it transforms”
- Lao Tzu

This past week we celebrated our son’s graduation from high school with an open house gala. I spent hours gathering photos for the memory boards. As I charted his life thus far in images, certain aspects of his personality gravitated toward each other and shone like bright constellations. Here was Hercules, strong-willed and determined, from scaling fences at age two to winning the “Iron Man” award at age seventeen. There the Chamaeleon - from pirate to cowgirl to goodwill hunter to prom king – creative and adaptable.

I did not get a chance to leisurely observe the completed boards until this week. And, like gazing up at the Milky Way on a clear night, I was overcome. This galaxy known as 'son' pulses like a quasar and what a mystery and privilege it is to be considered Co-creator.

Shoes

I’ve come into the house momentarily blind from running in the blazing sun. I am quick to kick these sweaty shoes into a dark rectangle otherwise known as the hall closet. The Asics are still airborne when I realize I have to go back outside and fill the bird feeders. Feeling around with feet only, I slip on a pair of my clogs and head out the door.

Back in the light of day, I am startled to find very masculine dress shoes awkwardly clinging to my feminine feet. (I thought they felt a little loose!)

I’m wearing someone else’s shoes and wonder if I would have stepped into them as quickly and genuinely with open eyes.

Bread and Wine

I am in town and hungry. Though the dulling edge of spring air slices its way through layers of sunlight, I am not about to miss this opportunity for a helping no matter how poorly served. In fact, I’ll take 2nds... and maybe 3rds, thank you very much!

That is how I find myself here, at an outdoor table by the river. That I am the only one on the patio is more perplexing. Has the absence of sun all these long winter months made for a slow thawing of the heart? I can relate, but am quick to forgive on account of the fact that I don’t want to miss a day of it. I think the people inside are missing out.

“Are you O.K. way over here on your own?”

This question from the server is innocent enough, but unsheathes a double-edged sword. Perhaps I am missing out as well.

She sets the food in front of me. My portion of sunlight arrives, illuminating the bread and wine.

“… the holy meal, epitomized in the bread and wine shared by Abraham and Melchizedek… this primal meal wasn’t intended as an expression of exclusion… It was a meal of peace and fellowship, bringing together two different people with their different religious traditions. The sacred meal in this light becomes a celebration of hospitality, of community, of inclusion, and of reconciliation.”
- Finding Our Way Again, Brian McLaren

New Life

We have a cardinal couple nesting in our yard this spring. The cedar tree has come alive with the sweet chirping of hatchlings. We've watched mom and dad dart to and fro gathering food, defending the nest and tending their young.

This evening, I went out to prop up an unruly Wisteria and came face to face with this little one perched in the tangle of vines, appearing just as unruly and bold. He's caught in the awkward “in-between” - that of home within reach and moving on into the wide, wild world. So familiar, so like a young man I know.