Homeless

My neighbor

Discovered evidence

Of some critter

Living behind his shed.

He blocked off

The space between

The house and the shed

With a piece of scrap lumber.

Tonight,

When I let Lucy out

We noticed a possum standing there

Where the space used to be.

She (I imagine it as a “she”)

Looked confused, puzzled

Wondering what had happened

To what had once been her home.

She was blocked,

No longer welcome.

And my heart ached for her.

I understood what she was feeling.

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

Qavah

Wait expectantly?

I’ve been waiting

On pins and needles

For decades.

How many years

Did Sarah wait?

How many times

Did Hannah plead her case?

I’ve been waiting.

On pins and needles.

For decades.

The pins feel sharper now. 

The needles pierce my heart

To the point of shedding blood.

But you already know about that,

Don’t you?

Being pierced,

Shedding blood.

So, I’ll wait some more

On painful pins and needles.

On You will I wait

For You to keep Your promise.

Ill-Fitting

A gift

They say,

Chosen

Just for you.

Be thankful

They say.

But I don’t like it!

It’s the wrong size

And the material is scratchy.

It’s a coat that’s too small;

A straight jacket

That restrains me,

Trapping in all the

Love and passion

I want to give!

And receive.

It’s a shirt

Four sizes too big.

Room enough for two,

But I wear it alone!

I’m lonely and lost

Inside it's billowing cloth.

You had ugly,

Uncomfortable outfits, too.

Torn, blood-stained robes,

A painful crown of thorns.

Unfit for most

But shameful, humiliating

For a King!

You donned

That wardrobe

So my crimson clothes

Would be white as wool.

There is at least

One wedding dress

In my future,

Though I’d like there to be two.

It’s perfectly tailored,

Sized to my form.

It does more than hide

My figure’s flaws,

It fixes them completely!

The material is soft

Against my skin,

Comforting.

Making me forget

Every hurt I’ve ever felt;

Healing every

Scrape, scar and bruise,

And drying every tear.

Every one.

That dress

Hangs in a closet

In a room far away;

But not far away really.

Because long ago,

Before you wore

Those torn, blood-stained robes

And had that crown of thorns

Pushed down on your

Tender scalp,

You willing donned

Swaddling clothes

So I could someday

Meet you

Wearing the gown

You made for me.

A Seed's Prayer

Many seeds were sown,
     watered,
          germinated,
Grew in to beautiful plants and bushes and flowers,
     fertilized,
          dropped new seeds.
New plants and bushes and flowers sprang forth,
     growing,
          reaching to the sun.
I'm still in the ground,
     waiting;
Waiting to germinate,
     to grow,
          to be picked,
               chosen.
Every year
     more dirt thrown on top of me;
          deeper in to the ground I sink.
Overlooked?
     Not noticed?
          Forgotten?
It's cold and dark.
     Am I slow to germinate,
          or am I dead?
Just be over with it already,
     and bury me
          six feet under.
   

The Circle of (a Lonely) Life

If midnight is the Witching Hour,
3:00 AM is the Lonely Hour.
I'm wakened by echoes
Bouncing off the cavernous walls
Of my empty heart
Because of the empty place next to me.


No sheep appear
For me to count.
Even they have the good sense
To be sleeping at this hour,
Huddled together.


I only have the minutes to count
Until dawn breaks
When loneliness is replaced
By busyness
Until the next sunset
When the cycle begins again.

Crucified

My heart is torn to pieces.
My desire ripped from me;
My desire, not Yours.

If this were a medical procedure
There'd be anesthesia
And plenty of meds afterwards.

But this is not surgery,
No doctor wielding a scalpel.
This is a crucifixion.

My desire is being crucified,
But unlike Jesus, because of Jesus
God has not forsaken me.

God has not forsaken me!
He is with me; the Holy Spirit within me.
My Helper. My Comforter.

When will this end?
How will this end?
And what, if anything will You resurrect
From my dead desire?

Oh Christmas Tree

I took down the Christmas tree today,
Gently lifting each ornament
From dried out branches
Trying not to spill too many needles.

I thought of many of the people who gave them to me.
Many are doing this same task,
Removing the ornaments
From their trees.

"Our First Christmas Together",
"Our First House"
"Baby's First Christmas"
"Disney Vacation"

History displayed in decorations.
Trees filled with hundreds,
Thousands of memories.
My tree filled with hopes and wishes.

Despite my best efforts
The floor is carpeted with needles
Resembling a lonely,
Dark forest floor.

I tip the tree to drag it outside
Forgetting the water in the stand.
It spills and soaks my slippers.
Or is it a pool of tears in which I stand?

Changes

The God who never changes
Is always changing me.
Though He loves me as I am
He wants what’s best for me.


Softening harsh edges,
Removing sinful stains,
Adding joy and holiness,
My loss is always gain.


Wrestle, rant and rave with Him;
Tears, grief, fury, and despair.
Exhaustion overtakes me
Still I rage on my selfish war.


Life is very painful.
As He increases, I decrease.
Stretch marks, growing pains;
I beg for some relief!


Comfort and forgiveness come
In ways I could not dream,
With knowledge, insight, wisdom
That I share in Christ’s suffering.


It’s a privilege not all are privy.
Though I confess, I would prefer
He answer in other ways
But to His perfect plan I do defer.


He’s the same yesterday, today, tomorrow.
I’m glad that I am not.
What is now is better than before
But what’s to come is better yet.


I wait upon the LORD
To keep promises He made to me,
Not dreams or fanciful wishes
But solid, true certainties


Of peace, joy, contentment
Always and eternally.
No sin, no sorrow, no pain
Jesus gave us that surety. 


For He’s the God who never changes;
With kindness and tenderness He’s changing me.
Though He loves me as I am
He wants what’s best for me.

Nature Abhors a Vacuum

Its not an imbalance
That a chemical can counter.
Its not a weight
A drug can lift up.

Its pain.  Real pain.
A hole in my heart
With raw tissue exposed,
Stinging as if alcohol is being poured over me.

A deep inhale of ice cold air
On a subzero day burns my lungs.
Breathing hurts! But its necessary;
So I suffer the searing pain.

A cavity inside me
With nerves exposed.
Air being blown inside
Jolts of agony travel my body.

Nature abhors a vacuum
And so do I.
Jacob wrestled You; Hannab begged.
And so do I.

Please, answer me
As you answered them.

The Lantern

On the basement shelf sits an old kerosene lantern,

The finish touched only by time.

The globe is covered by dust, collected in it’s curves.

And rust is beginning to mar the base’s seams and edges.

Cobwebs hang in the corners of the shelf

And dust that’s landed evenly over the surfaces

Show no activity here for a long time.

No fingerprints or scrapes in the layers

This lamp was placed there long ago

With dreams of adventures and trips to come

But newer models came along

Lighter, sleeker, easier to use, brighter.

Its charred mantle gives evidence

Of having once been lit,

That once it brought forth a soft glow;

But it sits forgotten and replaced.

There’s still fuel to be burned

Still able to provide warmth and light someone’s way

It waits expectantly,

Ready for a match.

Antique

It’s harder for old, broken hearts.

Antiques are worn, weathered, fragile;

And parts are harder to find.

Care must be taken when handling.

Only skilled craftsmen should even try,

But they’re rare and in short supply.

None appreciate their character,

Their strength or soft lines,

The beauty of their intentional design.

There’s still useful  life remaining!

Love untapped!  Waiting to be

Wanted.  Desired.

Needing only minor repairs,

Hidden fortunes sit overlooked!

Wondering. Dreaming. Hoping

The Little Match Girl

Life can be dark and cold at times,
So I try to light a lighter.
I see a spark
But no flame results.

I flick a littler faster,
Press a bit little harder this time.
I smell the fuel, there's something there to light,
But still no flame.

I try again and again,
Fast, slow, somewhere in between.
I see a flash, I smell the propane.
But all I get is sore, calloused thumb.

I take a sturdy wood match from the box
Strike it against the side;
I see a spark!
But nothing materializes.

Again I try. I run that match against the box
Faster, harder this time.
Again, I see a spark. I scrunch my nose at the smell of phosphorous
But nothing catches.

I will try one more time.
One more time!
If nothing?  Well,
I'll learn to live in this dim and chilly place.

Swinging on a Pedulum

Too much and not enough
I swing on the pendulum of life.

Too much and not enough
Love, intelligence, experience

Too much and not enough
Too tall, too short.  Too young, too old.

Too much and not enough
Not smart enough, nice enough, patient enough

Too much and not enough
Back and forth I swing

Too much and not enough
I struggle through each day

Too much and not enough
These words repeat through my brain

Too much and not enough
I long for someone to still the dizzying sway

Too much and not enough
Will someone ever tell me "just right"?

Why It's Important to Check and Double Check a Map

This is dedicated to my friend, Mindy.  Mindy is a godly Christian woman, wife, mother, homemaker, homeschooler AND Occupational Therapist, to name a few of her roles.  Along with all these responsibilities, she has a strong sense of adventure and an amazing ability to not only accept the quirky missteps of life but to enjoy them.  I appreciate this quality of hers and want to emulate it.  Today, I had the opportunity to do so.  I respectfully call this a “Mindy Moment”.

Today is officially Day 1 of my Acadia National Park vacation.  One of my goals for this trip was to get in a lot of hiking.  Trails are rated Easy, Moderate, Strenuous and Ladder (which means there are portions of the trail where you have to cling to climb iron ladders.   Of course these are relative terms; one man’s moderate is another man’s strenuous.

There is a Ranger-led hike tomorrow that I would like to try, but it’s rated Strenuous, so I wasn’t sure I could keep up.  Because I’m somewhat active, I figured I could handle Moderate, no matter what level of Moderate it might be.   It would just be a matter of how well I felt after tackling a Moderate trail, whether I would try the Strenuous hike tomorrow.

I was a responsible hiker.  I carried not one, but two bottles of water and trail mix.  I had sunscreen, bug spray, a hat.  I wore good hiking boots and packed extra socks.  I even had a cool compass/whistle thing (Mindy has a compass/whistle thing, but her’s is way cooler).  AND I purchased a trail map at the visitors’ center, complete with a listing of all the trails, their level of difficulty rating, distance, topography, etc.

I reviewed the map and chose a Moderate trail – the Schiff Trail.  And then I set off.  This trail was pretty much nothing but granite steps up the side of Dorr Mountain, the second highest mountain in the park.  It was definitely taxing and I had to take numerous breaks.   Since this wasn’t a loop trail, to get back to my car I’d either have to connect with one of the other trails ahead or return the way I’d come.  Consulting my map, I could see the shortest way back would be to take Emery Path, a Strenuous rated trail.  I had thought that if I did well on the Moderate trail, I could try the Emery Path to see how strenuous Strenuous was.  Since I was having such difficulty with this path, I was rethinking this plan.

There were a number of times when I thought of turning back.  I wasn’t worn out…yet; but I knew I could find myself overly tired before I turned around and it could be a problem getting myself all the way back to my car.

Still, I pressed on.  I wanted to complete what I started.  Where would Jacob have been had he given up when wrestling with God?  He would have missed out on God’s blessing.  What would have happened had Hannah quit praying for a child?  Because she pressed on she was given Samuel.  I was going to finish this Moderate hike.  I would conquer…and then collapse back in camp!

When I got to the end of the Schiff trail, there was a way sign pointing to the Strenuous Emery Path.  There was also a sign pointing back the way I had just come only it didn’t say Schiff Trail.  It said Kurt Diedrich’s Climb, a Strenuous Trail. 

Though I’d wanted to try one of the more difficult trails, I had not planned on doing so today.  I’d walked in to it (literally) unaware and not at my own timing.  God does things like that.  He’s put me on a difficult life trail, not one I’d have chosen for myself.  If I had known when I started how difficult it would be, I might have turned back long ago or never even started.  But He knows the path He’s chosen for me and He sent His Son, Jesus to walk the same paths before me, blazing trails and leaving way signs along the way.  In fact, because of Jesus’ sacrifice, His willingness to live life as a man and die a painful, sacrificial death, my omnipresent Father is there leading me – beside still waters, through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and up steep granite Strenuous Moderate mountain trails.

Tomorrow, barring incredibly sore muscles, I plan on taking that Ranger-led Strenuous hike.  And I plan on continuing on the life path my heavenly Father has chosen for me.  And on any future hikes this vacation, I will be carefully reading the Trail maps!

 

 

If Money Had Been No Object

On this date last year my sister, Cassie died.  At that time, I was tasked with the responsibility and the privilege to write her obituary.  Because of space and financial considerations (you have to pay the newspaper for extra words), I was limited in what I could publish.  If I'd had unlimited funds, this is the obituary I would have written.  And this is the obituary she deserved.

Mary Catherine (Cassie) Best Kraus King died in her sleep on June 9, 2012 at her home in Odessa, Texas.  She was born on August 15, 1956 - a Wednesday.  "Wednesday's child is full of woe..." and Cassie had her share of woe.  But on that day in 1956 her parents, John Edward and Jean Shirley Hammerton Best, greeted her with joy and much love.

She was named Mary because August 15 is a Catholic Holy Day - the Feast of the Assumption  of Mary.  Her middle name Catherine was after her paternal grandmother, Catherine Carney Best.  The name Cassie came about because her sister Jean (Jean Wright) couldn't pronounce Cathy.  Her parents called her Cassie Assie, but because she wasn't allowed to say "ass" she referred to herself as "Cassie Bum Bum".

She was the third of four children - Bruce Best, Jean Wright and Barbara Best.  In addition to her father and siblings, she is survived by her son Steven Michael (Julie) Kraus and two grandchildren, Damian and Skylar.

Family was important to her and so she would have liked to include all her aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, great nieces and nephews, steps-, friends who were as close as family, etc in this list. And she could have named every one, along with their birthdays and anniversaries!

She attended St Lawrence O'Toole Elementary School, Ursuline Academy, and for a time, Clarion State University.  She graduated from Allegheny County Vo-Tech with a degree in Practical Nursing and was a Licensed Practical Nurse.

As a young teen Cassie had thyroid problems that were possibly thought to be cancerous.  She was finally diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis and had to have her thyroid surgically removed.  It was serious surgery for it's time and a cause of great worry for her parents.  The surgery was successful and the experience may have fueled her nurturing skills.

From an early age, Cassie demonstrated great nursing skills.  She often tended to her siblings and parents when they were sick or hospitalized.  Highly intelligent, she understood medical science, but her best professional skill was her compassion and desire to ease people's pain.  Prior to her nursing career she worked at a church bingo refreshment stand, as a Laundromat attendant, a hospital food service worker  and a waitress, always serving people.  She was an advocate for her patients and any downtrodden she thought were being disrespected and ignored.  You would not want to be the Customer Service representative who was rude to a hapless customer!  Cassie would have had no problem coming from the back of the line to dress down said representative for the sake of a total stranger.  And if the customer happened to be rude to the person behind the counter, she'd take them on as well.

Cassie had a variety of interests.  Her musical taste ranged from Elvis to Elton John to... (gasp) Barry Manilow.  She loved to read - anything from Best Sellers to gossip rags.  It was the latter that made her a killer Trivial Pursuit player, especially in the Arts & Entertainment category.

Her taste in food was far from refined.  Cassie's favorite Italian meal was Chef Boyardee Spaghetti-O's.  She liked Potato Buds over homemade mashed potatoes and LaChoy over any Chinese restaurant.  However, she was quite particular about stuffing.  It had to be homemade - her mother's recipe; StoveTop was no substitute.  Cassie's culinary skills were not top-notch, either; but she WAS able to duplicate Mommy's stuffing (for which there is no written recipe, it's totally by "feel & taste") like no one else in the family.

 Her greatest love was for her son, Steven - her "Bunny Boy", and his family.  She adored her granddaughter, Skylar or, as she referred to her "Skylab".  She wanted for Steven every experience, every advantage.  She scraped together money for him to take a few flying lessons, and took him on a trip to New York City.  And there were also the numerous trips to Cedar Point...  Steve inherited his love of roller coasters from her.  Though she enjoyed coasters, she would still try to protect Steve and any one who was riding next to her, by putting her arm up in front of them to stop them from falling out - again, sometimes total strangers.

It would be easy to ignore or gloss over the "full of woe" portion of Cassie's life, but it was part of what made her - and she would be angry if I didn't acknowledge it.  Throughout most of her life, Cassie struggled with substance abuse and suffered the physical, emotional, social and legal ramifications.  It may have been what killed her, we don't know.  At the very least, it contributed to her way too early death.

I don't know what caused her addictions.  I wonder if maybe it was her great compassion and empathy; her ability to feel others' pain.  Perhaps Cassie was so sensitive to everyone's hurt that she was overwhelmed by it and sought relief in drugs and alcohol.  I don't know.  Nobody does.

In January, 2012 I read the book "A Praying Life" by Paul Miller and was struck by the need to pray for my sister in a regular and very concerted way.  The verse that came to mind when I prayed for her was Matthew 11:28 - "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."  I did this quite often over the next few months.  After she died, I was sorting through the prayer cards I kept for various people and thought to myself wryly, "Well, I don't need this one anymore". 

(Yes, it's a sick joke; but Cassie would have liked it.  She would have laughed at it...hard.  Her only complaint would have been that I'd said it before she did.)

Thinking about my prayers, I realized God had answered this prayer.  This wasn't the rest I'd expected Him to give her, but Cassie is at rest.  As a teenager, she'd made a commitment to Christ; she knew that her own good works were not enough to please God; she couldn't do enough of them to earn salvation.  And at that time, she'd done quite a few good works.  To look at her life afterwards - the stints in rehab, the times in jail, and all the other ugly acts - it didn't look like she was "living for Jesus".  But pull back the curtains that cover our lives and our selfishness, greed, anger, malice, impatience and pride (to name a few) would be revealed for all to see. We all fall short; which is why we need Jesus in the first place.

So, Cassie is at rest; she is in heaven with God, healed of her addictions.  She is not in hell because of her addictions and crimes any more than she is in heaven because of her good acts.  For all of us, our sinful acts and attitudes far outnumber our "saintly" ones.  Cassie is living in heaven because Jesus took the punishment she (and we all) deserved and she accepted His free gift of eternal life.

On this, the first anniversary of her death, I say with confidence in God, who answered my prayers that Cassie is Resting in Peace.

Heal My Lonely Heart

There are millions of lonely people in the world,
Studies show this true.
I wish there were one less around;
Correction, I wish for two.
I pray my loneliness be healed
By His giving me to you.

War Wounds

The wounds of loneliness
Bleed tears of grief.
Scar tissue covers the wound
But constricts the heart.

Spin Doctor

Intense.
Emotional.
Passionate.

Who can look beyond the intensity;
Through the emotionality
Recognize and appreciate the passion?

The Checkout Line

I stand expectantly

In the checkout line

Waiting for my turn to come;

Biding my time. 

Many others have gone ahead of me

They waited for their turns.

I understand their places in front

They previously had earned. 

But some have come from behind

And pushed me aside.

The jumped the line ahead of me

My good manners they did deride. 

I wonder should I join them,

Taking others’ places?

Ignoring their positions?

Ignoring their pained, hurt faces? 

I still hold my place

Respecting others’ stations.

I accept my circumstance

But I’ve become impatient. 

 

My legs are weak, my feat are numb

My spot in line has not moved.

I've worked so hard, I've waited long

But my place has not improved.

I worry that when I get to the front,

Where the shelves were once so plenty

My turn will come and I will find

The shelves are all now empty.

Waiting for Christmas

Remember as a child, waiting for Christmas to come?  We were distracted and occupied by the excitement of Halloween, then the preparations for Thanksgiving.  But after the turkey was eaten and the leftovers wrapped and packed away, Christmas and all it's trappings were dead in our sights!

The days on the calendar were checked off.  As each block was counted down, the pile of gifts stacked  up proportionally.  Every day one more house on the block was bedecked in lights and garland.

The wait was excruciating.  Curiosity was painful; the anticipation was like an electric current running throughout our bodies, making us tense and excited.  Trying to complete schoolwork was next to impossible, distracted by the thoughts of what was in all those decorated boxes.  The closer Christmas came the worse it got with the anxiety and "what-ifs" and "what-if-nots" stampeding through our emotions.

I've been waiting for "Christmas" to come for a long time.  Earlier in my life, I was distracted by work and activities that kept my mind, body and emotions busy.  But they no longer work.  I'll be 52 in a few months, all the major "holidays" behind me.  The only one looming is "Christmas".  Only this "Christmas" doesn't have a specific date on the calendar on which I can pinpoint being able to open my gift.  There's no way to countdown.  Every day is painful, as I look for signs that "Christmas" is coming.  I don't know if it ever will come for me.

My pain is compounded by the fact most all of my friends have already had their celebrations.  Now their children are enjoying their holidays, as the parents look on sharing in their joy and remembering their  own "Christmas".  I'm still anxiously waiting, wondering if there is a gift for me or am I not supposed to ever celebrate my own "Christmas".  I've had a gift waiting for someone, wrapped and ready; but no one seems to want it.

Every moment I'm on edge - curious, wondering if and when...and why.  At this age, after so long a wait, it's mostly "why?".  My prayers usually consist of two words - my heart not able to voice anything else but "Why?" and "Please!"  I repeat them over and over again, almost like a mantra.  Only this mantra does not bring comfort or peace.

Is this how Jesus feels - the gift He has to offer so many don't notice or outright reject?  Is this what it means to share in His suffering?

To climb out of this vat of self-pity I need to remind myself of the first Christmas 2000 years ago, when the King of Kings lowered himself and volunteered for a messy human birth followed by a messy human life, ending with a humiliating death reserved for criminals, not innocent Kings.  I need to remind myself that though I do not know the date or time or even if "Christmas" will come, the King of Kings knows the plan He has for me.  His plan ends with a great celebration that surpasses any Christmas that we can plan on earth. 

I wait with electric anticipation.