happy thanksgiving

have a great day of thanks and enjoy my grandpa goodson's pumpkin pie: http://bellingham.komonews.com/news/community-spirit/692883-let-feasting-begin-grandpas-pumpkin-pie

some say it’s easy

some say it’s easy,

natural, you can’t stop it

“involuntary” droned  

the science teacher

some days

effort overwhelms

crushes my ribs

and empties my lungs

some times it takes more

much more

an act of tenacious will

a choice to continue

too bad

seems it’s not true

lemmings don’t actually

spend their days waiting

to join the mass hysteria

and head for the nearest cliff

too bad

it’s a great image

helping describe, maybe explain

acts of humanity

that should never have been

another cover-up, (alleged) cover-up

story says it was years ago

people knew

important people

famous people

they looked away

thought it would be forgotten

hoped it would be forgotten

prayed it would be forgotten

really, forgotten?

kids molested

boys raped and abused

young boys

lost souls

throw aways

tossed into hell

for one man’s pleasure

in the showers

maybe a hotel

or a home, the safe place

could have been on the road

by that man

man of power

sorry,

allegedly by the man of power

there is nothing alleged

about the lives of the boys

struggling toward adulthood

with memories that none

should bear

lost trust

fears beyond reason

hope beyond reach

Lessons for a season as an outsider

Being an “outsider” is something I have identified with throughout my life. My mom was a bit of an emotional outsider, deeply lost and seeking affirmation as she poured her life into others hoping to rescue or protect them and thereby possibly find comfort for herself. My Dad was an outsider by choice. He wasn’t about to buy your load of… and didn’t need to be a part of your club.

As with most kids, I received some of each of their styles. Like my dad I’m skeptical and critical of movements and charismatic people (not the spiritually charismatic, the personality type). From mom I have a passion to include and care for those left out. I have channeled this into a career in education and ministry for 35-plus years.

But this reflection on being an “outsider” comes from a new perspective. In June I “voluntarily resigned” from my ministry job of almost fourteen years. It’s three-plus months since the official end and I am in a new, not altogether comfortable place, unemployed.

I learned to be a worker from my parents. Berry picking in the summer and delivering newspapers after school, I have been working since I was about 12. Until now. Until June 30, 2011. Oh, I have been looking at jobs and even started a business in an attempt to provide a new way forward. But there isn’t much happening.  After almost 32 years of full time professional ministry, I’m not “that” any longer. So what do I do with this new identity? How do I start again?  I’m older, in the midst of a larger economic crisis, over-qualified for many positions and with lifestyle expectation realities.

This season has a sense of personal death for me. Gone are the systems, schedule and relationships I lived in. My rhythm is off. I have a lot of flexible time, but it is hard to focus because I’m not sure what I am supposed to be doing. I hang around coffee shops meeting with people, working on my computer. Trying to get the next thing going.

But there is a whole world of friends and family in their routines. Working their jobs in an orb that I am not included in any longer.  To be cliché, I am out of my comfort zone. That which I thrived on, my work, is gone. I’m left in this awkward space of transition. From the known to the unknown. From the desert to the (hoped for) Promised Land, maybe from death to life.

Not that all I left was bad — indeed, much of it was great. But it appears that time to move on arrived. Whether my transition was an act of divine providence or human bumbling is for others to debate. Moving on requires an acceptance of the death of what has been left behind.

So I will live this season as an outsider. And being an outsider is different from being left out. I have my family and friends. Some are walking alongside me. But there are lessons to be learned that are for me. The question is: will I make the most of this unplanned, unusual time and situation? I need to remember that without death there is no resurrection. Seems I have (the privilege of) some choice in the matter.

Being an outsider is a bit of a wake-up call. Jesus was for outsiders: “the least of these,” “the sick need a doctor.” It seems Jesus was more about outsiders than the rest of us. How can that be? Jesus showing favorites? It’s more scandalous than parent-child discrimination. But he seems to be able to manage it.

The writers of the epistles went along. “Orphans and widows,” “…God chose the foolish… God chose the weak… God chose the lowly….” In ways we may not understand God meets the outsider. Being an outsider has a sense of being stripped bare, down to essentials. It provides for assessment of values. As an outsider I may again lose myself to find myself in God alone. Increased need may provide increased clarity.

I’ve had my seasons as an outsider — outside my norm, outside my comfort zones, outside my expectations, outside others’ expectations. In all such times I have had the opportunity to open my eyes of faith and see reality, which has always been there, somehow more clearly.  I need to acknowledge that though my times as an outsider have varied in intensity and length of season, so far, they have ended. I ache to understand and care for those who experience unending life as an outsider. If I learn anything along the way and I become any of what God has created me for and called me to, I better be putting it in action to care for them.

Although I may not say it in every situation or moment, and this one is still in process, I am thankful for the “outsider” seasons.

And, I have to admit. I’m thankful that they only last for a season.

May God have mercy on us all.

  http://www.catapultmagazine.com/outsider/article/lessons-for-a-season-as-an-outsider

August Evening

it's national poetry day so i'm re-posting one of my favorites. 

August Evening

sitting next to Connie
old, hard, wooden stadium benches
red paint, chipped, gouged and peeling
she puts on her sweater
I put on my sweatshirt

band plays hits of some artist
we know little of and care less for
overbearing 80's synthesizer
annoys me
she doesn't seem to notice or care

beyond the stage I watch carnival rides
loop, spin and race into the evening
colored lights intensify
sky drifts to darkness

near full moon glows above the trees
growing smaller as it brightens
yellow to orange to almost white

we come to the fair almost every year
it's something we do
we learned this spring she has cancer
treatment, fear, hope shadow our days

we talk a bit, decide to leave
i am ready, but hesitate
how many more times we will go to the fair

merit award 2007 Sue C. Boynton Poetry Contest

I think it happened something like this… #6 - Boredom

#6 - Boredom

The guys grew tired of record stores, sporting goods, and watching girls. We ended up in a stationary shop. Wandered while the lone clerk reluctantly followed. I picked up a stapler, wove through the shelves, turned a corner, slid it behind some envelopes, and bolted.

The clerk met us at the exit. “I think you forgot to pay for that stapler.”

“What stapler?”

“The one you picked up.”

“You accusing us of stealing? Go ahead. Call the cops.” We smirked, shrugged, offered up our empty pockets.

He feigned looking, backed off. “Get out. Don’t come back!”

We laughed and walked away.