Prayers and Doubt

Can't remember when I wasn't able to write, but that's been me since Christmas.  Every reason I had to write from motorcycle trips to family and friend turmoil to my obvious calling into Counseling were also the reasons I couldn't write.  I've resolved to write again.  I might move further into poetry.  I did a reading a few weeks ago and one of the sponsoring writers came up to me after reading and said, "Your stuff is upper tier, world class even."  I don't yet know what to do with that information, and I'm not sure what I'll write.  But I know what God's put in me to do, writing being one of them.

I'll write when I can really, but I hope to twice a week.  Every Tuesday and Thursday, I'll write; about what I've no idea.  Maybe I'll write what I've learned from family and friends.  We had a horrible storm here not long ago, you would've enjoyed hearing how fast friends dropped what they were doing to help us and others.

I guess we all write about faith in one sort or another.  God reveals faith to us in greater and maturing stages throughout life, but we all had all the faith we needed the day we were born.  The lot of us, our stories, enlightens others and ourselves to our faith enduring and growing.

Mine's confused me and strengthened me since Christmas.  I took my first motorcycle trip through the back roads of rolling Iowa.  "May the hills rise up to meet you...", they did.  But God parted clouds; it was a day before the trip and it looked like rain.  I prayed for no rain, but also told God, "If you make it rain, that'll be ok too," thereby letting God off the "hook."  More importantly, I realized that doubt laces most prayers--"but if you don't, it's ok."  God parted clouds, not because he felt guilty--but I believe he watched us ride, and while there were other reasons God didn't make it rain where we were, I think he intended to give us dry ground, and he intended to teach me about prayer laced with doubt--a loving "what not to do" lesson from God.

Maybe I'll write about the news or politics or the American people.  We'll see I suppose.

I'll figure it out on Thursday, but bet it'll be about some way God prodded me to see him; happens all the time.  There are reasons God took me away from here for awhile--those secrets will be told eventually.

Either way it's good to see you today God.

Hiatus and more of Webster's Conundrums

They call it an "Hiatus."  I guess I've been on one.  I suppose writers suffer blocks of one sort or another.  


I was denied a proof-writing job and that might've contributed.  We all think we're better writers than we are, and we all think we're skilled enough not to be rejected, right?  Most of us will tell each other to get used to disappointment until it happens and then we can't figure out what advice works best.  I can tell you that proof-writing gigs don't come easy.  I had to know Chicago proofing style, and I didn't.  Amateurs like myself should break the books out as often as we do the pen.  Maybe I'm a better writer than proofer.  I'm learning.  There's a lot to know.  Someone out of the Windy City had a greater feel for punctuation than I do apparently.


I don't care about that much anymore though.  I've got more on the plate.  I've got financial situations and friends who are sick.  Of course there's the brooding twelve pound turkey who's death might serve my thankful family well next week.  And well, I took time out to learn how to make biscuits from scratch.  I suppose there's a Chicago Style biscuit to go with the Chicago Style proofing fascist, but mine tasted good anyway.  Soft, warm butter and some huckleberry honey took me to biscuit heaven and I'm originally from Southern California.  Chicago.  Pffffft.


I worked one night at my part time job, and I asked a man, "How's it goin'?"  He replied, "It's a day!"


I don't know what that means.  What does a day have to do with how one is?  He deflected, I get that.  He was probably just fine, but that's more than he wanted me to know.  Someone else replied with equal mystery, "All in a day!"


I don't get it.  All in what day?  Because my Sunday is different than my Monday.


Someone else answered my question about their day saying, "Jiggy."  Huh?  I've also heard, "Fair to partly cloudy," an equally deflective answer, understanding the fact that weather people can't give a clear answer about weather.


I said, "Hello," to someone who replied with two hello's back to me, "Hello Hello," he said as if there were two of me.  I've heard, "Not bad, not bad," as if there are two of them.  I've heard greetings go like, "Hey hey!"  Someone answered my question about their well-being with a "fine, fine."  Does repetition serve to superfluously convince me about your status?


I don't know how to answer the question except for, "I've been on Hiatus."  Except that's not entirely true.  I'm fully engaged.  


Webster says "hiatus" means, 

A gap or interruption in space, time, or continuity; a break.

Am I allowed to be sick of writing for a bit?


All in a day, I suppose.  All in a day the Lord has made.  Might as well be glad and rejoice in it.


So I'm happy to be writing again.


I was on hiatus because I didn't know how to answer the question.  "It's a day," what else can I say?

Psalm 66: A Poetic Rendition: Black Water and Crimson by richard j.

The Sermon at church today was based on Psalm 66, a Psalm that laments God's refining and purifying fire that will eventually present me Holy and fully Sanctified. I sometimes don't understand trials and I don't even feel like smelted silver. But as the Psalm says, "I cried out to Him with my Tongue and His praise was on my tongue." This poem is my Psalm 66.



Black Water and Crimson

Sin stabbed me
And black water and crimson flow
And Satan Smiles.
I overlook a raging sea
White walls of salty teeth
And black water and crimson flow.

There are no footprints in water
Only depth and breadth and mystery.
I stand, heart clenched
And hands open
Touch these hands please!
Slippery with black water and crimson.

The salt sea stings my feet
Like grit-iron fence
With barbed wire on the underside.

Muscles ripped
Mix of black water and crimson
Eyes sty with muddy mix and grain.

I’ve never known a day
When, though my hands were
Outstretched in triumph
Swaying from tip to way
That they weren’t also
A pendulum swinging like time and death.
Like gut-shot…and black water and crimson flow.

Only the ocean and no feet
To print my way over.

I only know of two paths

On the unfettered seas,

One leavened with holiness
And the other devilish fear

I am neither holy nor timid
And I walk alone in reticent petulance.
My hands drip
With black water
And my clenched heart bleeds
Like a womb that has lost
Her first born.

Black water and crimson
They’re all I know
Even as they seep from me
Satan smiles.

To see, to walk, to swim, to conquer.
Thunder and waves against the Cliffside
Know my doubt.

But my tussle takes sides
The beautiful rebellion shall
Ne’er find my allegiance,
Nor will he see my death.

I face my God and my heart bleeds
Until all its crimson life
Is gone and in its place like an icy mantle
Is simply white...white

He called me good
And I wrestle in black water
I WRESTLE I WRESTLE!
Muscles ripped, eyes wide
Like propane and fire.

I know my demons
They find me.
And taste their detestable palate,
charred yet polished bursts of ecstasy and hell.
But mixed with terror and ill
And smelling of snake oil.

I stand undevoured
And fight for I am not thine of little faith.

I am shaken,
My feet wrent from my shoulders
And fastened to the ground
In black water and crimson…
I fight.

Even should I build a ship
That I might avoid the water's terrible lips
The sea sees and laughs
Such a small inconsequent thing
And I, even smaller.

The ship no match for the sea
And no match for thee
But what about me?
Black water and crimson
Black water and crimson.

In propane and fire
Black water and crimson
I wrench and wail and fall
But I will fight, I will tussle.
I will wrestle!

And you will break me
Though your lambs remain unfed and thirsty
Tired and naked and distressed
And bathing in black water and crimson
You will fight me.

Because not even I can snatch me from your hand.

Deeply wounded
My pain shrivels me to weary.
I will know them until I reach the gate
And the end of this side of eternal life.

To which I will lift feeble wisdom
To your Judgment and terrible light.

And SO I WRESTLE!
I will fight!
I will fight!
I will not stop until you bless me!!!

And I step onto the sea.

Black water and crimson
Black water and crimson.