Love moves in with me,
hangs His coat
behind my door
and kicks His shoes across the floor.
Love brings chairs and tables
unfurls a richly woven rug,
drinks steamy coffee from my mug.
Love dusts the gables,
sweeps cobwebs away,
rearranges my way.
Love grows up in me
matures, turns grey
until I resemble Him, not me
1 John 4: 17-18
God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we’re free of worry on Judgment Day—our standing in the world is identical with Christ’s.(MSG)
A late-summer hurricane rips
through east-coast woods.
Limbs torn from sockets
lie strewn across the lawn –
Fallen heroes on a battlefield.
Gaping wounds on tree bodies
breathlessly beg for help.
Old sages give up, sigh, stumble
And tumble over,
their feet undignified bare.
October brings unseasonable snow,
heavy and wet on orange, yellow and red.
Slight maidens in wispy party dresses
buckle under the weight of
their unsolicited winter coats.
Fleshy fall sprigs bruise, twist,
and dangle lifeless.
On warmer winter days
workers with chainsaws
fell the heavily wounded.
take a last majestic bow
before perishing in the underbrush.
testify of once proud heroes.
Late March exhales a frosty breath
over spring’s shy virgins,
ravaging blushing Magnolia blossoms,
leaving them humiliated,
Finally, April explodes in scarlet buds,
luminescent green, white mock pear
Overnight the underbrush fixes
a band-aid over the tree-devastation.
New life hides evidence of this
But on the horizon,
voids once filled
by gracious giants
where once there was