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There seems to be a game – that you must play, if you would rise. There seems to be a game – and with it lots of compromise You live to impress others, and you're as slick as you can be. But, where – oh, where – are perfect hearts, and deep sincerity?  Read more
I stand at the gate. I look back at what was. I look forward at what should be. My name is woman, and so I wait. I stand here with my Bible And read the signs that form the gates’ barrier. It is made of Scripture fragments. 1 Timothy 2 is the whittled stake that holds it up. Slivers of Ephesians 5 block my view. And splinters of 1 Corinthians bar my way. God, what did you mean them all to say? What answer can I give? I wonder why? I hold the whole of Scripture in my hand. I don’t understand Why these few shavings of passages block my way.   Read more
Today, I am a rebel. I forget about the laundry and dishes. I turn all my phones to silent And write. Yesterday, I cared what others thought. I primped and prepped to please. I scrubbed in detail on my knees For what? Read more
Why am I here and not there? I am HERE because I have been THERE. Read more
God of ages has called me to the Second Mile, To walk with my sisters through the Valley. I pray for the strength and the good courage to continue the walk. To be there in the darkness, to be there in the light, The Second Mile is to be there. Read more
Light shines from / a thousand prisms, / hung on golden filigree, / above the hall below, / where sheltered men / wear sheltering talitot / and stand and sit and / chant a thousand / shadowed words, / which had once been / written bold and in the light. Where are the Deborahs to lead the fight? Where your Huldahs to interpret sacred scrolls aright? Read more
I saw the angels. God’s holy angels. It’s all I used to talk about: Angels and the baby with the tired young mother. It was something to see. Scared me to death. Read more
Each drop of blood on the road to Golgotha was matched with a thousand tears of mine. I, who held Christmas in my body, saw Him carry the tree and decorate it dank with blood, dark with death. Oh, the carols he sighed. “Father Forgive Them.” “I Thirst.” “Son, Behold Your Mother.” What Father would forgive? What gall could quench that Voice? What Son could give his mother away on that God forsaken hill? And then, Hallelujah Chorus: “It Is Finished!” I gave up the ghosts of Christmas Past and Present with one vast, vacant, virulent voice wailing, “No! Oh God on earth, no!” I stood like a tree in a forest fire, my limbs flaming, my bones charred and breaking, my words robbed of oxygen by the presence of Hell ripped open, exposed by nailed Hands; by lifeless hands devoid of Yet-To-Come. Read more
I CREATOR/CONQUEROR/COMFORTER Read more
When I saw my cousin again, I had walked all day, my ankles swollen like my feet. Her bright eyes made my journey worth it. Read more

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