winter journal

I didn't categorize this as poetry because it's too long, and if it was a poem I would try to have some sort of understandable progression of thought instead of popping along from one thing to another.  In short, I don't really know what this is :)

Today the sun warms the chilled February birdsong,
yesterday the fog drifted sleepily
I'm having trouble keeping up with this steady passing of time
life continually slipping on past
the days a blurring of the calendar, 
trying for more sleep, more food, to remember my weakness
but it would be much handier to be invincible,
to have enough time to plan and dream and learn
the nights are too short but my dreams are flashbacks
moments and faces I've treasured and sometimes forgotten
it's a strange place to be.
Oh Love, that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee
Odd, bumping into that loneliness whenever I turn
but I have so so many to love
so many to cry for
and this humbling unassailable confidence 
that I am so loved.
Oh, the wonderful blood of Jesus
There are dark-eyed babies
and beautiful women limping 
through my head at 4:00AM
when I wake to this unsettling sense of homesickness
but I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
traveling through this world of woe
there's no sickness, toil or danger
in that bright land to which I go
and home is the "tornado" of people in our converted-bowling-alley church after the service
home is that building with multiple cameras, multiple layers of locked doors,
to shelter its sacred contents
home is the sunshine through the iron windowpanes at CCEF morning prayer
home is my piano keyboard that grows a layer of dust faster than I expect it to
home is Christmas with my family by the fireside
home is the long table filled with soup-eaters before small group
home is anybody's baby in my arms
home is downtown Toronto through the dirty bus windows
home is green shoots poking through dark soil
home is my niece's smile, in person or on Skype
home is the flowers and teacups on my Oma's coffee table
home is my cousin's french press and steaks
home is the dip in the prairie grasses when you come over the hill to see the oaks and the graveyard and the community center and the elementary school and the little white church stake out my favorite town on the rez
home is hymns in four-part harmony
home is a latte on a Sunday afternoon
home is a beautiful thing
Oh, joy, that seekest me through pain
I cannot close my heart to thee
I trace the rainbow through the rain
and feel the promise is not vain
that morn shall tearless be


Melany Patrascu said...

💗 I have no words for what this does to my heart. It's beautiful and painful what this does to my emotions. I think, for me, it is the most relatable piece you have ever written, while still being intensely personal to your life. I think it's because there is enough similarities and overlap on the paths God has drawn for us that this particular piece stirs up a lot of heart-memories for me. And we are, in the end, both wanderers, sojourners, in search of our place of belonging, our Home. I love and miss you, my dear fellow traveler. Wish we could spend still more of this journey together. Can't wait to talk to you soon!

Mark Luimes said...

This is so beautiful... I miss you Lizzi. I really hope that my incessant renditions of Wayfaring Stranger over Christmas contributed to your inspiration here. If not, don't tell me.

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Sometimes I am melodramatic... Bear with me. My favorite thing is finding hope in hard places. If you enjoyed something (or not) I would love to hear from you! You can make me very happy by leaving a comment :)


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