Mountains and Molehills

Now we don't mean to give you a fright
But there's something about your mammogram that doesn't look right.
Probably nothing, but you never can tell
There is also a chance you may not be well.

SO if you could manage to come over today about 2:00
We'd like to take another look at you.
It might take a while so they can check everything out
Maybe an ultrasound will tell what it's about.

So that's how it happens, I thought
A call on the phone, and you know you've been caught.

I examined my boobs, pressed here and there
But I was unable to feel a lump anywhere.
Still the radiologist wanted to take a new look
Like a fish on the line, I squirmed on the hook.

My mother once said,
"Something will get you and then you'll be dead!"
Was this something being carried in my 38C,
Just getting ready to get rid of me?

My life flashed before me, years quickly spent
But as to their passing, I have no lament.
I've experienced the wonder of living
A miracle true, that allowed me to "be"
And to know God and you.

As the technician placed my left boob in the slammer
I was oddly calm, my heart didn't hammer.
She took several poses, close-ups, too
Then checked her computer making sure she had the right view.

"One more", she said. Covering a small mole with a patch,
She secured my left boob, with a swift hard latch.

"It may take a few moments. You can read if you wish."
I could not read. I could only stare.
In such moments I'm not good at prayer.
I figure God knows,
so it's not up to me to tell him how the wind blows.

The technician came back with smile.
"It was as I suspected all the while.
Finding problems is the mammogram's goal
But in your case, what it found was a mole."

It Happens

There is a moment when you are alone

Maybe washing the dishes or reading a book

That you stop what you are doing and turn around to look

Listening in silence for sounds once there

The squeak of a chair, a footstep on the stair

That says “I’m here, sweetheart. No need to be blue.

I’ll be there in a minute, right beside you.”


But soon the minute passes, and no presence do you find

Only shadows rummaging in the closet of your mind.







Bonnie

Dwelling Places

Because I believe the Spirit of God
Does not need a house of wood or stone
Does not mean I think He is found in nature alone.

Wherever folks gather in worship and prayer
Then the Presence of God is certainly there.

Whether in tent or Cathedral,
when men try to show
their reverence for God,
with heads bowed low
asking for wisdom to lead lives that are good
and the courage to honor that truth as they should,
I believe God must smile as he watches them pray
glad they are trying to find just the right way
often reaching out to lend them a hand
so that deep in their hearts they will understand
they were never meant to do it alone;
It is the Spirit of God who will show the way home.

God's Dwelling Place

“Unchurched” they say.
Northwest souls gone astray!



A church of wood or stone

Is made by flesh and bone

A good place for a flock

To pray together and talk.



But it was not always so

A few thousand years ago

Men perceived God on mountains high

Where their eyes lifted up to see the sky.



They heard his voice, but would not say his name

God was not something men could claim.



But we are creatures who like to own

Our God must be ours alone.

We must be the “chosen ones”

Specially picked, most favored under the sun.



So Hebrew nomads put their God in a box

And toted Him around over sand and rock.

Only men Holy could touch it they said,

If you try, you will surely be dead!



Although it is said God protested,

Once they had found a suitable place

They built a great temple, with a secret space

To house their God and keep him safe

From the unclean and lowly

So that only men Holy could glimpse his face.



Last week I camped on a high mountain lake

And I swear -- the Spirit of God was everywhere.



In every breeze, I felt His touch,

Knew Love unbound by human clutch.

I didn’t have to search…..He was right there

Talking to me, as I listened in prayer.



Now I must be clear. It wasn’t a human voice I heard

It was the essence of God which requires no word.

I felt myself one with rock, water, and tree
Part of a whole, that still values the special thata is "me".


So ”churched folk” need not despair

God is not confined to a church

He is “Everywhere”.



But most easily found on a high mountain lake

Where the Spirit of God is there just to take.

Seasons

Seasons come and seasons go
Round and round, from sun to snow.

Not only years, but cycles too
The babe, the child, the woman full grown
In which cycle am I? I try not to moan!

For those who shared my last springtime
You know it was great!

Doing things silly, sometimes a bit wild
Enjoying the moment, while around us love smiled.
.
Then summer came on and sped by fast
Now that autumn is here, I hope it will last.

For winter is coming, with cold winds and ice
What can I do to make that season nice?

I will keep logs on my fire and candles burning bright
So no chill can catch me or darkness cloud my sight.

And an apple pie baking in the oven--so sweet smells fill the air
Then invite friends to come over to sit down and share.

I will listen to guitars and turn on all the lights
Reading tales with happy endings way into the night.

Still when my seasons end, I wonder where I’ll be?

On some sunny shore,
with those I knew before—

Or like an atom on the wind, my course may be set afar
Traveling through time to some distant shining star.

Surely it is possible there are wonders yet to see
Or maybe this little ditty will be all that’s left of me.