life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the month “March, 2014”

expect it…


You would gladly travel great distances in rain,
arriving at dark in foreign places.
You would eagerly await the news, every call
a promise, in invitation.
You would hold your loved ones, feeling them
in your hands even from far away.
You would have a story to tell of gratitude and grace.
You would already be thinking of a new name for yourself

if you knew God’s love were being poured into your life
like a newborn on the way, a grandchild
you have not yet seen.
Weather Report

arriving at all hours,
requiring you to do the same;
with periods of intermittent labor and hope,
precipitating in showers of joy and wonder.
There will be shifting patterns,
and a one hundred percent chance
that Things Will Be Different.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light


Joy is God’s life – Ann Voskamp


Our endless desires are fulfilled in endless God. I long to know Beauty, breathe it into lungs, feel it heavy on skin. – Ann Voskamp

We want something else which can hardly be put into words – to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become a part of it. – C. S. Lewis




Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?
You been out ridin’ fences for so long now
Oh, you’re a hard one
I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin’ you
Can hurt you somehow

Don’t you draw the queen of diamonds, boy
She’ll beat you if she’s able
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet

Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can’t get

Desperado, oh, you ain’t gettin’ no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they’re drivin’ you home
And freedom, oh freedom well, that’s just some people talkin’
Your prison is walking through this world all alone

Don’t your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won’t snow and the sun won’t shine
It’s hard to tell the night time from the day
You’re losin’ all your highs and lows
Ain’t it funny how the feeling goes away?

Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin’, but there’s a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it’s too late


the power of naming and allowing to remain un-named


by Dana Gioia

The world does not need words. It articulates itself
in sunlight, leaves, and shadows. The stones on the path
are no less real for lying uncatalogued and uncounted.
The fluent leaves speak only the dialect of pure being.
The kiss is still fully itself though no words were spoken.

And one word transforms it into something less or other—
illicit, chaste, perfunctory, conjugal, covert.
Even calling it a kiss betrays the fluster of hands
glancing the skin or gripping a shoulder, the slow
arching of neck or knee, the silent touching of tongues.

Yet the stones remain less real to those who cannot
name them, or read the mute syllables graven in silica.
To see a red stone is less than seeing it as jasper—
metamorphic quartz, cousin to the flint the Kiowa
carved as arrowheads. To name is to know and remember.

The sunlight needs no praise piercing the rainclouds,
painting the rocks and leaves with light, then dissolving
each lucent droplet back into the clouds that engendered it.
The daylight needs no praise, and so we praise it always—
greater than ourselves and all the airy words we summon.

moments of joy

Moments are miracles. There are some moments that are so full we gasp when we see them. Like drops of snow on a spiders web.

They shine and sparkle. Begging us to celebrate. Go all in with joy and happy dancing.
This is one of those moments. Those God moments where it takes you a few days to adjust to the glory of what just happened!
I am so grateful!
A toast! To LIFE! and to places called HOME! and to the exquisite beauty we are surrounded by in this amazing world. May we never forget to see!


He makes all things beautiful in His time.


One learns that the world, though made, is yet being made. That this is still the morning of creation. That mountains, long conceived, are now being born, brought to light by the glaciers, channels traced for rivers, basins hollowed for lakes. That moraine soil is being ground and outspread for coming plants…while the finest grist, seen hastening far out to sea, is being stored away in darkness, and builded, particle on particle, cementing and crystalizing, to make mountains and valleys, and plains of other landscapes, and pass on through the ages in endless rhythm and beauty. – John Muir


arriving home to meet yourself


And then there comes a moment
when all you have suffered
all you have learned
all you have lost and found
rise up and become
and suddenly you are
you are
who you dreamed of being
so many years ago
suddenly you have arrived
at what you caught glimpses of
for so many years
and the search,
the free fall of broken dreams,
broken hearts
broken everything
tumbling down rabbit holes
stumbling over the feet
of your own lack of knowledge
is over
for a moment
you find yourself on solid ground
raising your Ebenezer
those tributes to God
for all the mighty stones of help
in coming to this place
building this foundation on the solid rocks
you know so well
and though the pilgrimage may continue
though the journey is definitely not over
though life is fragile
and security an illusion
though the mystery is bigger than ever
there is a new sureness to your step
you love the questions with no answers
you will go from this place
from a different plane
always opening
a new level has been achieved
a trusting unshakable has come
a calm in it all wraps around as a mantle
a new assurance of provision
a new traveling song to be sung as you walk forward
always forward
always pilgrim ready for new adventures
forgetting the names of what lay behind
you press on to your calling
the prize set before
reveling in the mercies ever new
for each new day
there is no stopping now
you have found something
which cannot ever be taken
you have arrived here by your own determination
reached a place
both spiritual and physical
a place of such magnitude
the light shines from every angle
it has sealed up the oldest sores
bound up the deepest wounds
satisfied the deepest longings
changed everything
settled old scores with finality
no longer will you settle for less than you deserve
no more will you tolerate anything less than your best and highest offerings
you must be all you can be
gratitude fills you for this place
a place so lovely
it can bear up
even under the weight
of your hearts wildest desires
with just this simple name
it resounds inside our souls like a bell –
yes, beloved,
you are home.
right where you belong.
all are welcome here.

AL 3/22/14

The mind that comes to rest is tended in ways that it cannot intend: is borne, preserved and comprehended by what it cannot comprehend. – Wendell Berry


Let us then labour for an inward stillness,
An inward stillness and an inward healing,
That perfect silence where the lips and heart are still,
And we no longer entertain our own imperfect
Thought and vain opinions,
But God above speaks in us,
And we wait in singleness of heart,
That we may know His will,
And in the silence of our spirit
That we may do His will,
And do that only…
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


hello Spring, my favorite season!!


“Hope; An Owner’s Manual” by Barbara Kingsolver


Look, you might as well know, this thing
is going to take endless repair: rubber bands,
crazy glue, tapioca, the square of the hypotenuse.
Nineteenth century novels. Heartstrings, sunrise:
all of these are useful. Also, feathers.

To keep it humming, sometimes you have to stand
on an incline, where everything looks possible;
on the line you drew yourself. Or in
the grocery line, making faces at a toddler
secretly, over his mother’s shoulder.

You might have to pop the clutch and run
past all the evidence. Past everyone who is
laughing or praying for you. Definitely you don’t
want to go directly to jail, but still, here you go,
passing time, passing strange. Don’t pass this up.

In the worst of times, you will have to pass it off.
Park it and fly by the seat of your pants. With nothing
in the bank, you’ll still want to take the express.
Tiptoe past the dogs of the apocalypse that are sleeping
in the shade of your future. Pay at the window.
Pass your hope like a bad check.
You might still have just enough time. To make a deposit.

“Hope; An Owner’s Manual” by Barbara Kingsolver. Taken from “How to be Hopeful,” Kingsolver’s commencement address at Duke University, Durham, North Carolina, May 11, 2008. Published online by Duke Today, May 11, 2008. © Barbara Kingsolver.



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