Death Hewn Love: An Easter Reflection

Death

Man child

Offering self

Exchanging life for love

Ransom of blood, blood moon shadows

His death

Burial

Finished

Mourn beloved

Shaken by grief-filled cries

In hollow of created earth

He lies

Resurrection

Third day

Newness dawning

Blossoming with love hewn

From death; forever lost it’s sting

He lives

In honor of the upcoming Easter weekend my poetic offering is just that, an offering. 

Linking up with dVerse tonight, join us for a verse and the communion of conversation. 

I look forward to exchanging a few with you, thank you for your readership and 

for the comments that I hope you leave, they are of great worth. Blessings ~Apryl 

Stilled and Silenced

there are no children to pull off freshly painted walls tonight,

no needy husband’s hands to fence with

this night belongs to being

in a noisy silence

autumnal evening sounds

assaulting ears bent toward quiet

cricket song and the last of the cicada concerto

remnantsof a living earth preparing

for the hibernation of retreating into oneself

linger here at the dusk of summer’s end

maples bowing low and heavy

offering palm sized leaves

only southern trees can grow

and hereI sit amongst the California red grapes

and their blended blissful bounty

in gratitude for their harvest

blue velvet sky bleeds violet lines

with the surrender of the sun

I am in silence

I am at rest

I am whole

the fearfulness of truth

with this, a tiny revelation comes

reflectively hidden in stars

strewn ‘cross the blackening sky

heralded by twilight’s whispered presence

bound to human rest

a Sabbath understanding

there is Holiness

in the simplicity of stillness

I am awake now

these quiet eyes do see

purpose in solo revelry

secrets tucked into my heart

like tissues in pillow cases

for moments of weeping

draw them out

during the dark night of the soul

for it always cometh

amidst it’s plight remember

this stillness and grope for peace

with muscle memory

cultivated in solitude

one by one

and become again

bound to quiet understanding

and begin with the hope

of dawn’s promised procession

crickets quiet, owls steal away

and with the son’s arrival,

the first fat rays of presence

define us once more

as those who dwell among the living

drawn into the warmth of day

and remind us we belong there

in reverence we draw light with breath

and exhale luminous awe

from ominous oneness

and in that moment we shall

be still and know

Linking up with dVerse, we are looking at the moments of solitude... these are mine. 

The Halo Effect

He folded his body nearly in half.
A tall gangly frame of a man with kind eyes.
She sat with auburn tangles, unbrushed today.
Church had been a blur, everything has and I cling to a moment of rest and observation, a moment of sanity pressing myself into the red theater seats.

He offered a few minutes of individual instruction after rehearsal.

My thoughts drift back to the house, in shambles with leaks and brokenness, the half reconstructed porch, washing dishes campstyle, tossing water off it, unintentionally feeding the overgrown weeds demanding attention.

But in this small theater music is played, broken and whining, tempo subsiding. Strings pressed between flesh and wooden necks arching over children’s shoulders. The cello seems to swallow her up, recent growth has left her with long arms and legs, the progress of life growing my child into a woman far too soon. But she reaches well around the belly of it now.

“When you slide the bow like this you can see the string move in circle that kind of looks like a halo,” he played some more, “do you see?” The instrument in the hands of the kind of expert that hours of practice, talent and calluses produce, he is a master of his art.

When someone loves something they can’t help sharing it with others hoping to impart some of what they find in it, may it be peace, or joy, pleasure or a sense of accomplishment. They have loved something well and he does, and this he shares. His heart poured out on strings to teach each child, and right now, in this moment, it’s my child he teaches and inspiration settles into the gray spaces.

She nods first no, watches as he plays, then yes.

“That’s how you know, that’s when the note is just right,” he says and smiles up at her.

She nods again, pushes glasses back onto her face and smiles the one that says, I think I know what you’re talking about. He gives her the bow and watches. She bites her bottom lip and tries again.

A moment of clarity and all disappears, the broken sink, the porch in shambles, the warped cabinets that needs to be torn out now and the quick coming of graduation for the eldest of my children. I close my eyes and I see Him, with the anticipation of a halo moment when I make an attempt to imitate my master. Just one note, one moment of trusting Him. I press my fingers to bone and make an attempt, at patience, at faith, just once... and my heart plays a note, a note that reverberates my soul, the kind of note with a halo.



Linking up for Imperfect Prose... I like the feel of this place. Join me, won't you? www.canvaschild.com

Take and Eat

bread, earthen and broken flesh

blood-water, crimson drink

a moment of remembrance

prophetic practice of grace

take and eat your piece of me

take and drink the last of my being

take from me the robes of righteousness

not one can take my life from me

deny me, my brother

forget me, slumbering friend

mother spare your tears

I make all things new

father of the forsaken

why demand this sacrifice

cradle life demand it not of me

if another way there still may be

paths have forks

and travelers choices

this night I make mine

thy will be done

Sea Of Forgetting-My Post from the Beach and last Social Media Contact Until We Return.

 In scripture it is written that the Father will cast sin into the depths of the ocean, into the place of forgetting. It’s like the forgiveness found in the arms of a lover that has released you from the place where you are obliged to love him and in doing so allows you to love freely. Our wounds, both inflicted and those we did inflict carry a great weight of expectation. We react or act based on what those expectations are and we live in the place of fulfilled or unfulfilled obligations. Obligation isn’t love, and dedication that brings obedience and the dedication of a lover is beyond what we could ask for in the sober realization of the damaged lives we lead.

                This week my family and I have accompanied my in-laws at a beach house that is nestled quietly on an obscure piece of beach on the Florida panhandle. As I watch the changing of the tides, the temperature of the water and how it differs from day to day I am amazed at the wondrous beauty. This ecosystem is vast and complex, delicate and severe all at once. Nature is said to reveal the glory of God. I believe that is true, but I believe that we have misunderstood some fundamental truths. God is a God of mercy, peace and grace, but he is not only those things.

                I remember speaking with a Pastor friend of mine one morning at Starbucks, he made a simple, but powerful statement, “You cannot have mercy without justice, the minute we forget that truth and begin to apply mercy without first examining the offense and the just punishment it requires we nullify the power mercy has to transform a life.” Wise words from a very wise man and I’m thankful to have heard them. Mercy and justice met on the cross, where Jesus took the full weight of sin on his own shoulders and with the crucifixion took the just punishment, and in doing so released mercy from the Father.

                An ecosystem can seem harsh, the death of a creature, the devouring one of another and then another. The severe weather conditions, the magnitude and the vastness of such things is beyond a lifetime of understanding. I am unable to examine or appreciate them all but this I do know, that a profound truth exists in understanding that God works in rhythm, seasons if you will. Though things change, a sin is devoured and taken to the depths of the ocean of forgetting another is allowed to roam freely. We exist in an ecosystem that is imperfect in it’s severity and it’s beauty and only through God's perfect sacrifice can we truly see them all as they are. 

                Today as I write this I have the ocean before me with little sign of land except for the small mass that curls around to the left of the horizon. Today, as I walk down upon the white sand beaches I will release to my Father some of the things he has been urging me to, but until now I had not possessed the strength. Obligations I feel are more a weight than a willful obedience that exists in the form of loving God back, and in doing so release this great need for acceptance from mankind. I have no illusions about walking away and not being challenged in this choice, but I do believe in the moments of choosing when we erect alters in our hearts, remembered times with the Father where we have a shift of thought or choice.  I will receive the mercy he offers, and I will release to him my sins, and with those quiet understandings tucked neatly in my heart I will be thankful.

 I have a few quiet days left here, and I hope to immerse myself in them all. I will not be participating in any social media forms from this time on so that I may be in a place of meditation, contemplation and appreciation for this gift. I do pray that as you read these words you are well and blessed. Much love, Apryl.

Confession of a Fallen Follower

This poem was inspired during a recent sermon by my Pastor entitled Confessions. What would we say if we're honest? From the heart of this follower, my confession.

I am the converted one that follows

long ago laid entombed now risen savior.

My hungry soul in quiet ways allows,

the sin of weakness lending to waver.

My eyes see His glory, living Lord

though knee bows not in moments of anguish

lingering there my need creates a hoard.

Selfishness, I’m sure to lie in languish.

Rescue me, revive me, beyond this flesh,

inadequate I am to follow Him.

This tortured life I self inflict a mess.

Heart cries out, mercy, breathe on me again.

Mosaic life in it’s untold glory

Artisan hands are crafting my story

Rest in His Arms

Today I lay myself down committed to the rest and restoration of my body, a horrible earache caused by a virus. So I finally have the opportunity to write. The fragility of human strength is a very fine line we walk. The resilience of the spirit of man I believe is what Jesus meant when rebuking those he asked to pray for him, saying that the spirit is willing but the body is weak. Perhaps the human spirit is the very reflection of God. Today I’m reminded of that fact, the ringing in my ears and the strength rising in my Spirit that take the characteristic of Faith where I once saw despair. I see this revealed in the eyes of my children, my son with gentle kisses, rubs my back, prays for me whispering I love yous in my ear is the best treatment. This, I believe is evidence that we are creatures crafted by the hand of a loving God, able to show his love to a dead and dying world.

I think we forget what rest is, not simply the absence of activity, but the restoration of us entirely. Spiritual rest where the mending begins in the soul is a choice, and it begins in the surrender of oneself into the arms of the Creator. This day I leave nothing undefended in my life. Laying down my foolish pride, I surrender. Receiving care for the soul, the Lord Jesus washing away the muddy gatherings of this world, is a choice. Jesus came not just to save but also tend to, like a good shepherd, the fallible human condition. So I rest in His care, and am reminded that we all need to learn to allow him to care for each of us.