I lie down under the burden
of the courage that I lack
For you to see the sin in me
cannot be taken back
It is my greatest fear at times
you might finally know
The dark and filth I tasted once
I never want to show
Exposure of who I really am
could drive your love away
After all you’re only human
dare I hope that you would stay?
The truth of exposure that I do not fear
is a mystery not of loss
but a debt that is paid fully
willingly hung upon the Cross
I dreamed I saw a million angels flying saying something about the King.
There were children singing and mountains falling into the empty Sea.
Who will it be, who will it be, is the Holy One finally come?
Look for the Evil one’s dying day for the End has just begun.
I was kneeling at an alter of burning dreams there was a red moon in the Sky.
There were mothers crying and babies dancing yet no one there could die.
How can it be, how can it be, will the damage be undone?
Look at the Sword He holds in his hands, it blazes like the Sun.
I dreamed I heard Purity and Fury thunder and the earth split wide in two.
There were graveyards rolling and a clear voice calling, “wake up, I have come for you.”
When will it be, when will it be, has the Kingdom finally come?
Look toward the heavens and you just may see Him before the day is done.
Letters from a Preacher’s daughter…the difference in hearing and understanding.
When you are what we in the South call “born in the pew” the other person knows what you mean. We might be the preachers kids, or the deacon’s kid, the janitor’s kids, the choir director’s kid…you see where this is going.
There is a category of children from my generation who heard God’s teaching or rather Theology from the day we were born. Our parents generation meant well and did the best they could. I truly am grateful for each and everyone of them…
We heard, Gods is Love, God is good, God created the whole world and holds it in his hands. We heard all the hymns and knew the books of the Bible by the time we were in Mrs. Nancy’s fourth grade Sunday School. We heard about sin and blood being shed for that sin by Jesus on a cross of shame and pain, we heard about Zacheaus who repented, we heard about David who fought Goliath the mammoth Philistine, we heard about Daniel who did NOT get eaten by Lions and his three friends who did NOT even smell like smoke when stepping out of the fiery furnace. We also heard about the great flood of Noah’s day and about Prophets who called down fire from heaven and stopped the rain for three years. Then, we heard more about Jesus healing the blind, healing the sick, being very wise and gentle but also kicking some but in the Holy Temple where men had set up scams to make money off of poor people all in the auspices of being a spiritual act that pleased God…whew, Jesus didn’t like that deal one bit and he let them know about it.
More things we church kids heard was about sin bringing death; not just physical death but spiritual death. We also heard a lot that we were sinners and would die without Jesus but you see their wasn’t “UNDERSTANDING”.
My point to all of that backtracking is to say that sometimes, or most of the time we “hear” examples without really understanding. For me, what I heard was that sin separates me from God and I must be dealt with…understanding that did not really “click” at five years of age so I kept praying my sinners prayers , walking down the aisle of church to try to fix this “thing” with Jesus and sin and death and shame but without understanding that I wasn’t understanding. I kept trying to earn more, listen more, do more but without that heavenly understanding that only God works in us and I realized I am one of the ones who put Jesus in the grave as well as if I had been standing on that narrow street in Jerusalem that day…
I am reminded that the week before Jesus was killed many were “HEARING” and shouting and singing Hosanna! He is the Messiah but many many more were just not “UNDERSTANDING”…
You see they heard His parables about His Father God’s plans but they could not really understand.
The understanding came when they saw themselves for who they really were. They were weak, they abandoned an innocent man, they got in a herd mentality and yelled, “Crucify Him” and even those who had been given more teaching than any other people still did not understand.
So, the take away message from this short missive is this…many hear but do not understand so we keep striving, behaving, praying, fretting, performing for God when He actually took all of that sin, death, and striving away. Our hopeless condition outside of Jesus Christ’s blood shed for us is exactly what put Him in the grave…the Good News is Continue reading
old black Jonas made elderberry wine
i use to love to drink it, pass away my time
he would play his mouth harp in the old junkyard
and we’d sing under the moon swinging on the stars
one hundred years old Jonas thought he was
there was not record of his birth written down by the man
so he took the name of the master who owned him
said “a name only matters to those who don’t have ’em. “
i love old black Jonas to this day
still hear his laughter, sing his song everyday
i don’t really get that high anymore
old Jonas come back, let’s drink your wine once more
I suddenly wake and I can’t see anything
I start throwing my fear around
I open the window and look for the sun
and for signs of the spring…
Then I can breathe
I can feel each Holy breath…
Then I hear my babies laughing
and smell roses in the air
Deep inside a sweet voice whispers
What have you to fear?
and then I can breathe
I can feel each Holy breath…
At night I gaze up into the heavens
and someone calls my name
I laugh at the man in the moon
and peace comforts me again…
and then I can breathe
I can feel each Holy breath…
It is well know that it is hard for me to swallow words because I believe when we do it makes nothing but trouble. I want to talk before I die. I want to say things to those I love. I want to say things to my fellow human beings. I know you all will go on talking when I am gone from this earth and that is how things are supposed to be…yet, I can think of a thousand things I could share with my children and grandchildren and whether it matters much what I say in the long run I still want to. I could pour love into their hearts for ions…I want that.
Even an argument is the dialogue of life. To disagree, to not understand, to try with all your might to get it right, to have understanding… these are verbal skills too. I want that.
On the other hand so much can be “Said” without words. A hug, a cup of coffee, or just sitting in silence and stillness but I feel these actions speak volumes. These are verbal skills as well. In the presence of peace or strife there must be a “knowing”…a connection. I want that.
Last but not least there is the written word. For me, this is the ultimate verbal skill. This verbal skill fits me and gives me joy. I want to paint a picture with words on paper. To make a record of things that are not easy to forget. I want that.
One writer said, “It is so much easier, to learn to love what you have instead of yearning always for what you’re missing. It is so much more peaceful.” She has good verbal skills. I want that.
I just want to be there where humble people go to pray
where all the heavenly host are listening
where nobody cares what you look like or what you “do”
where the people are authentic and adore their Redeemer
where The High Priest, King Jesus records our praise in His book of Remembrance
where The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost preside in a simple cathedral
In the place where gentle Saints go to pray…
Language is my orchestra
sometimes a lullaby
Emotion is the music
the Poet’s heart lives by
In the silence of my dreams
words go dancing through
An image just to beautiful
all logic out of view
An artist lives within me
a way of beating all the odds
The thorn on the rose bush
pricks discovery once again
All children start out poets
I just cannot let that go
Stir the mischief in the fire
and let enchantment flow
In the water off the coast of Saigon…what is now called Ho Chi Minh City there was a young girl who was nine years old and her cousin Mae was 12. I am Iris. The young girl is my Mother and this is our story…
Iris…
Sing Na Li is my mother. Her American name is Naomi Li. She is forty-nine years old. She owns two nail salons and has worked seven days a week since I can remember. We live in a nice house with four bedrooms and two and a half baths. My mother said this could never be imagined in Viet Nam. She has never been home again. She has never seen her Mother and Father since that day when her father handed her over the bow of a boat with her cousin to a woman from our village area. Grandfather had only enough money to get one of us out. As his only child he chose my Mother. She has made a good life she says with no regrets. She always said, “ Iris, you must not look back. You must always look forward. You must always be brave.”
I am not as brave as my Mother. I have an easy life. I want to be brave. I want to be like my Mother. I just graduated from a well-known University in Texas. I am an engineer. Naomi is very proud of me…
In the spring of 1975 the People’s Army of Vietnam were coming. They were sighted in the highlands of north of Saigon…Grandfather told my mother that she must go. He said, “I will die here in my body but you will take my dreams and my heart with you. You will go to America and you will give me many grandsons and granddaughters. I will not let you suffer in the way that is coming.”
Naomi did not understand everything Father said to her but she knew that she must obey. Her Mother never cried and she spoke very little. There was always a sadness in her deep set almond shaped eyes. Mother’s eyes spoke to me. They said women must be the strongest.
Soldiers with guns were everywhere. I was just a little girl but I had only known war. I could not tell who were the friendly soldiers and who were the enemy. I remember seeing an American soldier once and upon his helmet he had written “Welcome to hell.” I remember another sign written across the big building with the American flag and someone had written on it in my own language, “The gates of mercy have closed.”
I did not understand these words. My grandmother, who was very old, told my mother, “Do not be afraid my dear little one. You will be strong. You will live for all of us. They cannot hurt us if you live and that is what Mercy is…to live.”
The end came very quickly after years of shelling, starving, and never sleeping well. I had never known a time in my life when there was not war. We lived in an area of the city that had not been bombed but there was no electricity or running water. Many people were sick and many people died.
On April 28th, 1975 I was put upon a big boat, which I now know was one of a South Vietnamese navy vessel. There were thirty or so of these vessels crammed into the Saigon River. My cousin and I were so scared. There were so many people crowding onto the shore…I have forgotten a lot of it. People were stepping over us to get on the boat. At some point a man picked me up and put me in a corner of the boat with my cousin and told us to hold on to the railing and do not let go. Two days later President Minh surrendered unconditionally. I know that this is what killed my Father even though he died in battle.
After many days, I don’t know how long, we arrived in Guam. We stood in long lines and were processed to enter the United States. We were checked by a doctor and put in another line. Long gone were the rice and fruit Mother had given me.
I felt excitement mingle with fear as only a nine year old could. I longed to see Father, Mother, and Grandmother but I feared returning to Saigon. After many days we were placed in a city of tents as there were many children. We played and were given food and cots to sleep on. After what seemed many days Grandmother’s niece whom I had never met came and picked us up. We flew on a big airplane to Texas. That was the beginning of my American life.
Many Americans died for me and many other Americans said that they lost the Vietnam war but as for me, my brothers and sisters and my Mother Sing Na Li they did not lose. They won. They won it for us. I am a Vietnamese American. I am Iris. I am brave. I am an example of Mercy.
The gifts that I have received as a nurse could fill a book…here is on of those precious golden nuggets that I carry with me…
“The truth is when people aren’t around I sleep a lot.” said the one hundred four-year old. Her Baltic sea blue eyes sparkle when she speaks. “You know I sleep to save up energy for these well-worn cells so I can enjoy it when I go out and see my family…children, grand children, great grand children, and even great great grandchildren…it is so much fun for me.”
“You know when you reach your fifties, sixties, and seventies you worry that you will get sick. If you live through those decades and don’t die from cancer or heart disease or stroke you feel young again even though you are old.”
“When you are in your thirties and forties you are robust and feel you have this short window to “Make a life” for yourself and your children, measuring success by land marks such as houses, cars, income, and education… Anyone below thirty is truly just a baby still…people don’t believe me because a twenty or thirty year old think they know everything and really they don’t.”
I sat down in the chair by her hospital bed and she smiled. She said, “What I see after living this long is everyone is so noisy and in a rush to reach somewhere beyond the life they have now. It is such a waste of the moment, of the joy intended for us. It is actually good NOT to know everything. Knowledge is no good anyway without character, without pain and disappointment.”
As she lay her head back on her pillow I notice the elegance in her posture and the way her hands lay so beautifully on her lap. “these hands she said have touched so much life and I am always reminded that life is so wonderful and tragic at the same time. I have seen war, slavery, and needless cruelty but I have also seen the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets. I have walked the beach and climbed the mountain. I have seen God there. I have heard babies cry and five minutes later laughing so purely and without malice. I have seen death and know that it doesn’t last nor it is the “end” of any part of me.”
As she closed her eyes she sighed, “Life is a wonder and a gift…God’s wisdom is NOT locked away from us. It is given to us everyday if we will listen and then receive it…don’t ever forget that.” I have not forgotten that sweet lady and her words…and her life spark still lives on in me…
Jill Autrey Dorman 