Insidious Redeemed

Image credit: Ransom Riggs

by Kelly Wegscheid

The hand that touched upon my chest

That penetrated as it firmly pressed

That sent its heat fiercely through my unsuspecting breast

It wrapped my heart in fingers bold

It sent heat waves through my veins once cold

And seeped into my blood like stories never told

Then sprung a root (or was it thorn?)

With tentacles like seedlings born

Which wrapped 'round and 'round and up and down each and every cell forlorn

Its energy came coursing true

Wrapping 'round and 'round and through and through

It didn't know, but tried to wash away all thoughts of You

Its vines… No, roots... No, thorns…

Wound tight and pulled and tangled

Until, thick, they brought on darkness raging

With a passion raw, seeking light, it scratched and clawed

Another piercing of my wounded heart

Willful ripping of my Creator’s art

Undone by its own unleashed lust

Then bursting out, it found next sought

And flew away, left me for naught

Its hand upon my chest I had not fought

In darkest core still hid my heartbeat

Smoldering with hope I could no longer feed

Its blood and breath and life sucked out like a gasp of heat

Survival dictates preserve thyself

So with grace and peace and clarity

One fell swoop loped off that hand and shriveled what remained

All foreign, ugly, dead debris

Instantly became ashes

Which turned to mulch to feed my hope

Just how the Good Book says it happens

This Side of the Pit

photo from merseawildlife.blogspot.com

My hand emerged

From the rain soaked ash,

From the muck.

This time, it didn't plead or yearn

And sink back in despair.

This time it stretched, breathed,

And landed firmly on a craggy rock.

It smiled. My hand smiled.

It knew what had just happened.

It didn't know ahead of time

it was going to grasp the rock.

But it knew now,

the way only hands can know,

The inevitable unfolding of events

That was sure to follow.

The force that caused

My hand to fiercely grip

Next made my arm to flex and coil.

This arm that hung dormant for many lives

With no resistance,

Now surged with ambition.

My body follows

Rising up.

Emerging from the deep.

My leg lifts a foot.

My foot finds placement on the rock.

The solid rock.

How free. How firm. How present

Is the rock.

I stand.

I stand!

I stand on solid rock.

I stand solid on the rock!

I walk and

Almost don't look back.

But I want to remember

What it looks like from this side of the pit.

In Which Heroes Are All Dead

And the heavens opened
And half of all the people were swallowed.
The other half.

And half of the remaining ran
Forever. They didn't stop.
They're still running.

And half of those that stood
paralyzed, eventually decayed.

Others sat down and cried
until their tears were salt ran dry.

Some started counting rocks.
They don't know why.
They sort and stack and rearrange.

I was standing, watching, when I finally woke.
I saw it all and did nothing.
I'm still standing. But awake.

A few, I see, dance.
I want to dance, but I stand.
Their dance is not of joy, but to chase away the fear.

Silent movies play in my head
In which heroes are all dead.
But I'm awake. And here.

Clothed or Naked?

I dreamed.
"We are more comfortable clothed in a lie than being naked."

Glory or Death

[Glenwood Cemetery, Houson, TX, bookloversinc.com]

Secret lives, secret hearts, I see
Unfolded and enlightened.
Angel eyes of wisdom and purity have
Brought me grace and weariness together.
Even angst against a holiness.
Dawdling in the temporal seems to
Strip time from a greater good,
From destiny,
From almighty eternity itself,
As if that were possible.
Indeed the lens has flipped, revealing
A mission of mining eternity
From this very mundane.
Oh, for that to be my destiny!
Is anything mundane,
Really?
From One perspective,
It's all either Glory or Death.

Urgency in Slow Motion

Does your life ever feel like it is a long drawn-out slow motion event of catching someone’s eye across a crowded room, connecting at some cosmic level of knowing and urgency, trying desperately to reach them in an act to save the world (or perhaps yourself), but only being able to see them from your peripheral vision from then on?

Hm. Mine does. Sometimes.
Is that weird?

No Earthly Good

Perhaps I am “so heavenly minded that I am no earthly good.” 

I desperately want heaven to open and pour down on me. I desperately want myself and those around me to desperately want something more from life. Knowing that that desperation will never be satisfied this side of heaven, I want heaven to come to earth and increase that desperation in all of us for more of heaven. 

I have no. desire. what. so. ever. to do chores. 

Perhaps that is why I sometimes feel I am "no earthly good."

Primitive Camping...in Style

Primitive because this is considered a primitive camp site at Crow Wing State Park in Minnesota. That means no electrical hookups or plumbing. Who needs electricity when camping? We were camping in good style. Our plumbing felt luxurious with the working well right on site, and our own private out-house! Food was served in the stylish, fully screened, shelter which houses 3 picnic tables.
Despite hot afternoon temps, perfect tent weather prevailed overnight. No desire to sleep indoors. And, we were able to drive right up to the camp site! No wagons or carts.
  Click on the photos for a close-up look.

Letter from Jesus

As a followup to the previous post, here is a letter from Jesus, as read on KTIS, with His opinion on the celebration of His birthday:
Christmas letter from Jesus

If We Had Known

If we had known....
Would we have had the strength not to...?