“I would give an arm
          and a leg," she said, and then
               one day they were gone.

                 ...

A worried world won’t let the weary rest;
amid the clamorous din, beleaguered kneel,
begging for crumbs at the communal feast,
like hungry dogs scrounging for a meal,
and broken down, they long for sweet release,
balm of Gilead poured on beaten backs.

The rock at the base of the tree cries...

Whatever walked ahead of me
  Left paw prints in the snow
And wild or domesticated,
  I will not, do not know. 

I think a squirrel or otter may
  Have passed this way before,
And humans with their canine friends
  Have passed this way before,

A bunny may have hopped this way,
...

She spoke her mind
like holy writ;
a double edged sword
of small proportions,
designed for parsing
joints and marrow,
for penetration
to the heart, words
now lying like broken
scissors, flattened in the street,
trampled underfoot.

Liz McFadzean

Some of us know the privilege
of burning bras, of Title Nine
and following our bliss.
But, O, those uppity women
in Seneca Falls.  Shoulder to shoulder
they stand in crinolines and petticoats
that belie their ramrod backbones;
unwilling to settle for second class status
or scrabble for leftover...

“This is not paradise, but we would really like it to be.”  Richard Lints

Throughout Advent I met twice a week with a friend to pray for our families, our church and our fractured country and world.  One of the weeks, as we struggled with the sense of frustration that we...

Near the middle of Matthew’s gospel account, in Chapter 16, Jesus is asked by two separate groups of people to do something extraordinary.  This comes right after the account of Jesus feeding the masses with just seven loaves and a few small fish.  The two groups that approached...

Christmas comes.
We count down all the days;
We shop and shop and plan.
We decorate our place
In glistening lights again,
As Christmas comes.

Christmas comes.
We wrap up gifts, surprises
In boxes, paper, bows;
Anticipation rises
Amidst the candles' glow,
As Christmas comes. 

Christmas comes.
Despite...

At the eastern edge of the estuary
The Widgeon floats and fishes
While Skimmers swoop and dive,
Piercing the smooth surface of the bay
Like the spines of a crown of thorns
Probing deeply through holy flesh
To purest life-nurturing blood;
And not to be counted out,
The Least Terns do their nightly dance,
...

How arrogant to assume
that I'm free to be me,
that I am master of my fate,
scribe of my destiny.

My pride entices me to think
of my autonomy
as my divine prerogative
instead of enemy.

I did not make myself, have no
responsibility
for my own creation, still
presume that I am free;

but only in submission...