I Held a Cup of Sunshine in My Hand

I held a cup
of sunshine
in my hand

its tender warmth
giving
shape
texture
meaning

[or
was it
the mug’s love
of
tea’s
morning
warming?

I
cannot
say

for I know
not
the difference
between
the warmth
of love
and my
love of warmth]

Being Loved

Being loved . . . 

it is a fine place to begin . . . 

and I can see the glimmering of the deeper forest a ways off but not so far as before . . . 

the forest depths that are God’s own deepening and loving and being . . . 

a place not light but dark . . . 

a place where privation thrives

it is a good thing for the only thing, even that small thing, is the only thing . . . 

God . . . 

and yes, dear Julian, all is well and will be well and whether I am here for the broken or they for me ceases to matter for there is only love . . . 

for me . . . 

for them . . . 

my own but an imperfect imagining of the real thing, the only thing, that is God . . . 

but it will have to do, for it is all that I have and all that I am . . . 

and lo, it is enough and more than enough and here I am and this then is purpose – 

not in the broken ones nor in me, but in God . . . 

where purpose has always resided . . . 

where else could it live?

The Prayer of a Good Day

You know it’s a good day when

last night and this morning it snowed and snowed and snowed –
somewhere round 17 inches of the stuff just kept piling up
and in the sudden sun of the late afternoon, you look outside
and there’s your neighbor with his grown son on their 4-wheelers
snow blades firmly attached, plowing out a path to your garage
so you can get your car out if you need to and you get motivated
to sweep away enough snow from your back door to make a path
to them to offer up some gooey brownies fresh and warm from the
oven and Larry teaches you how to drive the 4-wheeler and lets you
plow some snow out of the way just for fun and refuses any money
for his efforts in that sly country way of just acting like he didn’t
hear you and going about the business of being a good neighbor
and it is so wonderful it’s just about enough to make a grown girl
cry as you make your way back into the warmth of an old house
that stays warm like new ones can’t seem to, oooey-gooey brownies
in hand as you glance back over your shoulder and watch father
and son playing in the snow and helping a neighbor just cos
and suddenly you realize that you’ve just been to church and you
whisper your amen there on the steps where only God hears

Yeah, that’s when you know it’s been a good day