The Editing Room

In film,

once all the footage is in,

the editor is given the task of

cutting, copying, and pasting the film together

so that it forms a powerful and cohesive whole.

There are scenes, brilliant snippets of reel,

that end up getting cut because they do not fit

the master narrative,

either they slow down the pace or otherwise

take away from the work as a whole.

Life is like that, sometimes

we must cut out even the good things

if they clutter, clog, or distract.

There are a billion different ways we could go.

LORD, give me the wisdom to know which paths to follow

and the strength to persist in the paths You have marked out

for me.

Time is Game of Jenga

Time is a game of Jenga

Even if you could take out a bit of the past,

how do you know it is not a supporting structure

upon which many other blocks rest?

How terrible would it be to take out one unsavory element

only to see everything else come toppling down

in its absence?

We are who we are: finite creatures caught up

in the gears of time,

yet we relish in the knowledge that one day

Time itself will dissolve and its whole game will be packed up

and taken away,

by the One who began it all.

So, God teach me to play the game well, to move onward,

to lean on your for peace and guidance

when the game really seems to hard to win.

Opportunities/Barriers

I wake up the next morning and I think,

“Dang, I should have gone.”

We skip out of opportunities

because we are lazy, afraid, indecisive

We tell ourselves that another opportunity just like it will come

But how do we know?

Lord, give the discernment to cut through my own barriers

and take a chance on life,

especially in this season of rebirth.

Always in Motion

“This is my first time flying,” says the child, to the woman beside him.

“How exciting! How old are you?” she says.

“Five. How old are you?” he says.

“Old enough,” she says.

She takes out a set of pencils and a therapeutic coloring book.

“Would you like to color?”

The boy looks to his sister, who gives him the okay.

He colors. The plane takes off. He squims.

“I don’t like roller coasters,” he says.

The woman leans in.

“Neither do I,” she says.

The plane levels out.

“Do you have any children?” says the boy.

“Two,” she says, “my son is picking up from the airport.”

She digs through her carry-on.

“He wrote a book.”

The boy looks at the cover, which is in Greek.

“Does he speak a foreign language?” he says.

“No,” she says, “it’s from the Bible. It means masterpiece. We all are God’s masterpiece, see?”

She reads him the first page.

“Oh,” he says. “I know all about God. Mom takes us to church Wednesdays and Sundays. Dad is too busy. He has to work. We’re flying out to see him. He lives in North Carolina now.”

“I bet it will be good to see him,” says the woman, “I haven’t seen my son in some time, either.”

“Why’s that?” he says.

“Sometimes, people move away,” she says. “But we still love them anyway.”

“Yes, that’s true,” he says.

He colors. She reads. They touch down.

Moments of connect, then distance. A Universe shrinking and expanding, but always in motion.

Just the Beginning

I love that jazz does not need to resolve itself,

because, although the overarching story of our lives,

may have a beginning, middle, and end

the rest of it often doesn’t.

It bleeds into itself, informs itself

takes detours and goes unexpected ways.

Our lives are like that,

the seasons come and go erratically

and that’s okay.

We let the waves come and go as they will,

venturing forth into the unknown

until at last we find the end,

which of course only just the beginning.