Poem: Of Open Doors

Of Open Doors

Your heart is pierced
with a sorrow not your own,
a sorrow deep in the soul
of your beloved,

a soul trapped
in fear of light places,
fear of falling darkness
that never lifts,

that makes the open door feel
like a trap.

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The picture is from the American Frontier Museum in Staunton, Va. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Autumn Walk

It has been a long walk,
over the mountain ridge
and along the valley
ripe with Autumns harvest,

a long walk in the October cold,
where frost still lies on the shadowed grass,
and the warming sunlight
lies forever outside your grasp,

the clouds shifting with winds
beyond your reach,
to a place you can see,
but can never feel.

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The picture was taken this weekend, down the road from my house near Rupert, Vt. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Thoughts on changing leaves

The leaves are changing here in Vermont. And the long term weather predictions have snow mixed with rain predicted for next week. As I drove to Rupert early this morning, it struck me how fast the color change is happening - there as a noticeable difference in the contrast of green and bright colors just from my drive yesterday afternoon.

If I were in Virginia still, it would be what we call "Indian Summer", where the leaves are just starting to change, but the days are still warm, hot even sometimes, well into the month of October. But here, with the change of color, comes a briskness that rapidly turns to cold. Monday morning, for instance, I went for a walk in the Manassas Virginia battlefield, which lies near my hotel. It was early, still dark, but warm and smelling of summer. This morning, eight hours north, the farmers were wearing heavy flannel jackets, their hoods up, and clouds of warm breath punctuating their faces as they worked.

When I visit Virginia, my friends often ask me if I like Vermont "better" than Virginia. It's not that way at all. I love Virginia. You don't stay 54 years in a place without loving it. (At least I don't.). But I have quickly come to love Vermont as well. It's different, with it's own beauty, it's own special light, and I can love one place and not love the other less.

Part of the thing I love is the differences. At my age, after living in a place all your life, you tend to know that place intimately. I knew the history of the little downs up and down I-81, the hiking trails, the shops and politics, how things are done, the way people worshiped, the light for photography.

Here, it's all new. Every day, and I mean that - EVERY day, is a discovery. At times, I feel like a child with all the discovery, all the newness. There are no real expectations of how things should work, because I expect things to be different. In fact, I find myself surprised when I find sameness (and there is some). I am constantly asking people about this and that and each day is a lesson of discovery.

I feel blessed by this period of discovery, to find myself with that child like wonder again. The events that eventually led to this were not something I particularly relished, but in the end, as God so often does, he turned something painful into something joyful, and as I walk through the changing season, I often find myself in prayer of thanks for it all, for his care the has made most every bad thing in my life end up, in time, good.

People here seem to have taken the short growing season and fast falling cold in the same spirit. People LOVE their gardens up here and nearly every house has some. Flowers are everywhere, and nurseries thrive like no place I have ever been. Part of the reason, I believe, is that they know the beautiful flowers have such a short life, and so they need to actively soak in the joy of their beauty as fully as possible while it is with them.

I got some of that same sense this past weekend as I visited my children in Virginia. My daugher and I spent a lot of time talking about college and realizing how close that is, and how close to grown she is made me treasure the few years of her childhood I've been blessed to share, and made me treasure the hours my younger son spent swimming like two kids all the more.

Life's a treasure, but not one we hoard. It's an ephemeral treasure, like Manna for the Isrealites, here today and then gone when we hoard it, so it is best to grasp the moment, savor it, be thankful for it, and have faith that tomorrow will bring yet a new delight, something unexpected and bright.

Tom

PS - the picture is one I took this morning, along Pawlet Mountain Road on the edge of Rupert, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Poem: The Color of Hope

The Color of Hope

It is easy to imagine
the darkness within,
when the walls are worn
with peeling white paint,
and the clapboard grey
with weathering,
the steps overgrown
with smothering vines.

It is easy to imagine
how you yourself seem,
battered by time and circumstance,
your hair suddenly graying,
your skin no longer smooth,
only your eyes still bright.

But there is a life and a light
in you, and in this old church
that belie age and time,
that stand strong,
with windows open
to fresh air, fresh love, fresh hope,

and for that soul who ignores
the battered surface
to peer inside,
there is grace, and promise,
and the bright color of hope.

===========

The picture is of Rupert Methodist Church in Rupert, VT, a small but vibrant faith community where I worship from time to time. You can click in it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Golden Fog

Golden Fog

Not all fog is grey,
for this day
there is fog of golden yellow,
with the promise
of sunlight,
of green pastures and life
beyond the veil,
a mysterious new light,
not frightening,
but exhilarating
in anticipation.

The picture was taken near Mount Jackson, Va, early this morning. No photoshop has been applied. The fog really was this color. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Every

Every

Every warm wind, rife with the perfume
of early morning flowers,

Every taste of fresh warm bread
or ice cold wine late in the day,

Every sound of a child's laughter
or the birds singing at dawn,

Every tender kiss and the soft caress
of love in the dark hours after midnight,

Every wild gypsy dance,
full of passion and grace,

Every moment, even those of pain
that teach and torture,

is a whisper,
God's word
made real
as he holds us
in his mighty, creative hands.

Poem: A Change in Weather

A Change in Weather

The sky is suddenly dark,
and there is wind,
harsh,
with the first cry of winter
hidden in it's bursts,
cutting and cold,
angry, dark and sad,
erasing in it's darkness
memories of summer,
and worse,
your heart
darkens with the sky,
forgetting that all weather
is fleeting.

============

My eleven year old son took this picture out of the window of my car. You can click on it to see a larger version.

Tom

Thoughts: On motivation

Long time readers with extraordinary memories might remember a post from a couple of years ago where I talked about A Whle New Mind by Daniel Pink. It was, for me, a capturing and quantifying with facts some thoughts I had felt for a long time about the changing nature of work. It still remains the book I probably buy and give away to colleagues and friends more than any other.

Pink is about to come out with a second book, called DRIVE, the surprising things that motivate us. He talks about the general premise in this talk to the TED conference and he's done it again.

I've long realized that I seemed to have different motivations in work, more looking for intrinsic things than external things. As long as the money was good, what I did, and how I got to do it was as important, if not more so, than the raw dollars I made doing it.

I thought I was weird. Turns out I may be pretty normal.

Do I think it's important? Yeah, I do. Because it turns some "common knowledge" about motivation on it's head and yet, backs it with a diverse array of facts. And I think it's important because it has implications not just for work, but anywhere you want to motivate people, in the family, or in church leadership... anywhere.

So check out the video, or take the time to read one of his books. I'm already in line for DRIVE!!

Tom

Poem: A Sudden Wakening

A Sudden Wakening

You wake,
uncertain
if the light you see

is morning,
the beginning
of the day's joy,

or night,
where all around you
fades to black;

and you hesitate,

afraid
to step out in the not quite light,
afraid you might be left
alone and stumbling
yet

hungry, always hungry
for the light.

=============

The picture is of the trees behind my house. Kudos to my visiting Mom, who saw this out the back door and pulled me from my reading to enjoy, and capture, the moment. You can click on the picture for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: After Prayers

After Prayers

You sit at the table,
the morning light bright through the window,
your mind dark with thoughts
that came like thieves in the night
to rob you of sleep,
of peace,
of now.

Your eyes are bloodshot
and burn,
the white light from the window
is painful,
and you are tempted to turn inward,
the the dimness of this place
where you have lived so long,
where dust falls on furniture and feelings
cloaked in remembrance
more true than truth.

But you do not.
You turn your eyes to the window,
and squint with pain
as you gaze beyond your comfortable darkness
to the light
and promise of the day.

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The picture was taken at Mount Vernon, George Washington's homestead. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Morning Prayer

Morning Prayer

Yes,
the prayer reaches God,
but also, it reaches closer,
to those precious souls
you pray for -
your children,
your lover;
caressing them with your love,
magnified.

=================

The picture is from outside my hotel room in Washington, DC, taken just this morning. As a picture it is nothing special, but it caught the spirit of early mornings, when I do my own prayers.

Tom

Poem: The Game of Life

The Game of Life

At times
the world is a blur,
the players indistinct, and
you are unsure
of who is what
and where
all the action
is going,
and you find yourself
battered by unseen ghosts,
pulled by unexpected arms,
running hard, though
you are unsure
if you are running
to
or from, until
it all crashes to a halt
and you lie on the ground
your heart gasping,
your mind desperately seeking
to make sense
of the latest play
and whether you have just
moved forward
or back.

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The picture is of a high school football game in Manchester, VT. I actually got some where you know what you are looking at, but somehow, this captured the game far better. You can click on it for a larger version

Tom

Poem: Old Music

Old Music

You reach for the aging gray box

where old music lays piled on the shelf,
songs half remembered,
tunes for the player piano
that has languished unplayed
for so long that, like love unrealized,
there is frailty and fear in opening
the box after so many years.

What will you find?
What will happen to the heartsounds
that each box once carried?
Will they fall to dust
and blow away in the autumn wind?
Or will they once again
capture life and waft you away
in their melody of joy?

You reach for the aging gray box.

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The picture is of music rolls in Hildene, in Manchester, VT. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom