Even though from different mothers,

The lambs assemble on a Spring morning,

Sticking together as if posing for a family shot,

Without mom or dad present.

 

Nature speaks loudly, needing no further explanation.

 

 

Painted with the camera,

The walk in the woods near the concentration camp belies a dark history,

Just a road, taking someone, somewhere.

 

Each road beckons, it is not the variable.

 

What we follow however, is another matter.

 
The water travels silently today,

The rain filling the cup of the mountainside fully,

But not torrentially.

 

Meanwhile the dead trees line it’s path,

Marking the easy way down,

If not the fastest.

 

To the outsider the scene looks dead,

And the stream old.

Yet each drop of water is new.

 

Renewing each moment and racing to refresh those in need.

 

When we don’t get our way,

The expectation is not met,

The answer seems wrong,

Our heart wanted something else.

Sadness, resentment, reactions emerge.

 

Instead, light a candle,

Ponder why it is so,

And see where to go next,

The distance may be small.

And it could be on the road you were already on.

Gathered for the evening,

Warmed by traditional music, holding their spirits intact,

Keeping their common plight in a sacred, if unwilling bond,

As captivity holds their bodies, not their hearts.

 

For renewal awaits and cannot be extinguished.

 

 

Image from Vught former concentration camp, Holland. Artwork hanging in gathering and food hall for Dutch prisoners.

 
The camera is lucky,

Only seeing as directed,

Blurring out the other subjects,

Yet creating a color filled background filled with as much new life,

As the tulip who is the star of the picture.

 

Can I focus today?

… and celebrate the renewal around us which is Spring.

 

As if magically returning a mysterious call from outside their earthen lair,

Immediately disturbed, they leave the long sleep of winter,

And drive themselves uncontrollably through the soil,

Nourished by the sun and rain,

Calling them to a new and persistent life.

 

Where, they, surrounded by loved ones, feel the face of God.

Forever.

 

In Remains of the Day,

A life can be lived out in servanthood,

But not unhappiness.

 

For the real servant works with a happy heart.

And will rest peacefully at sunset.

 

 

I know it now for sure,

I am nothing.

Well something,

Because You made me,

But nothing of myself.

 

Let me squash the foolish pride,

I once held dearly,

As if I was somebody.

And drop my head in shame,

For a life lived in me, not you.

 

It is now clear,

No better life has been given to anyone,

Than the one You gave me,

To either savor or squander,

Of which I have done both,

With great purpose … if not direction.

 

It ends now,

With the knowledge of surrender,

Full surrender,

After my Emmaus journey,

I AM aware suddenly,

Of my worthlessness, to myself.

 

It is only what I do which you direct,

Which is useful,

All other is self-serving,

As I see this through new eyes,

Opened and aware.

 

 

Today, I will recall one event in my life,

one which someone hurt me deeply.

Now, I will stretch deep down and forgive that one happening, and those that caused it,

truly and forever and lose the baggage that goes with it.

 

Forever.