Who dares revel in New Year’s party glee or even presses resolution ink across pages of dreams, desires, wants when so many’ve been lost – family, friends,
the word, really,
and all go slack-hearted, faint as floors and ceilings and walls and neighborhoods and schools and planes drop – news – so, so much lost to churning seas, religious maniacs weilding swords, wild weather, confusion, speaking before thinking, doing before bending humble. Answers. Questions. Pleas.
Please answer me the why.
Why? Why? Mothers, wives, daughters, sons, husbands, brothers, children, the betrothed, grannies, grandpas drain themselves over and over again but never come up dry. Tears won’t stop – and they may never, no, not ever; least not this side of His plan.
Who dares revel when it’s time for a fasting –
a hold fast to God.
A loving your neighbor as
someone you don’t want
to lose, even if you barley
know their name or their house is
ugly or they stumble in shame.
A beating down flames of hatred
with blankets soaked and seeped
in tears and love and
the water of Life helps
you keep your cool when others lose theirs.
A pouring of temporal champaign, idol-clanking,
fame-seeking down drains because quick highs
don’t carry anyone through hard times, lonely
lows – empty cups held shaking out slow show
where we need our filling.
A burying of whiz-bang, flashy,
fast firecrackers, the idle fancies, the
shimmer, the gold nuggets – all for naught,
not, burn, melt beneath holy grounds
because He will stand tall, reckoning glory-robed in grace.
A reaching across the aisle,
the street, the schoolyard, the
meeting hall, the slick slopes, the pew,
the couch, the table, yes, everywhere and at all times – a grasping
sort of clinging, really.
A tearing down walls like temple
veils thundered, rent in two – declaring
the way is of and for the Lord – united we
stand and kneel and bow – in our access to redemption
gained for the everyday peoples.
Live like Jesus is real, because He is and grasp Him we must, full and tight – it’s the only way to keep despair pushed back against the ropes – though, not with clenched fists and cocked wrists and mouths barbed with bashing, but with redeemed hearts and minds and souls. And our hands, yes, especially those, opened tender to days (and nights) of a New Year.
Scatter some, even all, of your Christ-centered confetti – and revel in the aftermath of that.