A Faith Poem

 Everyone has a story. This poem basically sums up where I'm at and how I got here. . . .

Faith after a Long Winter Term

So many people I wanted to know,

I wanted to be the man in the know,

Everybody's friend--the guy you would love,

Always felt on the outside-looking-in,

Just wanted to be a part of it all. . . .

So many things I hoped to achieve,

I wanted to go far, experience everything--

Even just so I could say I was tough, and that I did it. . . .

So many things to fill my heart.

Yet You said No, give it all up; lay it all on the altar with my Son.

"But such a great cost, Lord . . . to give over my heart--

So big a loss--

Can You really handle it?"

And yet out of the ashes it changed,

Like an Easter Lily growing where once

there had only been death and decay,

It sprouted anew. . . .

And now I stand here amazed

looking at what I've become,

At what I see still forming in my heart . . .

Something beautiful and clean--with shininess.

And You're leading me on

to places I've never been before,

distant hills and glorious vistas--

the breaking of the dawn on an Undiscovered Country,

You're leading me on to places I've never seen,

people I've yet to get to know, 

and so many things I've never dreamed. 

An Essay on Exploring

(This is an essay I wrote a while back and edited with the help from friends.   It's about something so many of us love. . . Adventure.

Who can deny the joy of being outside and, yes, "exploring.")

A  Knack for Exploring

Picture this: I'm in Kindergarten. My Dad has picked me up from school on his red ten-speed, and pedaled us with me balanced on the high bar, here, to the sand-pit off Southeast Division Street in Portland. We've crawled under a fence and are slowly making our way down the side; I grasp for my father's hand while letting go a tree branch just above me.

I've always loved exploring.  My Dad and I toured around lots of areas of Portland when I was growing up, and the memories have stayed with me. . . .

My recollections are of sunny days, like the time in late-summer, just before school started, when we went up the hill of Kelly Butte, past the high school kids sitting on the incline, looking at us wonderingly--up into the yellow-grass top, and finding arrowheads along with--of course--the geological markers.

I remember exploring the perimeter of this same butte one afternoon--trudging through the bushes, while my older sister stayed at home with Mom working on her third-grade science project: No, it was up to Dad and me to conquer the wilderness, face the unknown.

There are other times I've walked, snaking my way up the side of a hill. Who knows what I might encounter?--maybe a homeless person's camp, a beautiful garden, or a lookout with a majestic view of forest and homes.

Whether it's Eugene, Portland, or anywhere else I find myself, I listen for the call: "Get off the trail, get off the hard-shelled path, go somewhere you've never been before, see what you can, see what you can find." . . . Even now it's a part of the kid in me still, a hunger for wildness, adventure, excitement--a longing to never outgrow.