The 60-Second Sabbath

A Door

I am a door
that must open.

I fear what waits
on the other side.

Shut,
I shall not transform;
I shall not transcend;
I shall not live.

I must open to release
    years of unresolved memories.

I must open to let out
    the stress clawing my neck and back.

I must open to bid adieu to
    childhood's haunting shame.

I must open to escort to the porch steps
    the demons who would hide forever
    in the closet beneath the stairs.

I must open to welcome grace in,
grace that sweeps like Pentecost wind
    across the threshold and down the hall
    fresh air and fire light,
    acceptance and knowing.

I am a door
that must open.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Good Dough

Like a good dough
destined to become fragrant, hot bread,
dripping with melted butter and sweet honey,
I, too, occasionally need to be punched down,
deflated,
returned to an earlier state,
and left in a warm, quiet place
to rise again.

Like a good dough,
I, too, relish a hard knead
by hands knowing and strong.

Like a good dough
ready for presentation at the dinner table,
golden and crusty on the outside,
yielding and finely textured within,
I, too, must withstand the heat of the oven,
the cut of the knife.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

The Wonder-Filled Life

The spiritual life
is lived in wonder.

Faith calls us to amazement,
to awe:

    waves pound;
    babies burble;
    cicadas buzz;
    ferns unfurl;

    hearts crack;
    wounds heal;
    truth wins;
    love endures.

Open,
you,
to the worshipful wow.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Maundy Thursday

It's probably not your feet
most in need of washing,
but let Jesus begin there,
and when he's done,
you may have the courage
to request a fuller cleansing.

I mean, he's already here (right?)
with the basin,
the warm water,
the clean towel,
those beautiful, gentle hands,
    soon to be shattered.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Essential Self

You are not your history;
your history is not you.

You are not your family;
your family is not you.

You are not what you believe;
your beliefs are not you.

You are not your accomplishments;
what you've done is not you.

You are not your thoughts about you;
what you think is not who you are.

You are not the friends you have;
your relationships are not you.

You are not the job you have;
your career is not you.

You are not the body you've sculpted,
    the car you drive,
    the salary you make,
    the clothes you wear,
    the stuff you own,
    the identity you cling to...

All of the above is over there;
you are over here.

Without it all,
here you are,
same you,
no more, no less,
complete,
worth celebrating,
definitely worth celebrating.

Do you affirm your stripped and naked,
    solitary, essential self?

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Slipping Off Center

Another day,
another meeting,
more ballyhoo and hullabaloo,
fuss and flapdoodle,
bobbery, bother and blather,
more hoo-ha and foofaraw,
alarums and excursions,
coil and kerfuffle,
Sturm und Drang,
whelter and whirl...

And then it ends.
I sit in silence,
look out at the snow
    gently falling on the city,
breathe deeply
and return to the reality
of stillness.

We so easily slip
off center.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

A Much Shorter Catechism

Q:    Who is God?
A:     Yes.

Text and image © 2015 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Advents

It's Advent,
and there are more arrivals
than that of sweet baby Jesus:

the train of memory drops them off,
one by one, as it circles the tree--
    pets and playmates,
    classmates and cousins,
    parents and neighbors,
    siblings and colleagues,
    dreams and regrets,
    loss and healing...
all that I'd love
and misplaced,
back again to visit,
come home,
as the train comes round again,
as the year turns,
as the season slides silently by.

Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Related articles

Advent Prayer

Would You?

You don't believe;
    I get that.
But if you could,
    would you?

I can't run a marathon,
    but if I could,
    I would.

I can't sing like Andrea Bocelli,
    but if I could,
    I would.

We share that ache for meaning,
    don't we?

    yearning for depth,
    craving connection,
    desiring amazement...

It would be nice to believe,
    wouldn't it?
Would you,
    if you could?

Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

In what ways, today,
will you increase your awareness
that you are God's beloved?

By reading this,
you have.

And you might

slow down    sing    sit    keep silence
walk    open    hold hands    absorb
listen    meditate    stretch    observe
release    breathe    read    love
be

Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.