The Breakfast Gambler

Grandma picks out several pieces of fruit from the wire basket.  We sit and eat our respective breakfasts in silence as the pert weather girl plots the course of the storm into which we intend to drive.

I do not intend to drive, I intend to passenge, pulled along by my grandmother’s gravity.

Slow rain begins to fall as she indicates with her hands my need to wrap it up, Girl.

I ask with my empty cup if I may get some more orange juice?

She says, you drink as much as you want now, but understand this:  down the road I  am not stopping so you can pee!

I attempt my most impassive gaze, like the people on the poker channel on the tv…no tells.

Will she or won’t she?  I am betting she will.  I stake my money (and my bladder) on the belief that down the road she will stop somewhere…

So I can pee.

Wild Hope

After so long waiting

Wild hope

quietly emerges from the crowd

Some unnamed Jewish festival in Jerusalem 

Near the Sheep Gate, of course

Where we  

Lame, blind, and patently foolish

Lie prone, waiting for angels

Angels and the ghosts of gods 

Occasionally 

stir the waters

Every plural word written of 

our collective loss

Reruns the ambiguity between 

Our healing and our disgrace

Clouds in our eyes

We fail to

Drink such strong medicine

Poured out

For us

More

You want less?

Probably not 

Save the sagging bits of self left

Clinging to your soft middle

You want more

More sunshine and more rain

More fame, more privacy

More love, more oxygen in the lungs 

Once filled with more

Sing loud, sing more

Full-throated 

This four letter word for greatness

Expanding out into 

Infinite light 

Last

these ordinary words

Hewn from a tree

To the curve of the foot

Or simply endure 

Itself a stone, a hard place

To be in the presence of God

As he dips the bread into wine

Supper of blood and agony

Last…

Supper

Day

Glimpse…

Of who we will be 

The first and the last

The last shall be

First.

First you must know

The beautiful feat of God.

Legal

It has troubled me for some time that in Texas people are legally allowed to kill human beings and use their tiny, defenseless body parts for “science.”

But the two people with the courage to infiltrate and expose this science-fiction level atrocity were indicted by a Harris County grand jury for using fake IDs.

So to recap–fetus harvesting: legal 

Fake IDs: a big deal

Or are they?

I spend way too much time listening to Texas teens brag about their fake driver’s licenses to believe that we in Texas are suddenly cracking down on forged driver’s licenses.

In fact, I wish we were. 

But in the case against the brave people from The Center for Medical Progress the prosecution is selective, punitive, and political.

In fact, one has to wonder how many of the grand jurors in this case have ever owned or used a fake ID?  How many of their children are using them now?

These are far simpler, easier questions to ask than how many Texas mothers have allowed their own children to be carved up, evacuated from their wombs, then bought for “science” while the rest of us hide behind the now meaningless phrase “everything they did was legal.”

In Texas.

Houston, we have a problem

On June 1st, 2016, People magazine reported on the arrest of a single suspect in the murder of 15 year old Katen Perez, whose brutalized remains were found, not by the Houston police or the Harris County Sheriff but by Texas EquuSearch.

According to the People article the rape and murder of Karen Perez was caught on the suspect’s cellphone.

Harris Co. is not releasing the suspect’s name…wait for it…because he is a juvenile.

He should be charged as an adult, prosecuted as an adult, and his identity exposed as an adult.

For that matter, all the involved possible accomplices should also be formally charged.

For the following reasons:

If you commit a capital felony offense (a fully grown-up crime) you should have to deal with the law as an adult.

Should be enough.  But there is a chilling “because”/second reason–

For years now Texas has been quietly compensating for aggregious juvenile offenders in order to save money on their incarceration and probation.

The  laws of privacy protect the juvenile offenders, allowing them to get juvenile-only plea deals for monstrous felonies then quietly exit the system as adults with no records.

These laws do so at the expense of their former and future victims.

I watched all of this play out in real time.

My adopted son plead no contest to a minor charge.  He was never tried for hundreds of felony offenses.  He was promised no criminal record.  

His story and the stories of several other youthful felony offenders I spoke to during his year in juvenile detention align with the identity protection given to the teen who raped and murdered Karen Perez.

For years now in Texas many juvenile offenders  get far better deals than their victims.

And regrettably, more protection.

Rapunzel

you deserve

Truth clenched in both hands

For years I have puzzled

How would she know 

“The real story?”

The only “mother” she ever knew kept her locked in a tower

Named her after stolen

Salad greens

Tell your twin 

Running to Canada was the

line I could not, would not

Cross for love

Unlike a man we both know

Who crossed lines of  law and love 

Abandoned wife and children

Hid his treasure 

Said he could not pay

No fairytale love-

Story for his first wife

Little ones

there are records of these things

The faces of the abandoned are familiar to you now

Unlike your own mother’s

Who they kept from you 

Fear and sin will make an ordinary

Monster out of us all.

Sadie’s foster mother told me once-

They are Christians, you know!

Christians do not steal babies

Live lies

Or put their assets in their girlfriends’ names

But how would Rapunzel know that?

She would have to borrow her sisters’

Plaited hair

A ladder to

Set all three free

Then look for the small stones

Of Truth

Scattered along 

the long road 

Home.

Memorial Day

It has been almost a decade since my father died after his helicopter crashed on descent.

I still feel flashes of pain when I am reminded of that pain.

Ordinary haunting is a longterm normal for we who grieve.

The death of one man changes the world.  

Evoking Jesus.

He took every crash, every act of misery and self-destruction.  Drained the cup of history to the dregs of genocide, exploitation, war, famine, epidemic, deadly contagion.

Hell to pay for us. The wrath of holy Love, the grief of God poured out. 

For us.

To atone for the transgressions of a single garden-variety human would be unwatchable, unlivable, unthinkable, unbearable– awful.

The ransom for all our billions is so beyond reckoning, we do not try.

But we should.  

We should at least reckon the cost and the pain, fear, horror and brutality it took to redeem our ordinary wrongs-gluttony, lust, prejudice, and greed.

We should; we shall.  

We will either be defined now by our debt to this Eternal Savior or we will be defined forever by the life we squandered at his great cost.

Out of body 

the car crash in slow motion

The snake coiled to strike the child

The mother seeing bad news

In the doctor’s eyes

Some moments are so unforgettably awful 

The spirit rises out

Of the body, off to one side

Hovers over the disaster

Snapping shots of all the carnage

A heart just beginning to break

Operates differently than

One far gone into the cave of grief

the last evening you were mine

Was the first time you met

Your new mommy, new daddy

Strangers then

You were delivered back to me

Sleeping I sat with you in my arms

Time folded around us

Everything paused

For our unlikely pieta

I had just enough sense 

to stop everything

just to be with you

A little longer