A bike ride to work

Chiseled out of the cobalt skies
like the prominent jawline of a pharaoh
the mountains rise
hidden for days behind
ominous clouds that
produce little bite
for all their bark
the mountains rise.
and then today
they appear
and corral my restless,
roaming spirit
with the long arms of a father
the gentle arms of a mother
welcoming me home.

Chase the fleeting light

I can sense my time in Newport is ending, and I'm getting sentimental...


Like the sparrow o'erhead
still flitting about in the fading rays
of what is left of twilight
while the rest of us now stand in shadow

I chase the fleeting light.

when the day has ended
seasons have changed
and a chapter closes

I chase the fleeting light

one final grasp of what was
some relationships
some storylines
written to resolution
capped with a hug
or handshake
others uncomfortably incomplete

This week
I chase the fleeting light
of little time left
like a word on a page
sensing the book is closing
I cling to what still is.

Reflections of a field trip to Lincoln City

Pokemon
is the language of children
I understand it
but can't speak it
if what is said is true
every card they create is spoken for

Celebrations burst out raucously
with passing restaurants
exuberant endorsements from the elusive
child demographic

we pass street names
eyes open wide as they recognize their own
"I live down that street!"
"I know where you live!"
"I bet you don't know where I live?!"

As we drive, the ocean takes over
and like the constant roll of the waves
it calms our passengers
mouths open with nothing being said
quiet with the horizon spread out before us
chairs start reclining
heads roll to the side
as eyelids delicately close
like a butterfly landing

voices still make themselves heard
discussing a tv show or music group
but the metal rattling
engine roaring
hum of the road
sings the passengers
the soothing lullaby
of sleep.

A Birthday Examen

In honor of my 26th birthday yesterday, I sat down and did an examen...looking at things that bring me joy at this stage of my life, and things that bring me down. I have 13 of each to share.

13 Joys:

1. I still have hair (yes, this is my #1 joy).
2. Good friends, from childhood-adulthood.
3. Wise and encouraging mentors.
4. Food.
5. Shelter.
6. Family.
7. Wilderness.
8. Music.
9. People of passion.
10. The youth and children I work with.
11. No credit card debt.
12. A beautiful and loving girlfriend.
13. Hope for the future.

13 Concerns:

1. What am I going to do with my life?
2. Hangovers hurt WAY more than they used to.
3. War.
4. Poverty.
5. Injustice.
6. Inequality.
7. Celebrity culture.
8. Country music (note that "music" was #8 on my list of joys--country music is definitely a concern).
9. Where will I end up?
10. Does faith matter?
11. Traveling worldwide will become more difficult as gasoline prices continue to go up.
12. Will I make a difference?
13. My beer belly seems to be growing.

Put in my place

I'd been sitting, reading my book probably fifteen minutes before they came in the door. I looked up at the sound of the bell announcing an arrival mostly out of habit, but I immediately recognized them, the same faces that had popped out the window of an RV parked along the road as I was walking home from the laundromat the other day.

“Did you just do laundry? You have any spare change, brother?”

I nodded quickly in assent and dug into my pocket, finding a dollar in quarters, resolving that I'd done my part as I placed the money in his grimy hand.

“Thanks, God bless ya, brother!” he said, as I began to walk away.

“No problem at all,” I told him.

I remember thinking, “One dollar isn't even enough for one load in the washer. Did I really help at all?”

And here they are again, in the laundromat, and he recognizes me immediately and beelines in my direction.

“Hey brother! Any chance you gonna have any change left over today?”

Smiling, but buying time, I said, “I don't know. Let me switch mine over to the dryer and I'll let you know.”

So he plopped down on the next bench over from me, her following, and I could already smell the reek. I got up to check the washer. Still 10 minutes left.

I sat back down and resubmitted myself to my reading as I tried to feel how much money I had left in my pocket. I pulled out my phone to text a friend. Then I left it, clearly visible,  on my lap.

It wasn't even a minute before the voice was back, coming from that bench just to my right.

“You got a cell phone, brother? Any chance I could use it to make a call?”

A little off guard, I asked, “Yeah, who do you need to call?”

I don't know why I asked that. It's not like it mattered to me. I guess you feel a right to ask that question when someone is borrowing your phone, but it still felt like a jerk move.

“My sister.”

“Oh sure!” I said, as if excited about his answer, and I handed the phone over.

I watched as he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and strained to decipher the numbers he'd written on it. He passed it off to her (maybe it was her handwriting), and together they pieced together the numbers, dialed, and pressed call.

I can't pretend to have heard the whole conversation, but I could hear the voice on the other end, and it wasn't happy for this interruption in their morning. His sister was not pleased to have heard from him. The conversation was almost over immediately, with him pleading and apologizing from the get-go. Other customers in the laundromat looked over.

I lifted my book a little higher in front of my face.

“Just a couple hundred bucks, that'll get us through May,” he is saying. “We've got a guy that will let us park the RV on his land for cheap, stupid cheap.” And apparently in May, from some sort of settlement, his lawyer has him expecting over a million dollars. “I'll buy you anything in June, sis. Something you've always wanted, something stupid.”

This went on for what felt like eternity. Him pleading, begging for help, and that voice on the other end sounding annoyed, disappointed, trapped. I listened as his voice started to rise, crack, gain desperation.

I wondered if I should have ever given him my phone. What if he has an anger problem?

Finally, the voice on the other end has had enough, and hangs up. He sits there for a second, fuming, while his friend tries to calm him down.

“Bitch!” he emits, not exactly in a yell, but in a voice that could be heard throughout the laundromat.

I avoided making eye contact with anyone else around. I stood back up to check the laundry again, walking past them on the way. Spin cycle, almost done. I glance at him, to see if he looks ready to give the phone back to me. Nope. He's looking through his pockets again. And she's looking through hers. Who are they going to call now?

I wait as my laundry finishes in the washer, then transfer my clothes to a dryer. I put in all the quarters I need, then carefully transfer the $1.75 required for a load in the washer to a separate pocket, for when he asks for it. At least I can help them do some laundry today.

I sit back down to my book as they find the scrap of paper they were looking for, another number. I realize how uncomfortable I am, just four feet away, and they smell bad. I wonder about my phone. I'll have to disinfect it before I use it again. Can a phone retain a smell?

I try to read again, but once again I'm listening as his second phone call goes through. The voice on the other end of this one is male, and may be the caller's brother.

“Brother! How are you doing?” the caller has his winning voice back on, once again launching into sales mode to try to find money to survive. But he doesn't need to. The voice on the other end of this line is excited, overjoyed to hear from this man. The call lasts only minutes. The voice retains its enthusiasm throughout, and I watch as the caller transforms from a desperate, scared soul, to one with hope. Whoever this person is that they've called has agreed to play some role in changing their lives.

He hangs up, a smile across his dirty, scarred face. His teeth don't look healthy either. He looks over at me and hands the phone back,

“Thanks so much, brother.”

I smile in return, and while I'm reaching into my pocket to give them some laundry money, they're already out the door, walking down the street, I presume, to their RV. Now they have hope, there's no point in waiting around. They have purpose anew.

As I walked home that day, I couldn't help but compare the differences in the two phone calls. Perhaps the first person was someone who'd helped these folks before, too many times, and was tired of their charity being thrown away. Perhaps they just held a grudge against this couple. Perhaps they had nothing extra to give. But whenever I thought about that second person, I couldn't help but think of the parable of the prodigal son. This was the humiliating return, that part of the story where the desperate son returns home, hoping only for survival by any means, even as a servant, but instead is greeted with warmth and love. An equal.

Suddenly I felt shamed and judgmental in my interactions. So “have” and “have not.” Unequal. What if my first reaction, like the second voice on the phone, was one of joy and excitement? What if I had treated these folks like beloved family, not someone to give a dollar of laundry money to, but someone to share the experience of laundry with? I had time. I could have sat with them, shared stories with them. Yet I was doing what I could to:

a) get rid of them, preferably as quickly as possible

b) assuage my conscience that I'd done enough to help.

Sometimes, we need a little kick in the butt to remind us who we're truly called to be.

Let the waves roar

Let the waves roar
as the rain pounds down
streams turning to rushing rivers
coursing down the streets

Let the waves roar
as the fog rolls in
rolling like the tide
ebbing and flowing
shrouding the world in mist

Let the waves roar
as the single red light winks
at the top of the bridge
saying
stop
enjoy this place
before you go on

Let the waves roar
as the wind stings your cheeks
you're riding your bicycle
out the twists and turns of the bay road
winding its way to Toledo

Let the waves roar
when you drive away
the edge of the world behind you
it's difficult to turn your back
on that
which is beautiful.

A sense of call

How do you explain
a hunch
when people question it
how do you absorb that punch
to the stomach
thrusting doubt into your mind
find peace
strive to explain
what seems to be
a mystery
I can try to reason with you
but this isn't rational
it's call
that still-small voice
whispering
so softly
you're not quite sure it's even there
maybe it was just
the wind
tickling your ear
we can never be sure
of what we heard
only act
pushing forward
pray
looking upward
and stoke the fire
of passion
within.