COME AND SEE

Come and see, 

I have great hope

this morning,

 

after all the sun rose,

didn’t it?

 

And I got out of bed,

with a little groan,

with an “ugh”

and a sigh,

 

because this is the language

of middle-age, right?

 

And how I got out of bed,

with a roll and a twist

and a hand grabbing

my back;

 

this is the dance

of middle-age, isn’t it?

 

Come closer.

Listen carefully.

 

Because I want you to see

the hope that every day

brings to me,

 

even on the days,

when I have to mow

the lawn,

 

how even when the wet grass

clogs the mower,

 

and I speak

the language

of middle-age

 

and dance the dance,

squatting down to

scoop and toss

the wet green clumps,

aside, how even then,

 

I relish that smell

of grass, that clean smell,

that earthy smell, that

Genesis 1-third-day-

of-creation smell.

 

And when I head inside,

and grab the edge

of the countertop

and stretch out my back,

I am not just doing

some strange yoga pose,

 

I am bowing.

This is called

middle-age prayer.

 

And oh the stretch is good,

and oh the prayer is answered.

 

Outside the house finch

that fled her nest

while I mowed,

 

has returned, nestled

down into her spot

and started singing

to her eggs.

 

This is the language of birds,

the anthem of all flying creatures,

of angels even, dare I say,

of anything that speaks or sings

from soul to soul.

 

Come and see.

God is good, today.

God is good, every day.

 

God is good to me.

I woke up.

I let my spirit feast,

 

as I sat down to write

these words.

 

Come and see.

Where will you see

God today?

 

Amen.