Contemplative Way


This body is not mine
It’s on loan from the earth

A mud hut
Residence for soul
The Spirit overshadows the chaos
Of my life
Submerged in darkness
Fashioned in secret
By the hands of God

It belongs to Him to use as He pleases
Until it’s integrated again with earth

May His Spirit press through
The pores of my skin

Emerging in the warm light of His presence
This earthen vessel gives birth
To the Son of God
I must decrease
He must increase.

To This End: A Prayer Of Surrender

Lord, I give all I understand about me to all I understand about you. I am aware that the more I come to know you and the more I come to know myself, the more I will be asked to surrender until I know as I am fully known

Once again Lord, I release control to you.
I let go into the unknown abyss you are calling me to.

I give up the rights to choose my own way.
I surrender my desire for comfort;
For having my own say.

The matter of my life is left fully to your hands,
I will entrust my future hope to your gracious plan.

I want no longer to live for myself, my own life without you is so shallow.

May my biography be shaped by the image of God.
Taking each step toward my death
May the print leave the weight of your glory pressed into the sod.

All to you, Lord Jesus, I surrender.

Though I know not what is around the next bend
My life is hid in you,
My Master,
My Lord,

May it be lived to this end.

You Are Loved 

May you move from the tiny room of living for love
Into the mansion of living from love

May you no longer be formed by

Now be shaped in the crucible of God’s great love for you.

Begin this day with confidence that you are already loved. 

A Midweek Blessing

May all your old departures
Become new arrivals;
All your steps be sure;
All your good words stay afloat
Until they find safe landing in the harbor
Of a receptive heart.

May your eyes see just enough light
For the next step
So you do not stumble in the darkness

May your ears hear the voice of the One
Standing next to you saying,
“This is the way, walk ye in it.”

May your journey take you to
The space in the universe
Carved out to fit your soul.


Here is a little poetic reflection I wrote yesterday while burning leaves… 

Fall’s unique light
Is created by the sun
Reflecting colorful leaves,
blending them on the sky’s palette

Smoke goes up to heaven
Sacrificing summer
On the alter of winter.

The season is baptized in fire
And speaks with tongues
Of angels in praise of creation.

Trees stand silently
To honor the dead 
And await resurrection in Spring.


Meditating on the sinfulness of the world this morning, I realized all the ways I continue to be implicated in it.

A flypaper hangs in the center of the room
Attracting random floating things
Full of dead flies
and hair
and dirt

Smells like shit
Tastes like vomit

The room is my soul
The paper my flesh

I Saw God Today

I was given the honor today of having one of my poems shared on the Ignatian Spirituality website. 

I Saw God Today


Your life is an echo from a distant sound formed by the beating of Angels wings
Your soul funnels through a chaotic mass of mystical mayhem on its way to words spoken over rocks worn down by waves of intimacy
Shaped in the crucible of kaleidoscopic light;
where hot molten liquid melts the stoney heart inside

Shaping it into the Image of God.


Even though you’re gone the starlings still tip toe across the awning outside our window
Even though you’re gone the wind still shakes the leaves off the trees
The cars still race down the street on their way to work.
There was no special news announcement
To let everyone know.
The television shows did not change just because you’re no longer here to watch them;
The studio audience still laughs on cue.
The sunlight that cuts through the blinds causes dust mites to glisten like the tiny angels that carried you away
But that small puddle of coffee that you spilled yesterday morning
has dried up in a semi-circular brown stain on the countertop.

Looking Toward Winter

Winter has a way of narrowing the focus of things;
Creating a blank stare on the face of the sky;

Taking for herself all the prisoners of Fall,

Executing them on barren trees.

From a safe distance I feel the burning cold of your fingers,

Wondering how good it feels to be in your clutches;

The nice way you feather the dandelions with icing only entices me toward your arid smile.

Your quiet voice covers the forest floor with ashes of summers past.

I’m thinking of retiring to a vacation home in your soul



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