I have Him // Or He has me // Or both // Or neither

"I entreat you therefore, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, that you present your bodies as a living sacrifice to God, holy and pleasing-- this is your spiritual act of worship." >> Paul, Romans 12:1  

"There, in the quiet of that late hour, I said to the Holy Spirit, 'My Lord, I have mistreated You all my Christian life. I have treated You like a servant. When I wanted You I called for You; when I was about to engage in some work I beckoned You to come and help me perform my task. I have kept You in the place of a servant. I have sought to use You only as a willing servant to help me in my self-appointed and chosen work. I shall do so no more. Just now I give You this body of mine; from my head to my feet, I give it to You. I give You my hands, my lips, my eyes and lips, my brain; all that I am within and without, I hand over to You for You to live in it the life that You please. You may send this body to Africa, or lay it on a bed with cancer. You may blind the eyes, or send me with Your message to Tibet. You may take this body to the Eskimos, or send it to a hospital with pneumonia. It is your body from this moment on. Help yourself to it. Thank You, my Lord, I believe You have accepted it, for in Romans twelve and one You said "acceptable unto God." Thank You again, my Lord, for taking me. We now belong to each other.'" >>Walter L. Wilson, 1914  


(Am I willing to pray that prayer? 
Are you?)

Oh God, make me willing.
Or: Oh God, make me willing to be willing. 
Or just: Oh God, make me.  


"Can I have You, Holy Spirit? 
Will you come into my heart? 
I'd like to have the whole of You 
instead of merely parts."  

And then I heard the voice of God, 
the great Jehovah, say:  

"Can I have you, my dear daughter? 
Will you let me have your heart? 
I'd like to have the whole of You 
instead of merely parts."

Craziness All Together.

The house is full
of craziness all spread out.

Crazy Dad is in the garage,
drinking Southern Comfort
from a plastic cup and deriving,
I think, very little comfort,
except for the Santa hat he's wearing,
which makes him feel like a comedian,
which makes him feel funny and attractive,
which makes him feel happy.

Crazy Sister is in the TV room
with the TV blaring. She's talking loudly to Crazy Aunt
and is using her public voice and her public face
which scrunches up and laughs at what is not funny
and which is perfectly painted
with brown eyebrows and very red Cupid's bow lips.
Her son toddles around the coffee table
and Sister unconsciously grabs for him before he falls
onto the dirty rug.

Crazy Stepmom is in the very white kitchen.
Her blue eyes are lit up like illuminated tree ornaments,
her face plastered with surprise,
even though she's not surprised. That's actually her
"I'm having fun" face. She chats with her sister
and cackles at the stories about dogs and traffic cops.
She's wearing a beret and eating rum balls.
A little sugar sticks to her lipstick. Now her mouth
is an ornament too.

Crazy Cousin is wearing a lot of clothes
because he's very thin, but his headphones are thick
and they're pumping high-decibal trance music
into his ears. He sits on the living room step,
playing with his DJ equipment and thinking about
his cats back home in Boise.

Crazy Brother and Crazy Uncle and
Crazy Other Assorted Relatives are all milling about
the house doing mostly separate activities.
It's Christmas Day, but no one seems to notice.
Green olives and cheddar cheese and mixed drinks
sit for hours on the kitchen table,
all together.

I'm breaking my own rule and posting this, a poem that I authored. Don't tell anyone; I'm afraid it will look narcissistic.