Fleeting

Posted on May 3 2014 by J.W. Richmond

Over black ice
  and fresh snow
     on a country road,
  we drove
     that December night
         beneath the moon.

Snowflakes flying
  more than falling,
     we climbed
          the graffitied bridge
             over the river
     and sat in the cold,
          overlooking the water.

Hunched together,
  we waited
       stalled
  and cleared our thoughts
          in the brisk wind
       as we watched for a train
             that never came.

Our fleeting footprints
  quickly covered
     by the elements,
  we drove carelessly and
                 carefully home
         with hardly a trace
              that we had ever left.

Convergence

Posted on April 25 2014 by J.W. Richmond

It was strangely magnetic,
         a homeland
         a rite of passage
         a convergence
               of a time
     that was so insignificant
       while the timing
             was anything but.

There were the firsts
          and the never-agains.
I was insecurely confident,
   learning self
         and God
         and other people’s lies.

It was a period
         of acute change,
      regressing some
      becoming more.

I had nothing,
   yet I was keenly
         thankful.
I could enjoy the time
                  and place
                  and lack of distance.

Then the tides came in
   as the moon sunk
     from the sky.
I awoke
     from the real-life dream,
           and it was gone.

Finished

Posted on April 19 2014 by J.W. Richmond

Between
     friendship
        and betrayal,
     regret
        and forgiveness,
     final death
        and ultimate life,
   what a long few days
          it must have been.

More than normal
     and 
 more than lately,
   I keep trying
        to focus,
           intentionally
              thinking about
                 Him
        because this weekend
              is significant
           and should not be
                 forgotten.

But I keep getting
               distracted.
I have trouble
    just keeping my mind on Him
        for multiple minutes
                in a row,
   like a sleepy disciple
        in the garden
      who can’t stay awake
          for their best friend
                in the entire world
                     when He asked (Matthew 26:36-45).

Yet somehow
   I keep finding my eyes
                  wet
           as if I can’t not
              think about Him
                  in a deeper place
                       than thoughts
                            can go.

Maybe He
   keeps bringing me back
     to Himself
        in spite of me,
   amidst my carelessness
             and selfish choices
         to choke back
                       bile
                       tears
                       anger
                         and
                       outrage
        over His unfair death (Matthew 27:22-23)
          and everything He gave –
        all the things
           I live with
              every day,
                  so ungrateful for.

Because despite
   what I may recognize
                     acknowledge
                     feel
                       or
                     do
        He already finished
   what He came to do (John 19:30)
      when He died
                    forgave (Luke 23:34)
                      and
                    came to life again (Luke 24:6-7).

Spit

Posted on April 5 2014 by J.W. Richmond

If only
   he would have
     kept his mouth
          shut
     swallowed back the words
          that should have
               never been said aloud.

They would have
              or at least
         could have
              found their place
                    in a different
                       configuration
              twisted themselves
                    into each other
                      or
              dissolved
                    altogether.

Instead he spit them out
                blurted them
             and they
                lashed out
                    with slicing metal edges
                       all their own
             as they
                burned
                stung
                   and viciously
                tore apart
                    the sweet, starry petals
                          that had once been
                              in front of him.

Ripples

Posted on March 28 2014 by J.W. Richmond

There was the location
                the position
                the temperature
                the wondering
                the questioning
                     and
                the understanding
                      that even if
           I may have not known
                    all the specifics
                         the details,
           I knew something
                    was wrong.
           I knew something
                    was off.
           It just wasn’t right.

Then came
           the truth.

Everything unraveled.
Everything exploded.
Everything started to become
   something new
   and twisted,
     revealing what had
          already been.

It was so much bigger
   than a song could handle
   than a day could hold.
The weight of it
       followed us all home,
            and even there
                      it would not relent.

Nothing
   would be the same
       from that point.

Rules
  were created.
Admonishments
  were made.
Relationships
  were altered.
Friendships
  were tested.
       Some broke.
       Some were deepened.
       All were changed.

And the ripples
     continue
          to
       ripple.

Remains

Posted on March 16 2014 by J.W. Richmond

Black in black
In white in grey,
Emotions escalate
As colors fade.
Parched earth below,
Bright sun above,
And a bridge between
All that resembles love,
Forcing separation through
Anything connecting it
And you.

Black in grey, in white in grey,
Everything leaves,
Yet it remains.
The sun blinds the blinded,
Dirt crumbles beneath.
Bleached bones evolve
To dust from dust
With no way out.
Desert begets desert.
Drought begets drought.

Grey in white
In white and black,
The stark intensity
Gives nothing back.
Salt and sulfur permeate
Into a paralyzing gaze
While the horizon light dances
Like bugs on airy waves.

White
In black
In white
And grey
Fades into a mucky brown.
All that is left
Of hope and grasping
Or even foolish luck
Now lies starving
On the hardpan ground.

White in grey.
In black and white,
Nothing shines like emptiness
In arid light.
The unfiltered heat
Stifles all growth
It was once thought to seek,
As it recklessly wilts and kills
Everything
In its reach.

Lean

Posted on March 14 2014 by J.W. Richmond

I don’t cling to
   what I know
   what is familiar
              calming or
              comforting.

If I did,
   I would find myself
          holding on to
                   air.

Every breath
   I breathe in
             or out
                is outside
                       of comfort.

There is no zone
   in view
   in reach
     in time
           or space.

Instead,
   I must attempt
     to make an
          educated guess
              try to someday
                    maybe
                find something
     to lean into         the edges
             and hope I land
                      somewhere close.

Fingerprints

Posted on March 8 2014 by J.W. Richmond

Of course
   it was incomplete.

A narrative
  a small glimpse
           (are there large ones?)
     is more of what it really was,
       just a piece of
            a story of
            a then,
            a particular time.

Parts 
  of where
  and how
  and when
     I placed my faith in Christ
         weaved themselves throughout,
            though that was not the original intent.

I can only hope
   that is the case
     more often
          that I actually mean it to be.

I can only hope
   His fingerprints
          show up everywhere
       even when I’m not explicitly trying
                to find them
                   search for them or
                   point them out.

Cat

Posted on February 28 2014 by J.W. Richmond

A kitty tried to follow us home last night.

He – or she – walked through most of our neighborhood with us, following closely behind some of the way, prancing next to us part of it and plopped in front of us the rest.

A complete cheater, trying to get us to consider adoption.

Despite what people may tend to think, we aren’t actually cat people. Or even animal people, exactly. We don’t have cat figurines or photos or calendars or quilts or paintings or books or saltshakers. We just like both of our cats. We are their humans, and we are okay with it ending there.

This particular kitty, however, tried to make us see things differently. It was clean, collarless and seemingly well kept. Certainly friendly.

With no way of knowing whether it had a home nearby, we tried not to look directly at it or catch its big blue eyes, just in case it thought it belonged to us. Not looking back at him – or her – didn’t help. The determination to stay with us would not diminish.

He – or she – finally paused when another cat entered the street. That was our chance to sneak away, hoping it knew how to get back home, if it had one.

We aren’t cat people. Not really. But for some reason, cats seem to think we are.

Then

Posted on February 22 2014 by J.W. Richmond

He Met Me Here
He Met Me Here

I punched a wall.

Again.

I was a volatile mix of disbelief and anger, some of the anger being directed at the bits of belief that clung to me no matter how much I tried to fling them away. The rest forced itself out through word vomit and the aforementioned fists.

It was a time of contradiction. Oxymorons.

I longed for disconnection and connection at the same time. I was angry at a God I claimed I didn’t even believe in.

There was a brief stint of unhealthy substances. A bottle given to me of something I could barely choke down when attempting to consume, and something resembling the smell of a barn that I was instructed to light and then inhale deeply.

The offer was there for something much stronger, along the lines of Timothy Leary and a promise of a much better time, but after asking my chemistry teacher what the actual effects could be, I chose to say thanks but no thanks.

I had grown up in the church, and for so many years just assumed what my family said was true. I knew the right answers to the godly questions, and could even ask good, insightful questions that an authentic believer might ask to understand God and Christianity even further.

Yet it wasn’t until I let go of it all, when I chose to drop everything and start from as close to zero as I could actually get, that I was able to objectively decide what I believed to be true.

It wasn’t a fun time. My sophomore year definitely wasn’t pretty. I put my parents through unthinkable agony and scared my friends with the nonchalant thoughts I shared with them. I was a gross mess, and I got into a lot of trouble doing a lot of wrong things.

But in between all the rage and despair, I was committed to figuring out the truth. Even if that something I sought for turned out to be nothing, at least then I would know for sure.

In a pile of philosophy and religion books, I researched, studied, discarded much, and ultimately decided the world actually made too much sense for God not to exist. Well, $#@%!

I could no longer deny there was a God out there, somewhere. He had to exist, at least in some sense, in some form. Despite everything I thought or even wanted to believe, that was the most logical explanation, regardless of how I felt about it.

So I prayed to this concept of God and said, if He was really there, if the conclusions I made based on the research I did were actually true, I needed to know.

Over time, He slowly revealed more of Himself to me. I grew to believe He not only existed, but He was also actively involved in the world.

And I needed to know Him.

Then one night a few months later, there was something of Him that ventured on tangible. Actual. Real. I could not explain it, but I could not imagine it away.

He broke me, softened me, assured me, and I was able to reach out for Him, and for the faith that had refused to fully let go of me.

I accepted it.

I swallowed it completely and it became my own.