Posts Tagged With: service

Job: Cursed Work or Blessed Service

A job is a source of great travail and trouble;
“J.ust O.ver B.roke,” by some accounts,
yet near enough to feel the pangs of hunger.
Driven on by some invisible quest for significance
or trying to work the wa up the trickster’s ladder to God’s throne room
or slaving to please the closest Eve who insists
that the land east of Eden not be left to thorns and thistles.
So the sod buster, dandelion hunter, tree trimmer
putters around his personal paradise
muttering about the myopic vision of yard maintenance.

Then the sun begins to set, evening fades, and he realizes
he has been in the presence of God.
Not quite walking in the cool of the eve as man once did,
But unashamed, he lays down his tools, washes his hands,
as he pursues some just desserts.
Quietly, he gratefully tastes ice cream
and is glad that his wishes are heard.
He whispers petitions for precipitation, prosperity, and planetary peace.
He wanders calmly home in comfortable weather,
The clouds draped over the starry portals
Yet the veil is torn.
Love is celebrated in a simple meal and evening nap.

Dreams return, age accumulates,
and all the routines must be recycled,
seasons sprinkled with grace,
and love beheld face to face.
The curse is lifted as the cross is embraced
No longer serving self
But blessed as the book of life is dusted off the shelf.
(A revelation praise song erupts that I am not permitted to record here.)

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Washing Dishes

Pots and pans seem to understand

that the best way to wash your hands

is not to hold a royal trial of the King,

but to humbly serve in love and sing

while feeding those who work and hurt

and scrubbing away the world’s dirt.

Love is willing to serve in simple ways

while deflecting to Jesus all the praise.

Quiet at home, proclaiming abroad

listening to the angel’s laud

of the Lord. They serve all night

yet enduring not an ounce of fright,

for at the break of day, the dishes

will return along with prayers and wishes

over eggs and croissants made at home

before we go out again to our local Rome.

 

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Happy Valentine’s day to the woman who’s dishes I have washed dishes for nearly fourteen years.

Categories: Marriage, Poem | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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