out of office autoreply

I know there’s no “autoreply” for a blog, but…. Here’s a question to ponder: In Psalm 51, David says that God doesn’t want burnt offerings from him, but a broken and contrite heart. I’ve always taken that for granted, until I read what Spurgeon pointed out: That for the sins David had committed — adultery and murder — there IS no sacrifice authorized by the law of Moses. The only penalty was death. How gracious of God to accept a broken heart instead! I’ll be back in cyberspace on Memorial Day — Grace and peace to all. L

Contests

I received my first award for writing in grade school, for an essay about fire prevention. (Made me scared to death of open flames for years, but that’s another story.) When I was in high school, one of my teachers entered my poetry into some state-wide contests, which I won. Later, I attended BYU on writing scholarship — again, the result of entering a contest. Dan and I founded the Ruth Roberts High School Writing Contest for the New Mexico State Poetry Society (named after my own high school teacher who entered my poems, unbeknownst to me, in contests). So — I believe in contests. Here is a link to a Web site that keeps up to date lists of current poetry contests. I know some of you readers are also poets — perhaps you’re...

the high-wire of faith

TRAMRIDE This thin thin wireSways in generous bulging arcsFrom breeze to breezeLike a child’s jumpropeOr the rippling undulationsOf a lustrous serpentMoving through thick waters.We are suspended underThis snakeropeAnd we are pulled alongBy it. There is no escape:The mountain floor beneath usIs frighteningly distant.The trees are miniature layered fansAnd its boulders a pebbled mosaic. A ridge rises before us.Our eyes tells us there is noWay over it, and yetThe cable passes through a crevice. This, then, is faith:We know we must follow where the cable hasGone, and let our heartsFinish the ride,Finish the ride. (c) Latayne C....

Communion Match

Perhaps you find in your relationship with the Lord that intimacy brings its own kinds of tension, as this poem demonstrates. The Communion Match Oh, body of Christ!Oh, body of Christ!Oh blood-filled poresOh bones wrenched out of socketsBy its own newly-paralytic weight I call on you, spittle-rankled skinOutstretched, screaming musclesBones (unbroken, yes, but barely,Barely);Nearly-suffocating lungsWrenched, failing organsEven veins and nerves with tremors I call on all these systems, sinuses,Synapses;I won”‘t let go until You bless meI”‘ll wrestle Your strength untilYou pull my hips all out of joint Give meJustice against my adversaryGive me what I ask in prayer I swallow You whole (c) 2007 Latayne C....

The language of maps

Here’s a poem about the relationship of icons to linguistic representations. Yours is the language of maps,The tracing out with light-veined fingerThe green veins of mountainsStroking softly, just with the padsOf the sides of your thumbsThe ochre lushness of a delta. Yours is the language of maps,Your touch soothes The familiarizing hum of old Khandihar,You sigh over the Aleuts,Reaching, aching for Mérida. Yours is the language of maps,The hidden voice of yearning sightThe gentlest stroking of the flats of palmsThat transforms from icon to thoughtFrom symbol to wordIn the mapping of languageOnto the topography of the soul. (c) Latayne C....