And He Parted The Heavens To Touch Me.....

Caught between the spaces of someone elses beliefs and my own, cornered by someones absolute certitude my only dueling weapon, my faith.
Herded behind pickets of passion built by fear where everything outside that pristine place is demonized and cursed as evil.
I only want to sing my simple song in praise. I am not afraid to be wrong because I have faith in Him who is right....After all God has not yet appeared to me in a burning rose bush in my yard speaking from the Phoenix of his everlasting truth.
He has spoken to me thru the hands of a deaf autistic child. He has quieted my soul with the simple songs of sparrows and finches...reminding me that he is familiar with every one.....He has parted the heaven's and come down to touch me with His own hand, where my whole being quaked and opened to a flood of joy and sorrow that had accumulated for a lifetime, and He filled me to overflowing with his Grace.
He has rung a gurney round with angels in an operating room, that his child might not be cut from my flesh and sacrificed to fear and doubt....where a physician entered the room and looked down where i lay vulnerable in surrender, and he spoke only these words, "I will not touch her!" and turned to walk away.... and I and my unborn child were spared. Could I ever doubt His power or His presence again?
I live and breathe and have my being in Him and yet it is not enough for those who would judge anothers faith and how they go about living it. I am not a person whos soul fits well into confines and limitations, and I can't put them on God. I won't limit His power nor will I package and sell His will, I won't bottle belief, and tell you how to drink.
I don't have all the answers and I have passed thru those places that claim that they do, where they told me, but did not show me.....
So I shall choose the simple faith of my porch swing and trust God with all the bigger things...How could I not, after all His hand parted the heavens to reach out and touch me.

California Heart

To everything there is a season,
but in some regions
seasons just flow together with little change...
Almost indistinguishable, fall and winter merge;
and spring can be as hot as an August night
with the Santa Ana’s blowing across the west.
Yes, I lived thru the spring of this love as a child,
believing in all its flowering promises;
despite all the evidence to the contrary.
I have known the heat of love’s summer like a women,
and I have been burned in its wake,
left with new wounds to become old scars
to add on like another trolley, on the streetcar of loss.
The winter was the worst and lasted the longest;
a winter of cold and ice
I breathed hoar frost by day and shivered alone by night...
Here in this land of December warmth
we nearly froze to death under its brilliant sun,
there on the great tundra of our isolation.
And the seasons came and the seasons went,
and a line of demarcation was drawn
while we wern’t paying attention
that would separate out past and our future
severing our bond, and forever changing the climate of our lives.
Yes, change it was a coming, and we were not watching.
So now the season has ended, but I’m finding it hard to let go....
For you see, I’m a west coast child from birth
with a warm California heart
and that heart doesn’t seem to know
when a season ends with coming wind and snow....
So I’m standing still in the heat and the rain,
just wondering which way to go....................
P. Kent 4/24/98