The Power of Obedience


Walls cast shadows.

Light gets through

the cracks of the day:


Moments of obedience.

Moments of faith.

Moments that define us.

Moments of grace.


The power of obedience

is the paradox of eternity

packed tightly into grape clusters

that burst into time and space.


Not your Precious Moments figurines

but sleep-deprived warriors

with holsters for concealer and coffee.

Quick on the draw to conceal lines on their face

and savor the passing whiff of a fresh pot percolate.


Single moms

in carpool lanes

schlepping kids

to practices, appointments,

rehearsals and games

in minivans well spent

that all smell the same—

sour milk stained into the fabric of motherhood.


Or perhaps your pasture is greener,

maybe it’s filled with rocks,

perhaps you’re low on the totem pole

hiding money in socks

or maybe you’re just misunderstood.


It makes no difference,

we’re all called to bend a knee

in order to stand,

carving out time,

craving real intimacy.


Time waits for no one

yet we seize the day.


An hour,

five minutes,

whatever we can spare

proves we’re soldiers

in God’s army,

an infantry

interlocking fingers of faith

when we pray.


Every day is a battle,

a pinprick or gushing wound

from the crossfire of bullets,


an infirmary of minutes,

bandages on the hour,


calluses on disciplined minds,

mending papercuts on hearts

that turn the page of time.


A woman coughs up blood in the ICU at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles where her husband stands next to her bed, rubbing her back, helping her expel pink phlegm into his handkerchief. At a table for two, at nearby diner, a deep voice punctuates the greasy air that smells of Saturday Night’s Special:…

Read More »


Category: Poetry, Suffering

We’ve wandered into the maze of the Minotaur— a chemical chimera that pursues synthetically manufactured routes   deep inside labyrinth folds in our skulls with no way out   where pleasure is the highest good.   “Made” we’re told “to conquer mountains that wait to be subdued.”   Our Maker— the Succor— sovereignly sneezes, washing…

Read More »


Before there was time, before there were gods, before there were blood sacrifices, before there were written words, Light spoke and split the atom of nothing. Time was dragged into existence, filling empty space. Some call “nothing” chaos, but chaos is disorder, which is something. It’s not even darkness, for darkness is a black top…

Read More »

Newsletter Signup