Pastor Dave recently offered a grief study prior to the end of year holidays.  I did not attend – should have – as, I often reflect in lines, the blues and do’s too frequently chase my nights.  Written in 2013, these lines capture a nightmare of loss for me, use a specific moment to metaphor the many issues of the year that rocked the soul of me.  Perhaps others might relate or empathize in the transfer of image to a personal time.  A loss, failed health, death, challenges – times when the anchor of security pulls off the Rock on which days hold firm.  For Christians, we know how to re-anchor, know the means to reconnect to the One foundation.  We know, life without God, without prayer, without the seek of Holy Spirit guidance we remain adrift in a shifting confusion of hopeless effort in life’s foam.  With anchor torn away, I think we all have God-lost times.  For me, the church family’s touch, seeing God in my lonely stare across a cornfield and lope of a deer into a distant stand of windbreak pines – a little word shared, a smile, sharing the Peace – Fred’s “What’s up…” – my anchor again firm:

Eddies arc away,
the prow a dead-calm bob
in Virgin Islands’ heat.
The anchor chain’s slack
slowly tightens,
then droops – stretches again.
All motion a rhythm with shimmers
miraging the horizon.

Trickles of sweat tickle down
under my collar,
an annoying noose
beneath the tuxedo jacket.
My bare toes curl, arc against the deck’s heat.
Knees bend
and a tremor eddies down my back,
anticipating her barefoot stride
coming my way.

Thunder shakes the dream,
flashes harass the idyll
and rain pelts moments into
startled awake.

My mind rocks
and eddies arc into
white-capped disarray –
the anchor tears away.