Time Travelers

Time Travelers

 

It’s Ok, take heart, my dear.

We are all time-travelers here.

 

Too often between the future and past,

We strike ourselves down with shame and fear.

 

Just yesterday you held a dove

And felt to fly on wings of love

 

Today is darkness, cold and dry

It seems that love was meant to die.

 

I am crying now for you, my dear.

My heart is broken, I want you near.

 

Then I remember that you really are here

The time-bound space sheds a lonely tear.

 

Tomorrow you will sing again

And feel to embrace the souls of men

 

Today is faith, of one small light

A step in the dark to continue the fight.

 

I want you to remember this, my dear.

We travelers have a great task to bear.

 

While we move about the linear path

Forward and backward, stuck with that math

 

The real struggle is not the travel

But being present to let time unravel.

 

Here is a place that you can greet

Justice and Mercy, as they meet.

 

It has happened before, it will happen still more

The eternal is now, with great joy in store.

 

The eternal is here, remembering and hoping,

The eternal is here, unbound and singing.

 

There is no need for too much reflection

Nor focusing more on the finite perception

 

Though the glass can give reference, I want to be clear–

Heaven is real! Not caught in a mirror.

(Poem by Lexie Orvin. May 2017)

Today It Will Be Different

Today it will be different

Even though the ocean looms.

It’s waves lash out with abandon,

Telling every bit of my doom.

 

I used to avoid the wide depths

Afraid they knew my troubles

But I realized my fears were useless

While I was drowning in a puddle.

 

Today it will be different

I choose to embark in the seas.

He will give me every reason to breath

And feed me with nectar of bees.

 

The only thing left is the journey.

I have no way to find light

While I roll about in his vessel

And cannot rely on my sight.

 

Today it will be different

The ocean is part of the plan

The waters, though mournful and bitter,

Will help me become a man.

 

Dear mom and Dad, I am with you

I see now how hard this can be

To know that the journey together

Must bury you first in the sea.

 

Today it will be different

I finally found my stones

They bear no light or clarity outright

But glow because He atones.

 

I still have to bear the deep water

And surrender to breaths that are shallow

But as I carry my small stones

Warm light will fill up what was hollow.

 

Today it will be different

I am still in the midst of the sea

But moment by moment I feel more alive

Learning to love this journey.

 

My stones are songs that are in me

That soften the heart I have known

Each is not born in but borne through me

A gift that in giving I own.

 

Today it will be different

Part of the plan we were shown

Says you too will be journeying with me

And will help me to be one of his own.

(Reflections on recent thoughts on the story of the Jaredites, especially their initial journey across the ocean in the vessels that were “tight unto a dish.”)

Whom he calls he qualifies

Yesterday a man spoke in Sacrament meeting, the most important meeting of a three hour block in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day saints, about callings. He echoed words from the scriptures that tell us, whoever God calls he also qualifies. The man took this thought and added that we sometimes won’t feel “qualification” endow us. We will be qualified and we will be doing everything in our power to magnify our calling but we might still not feel like we are enough. But, he said, we are enough. It is too often that we give up on something just because we don’t “feel” like we are doing it well or right. If we are trying to follow the Spirit and trying to love our fellow men, especially those in our stewardship, then we are doing well.

Ok, what about my stewardship over my own physical body? What about my stewardship over my son? Goodness knows I feel very unqualified in both of these areas.

Can I call this a poem?

It always comes back to this.

I trap myself in the corner, gasping for air.

 

I cannot even write a poem.

The words haunt me with familiarity.

 

When I see the words, I see my old selves.

Each faint copy of me wafts through the air.

 

Meaningless, is what I think.

But I know, even if I don’t feel it, that my life is not wasted yet.

 

I don’t know what to do. I am still trapped.

All my joints ache with tension, in a frozen stance.

 

Music returns, sometimes at my bidding, sometimes unannounced.

I try to open my heart to its power.

 

I stoop, but my ears and my heart lean toward the music.

Each melody dances between sound and silence.

 

The music is endless. My frozen stance softens somewhat.

My heart translates. I hear,

Redemption

Hope

Love

Peace

Energy

Endurance

Tenacity

Courage

 

Do not give up.

Your old selves wafting through the air are valid

Your frozen self in the corner is valid

Your fear is valid

You have done more than you can feel or see right now.

See that your faith is valid.

See that you still have it in you.

See that you are not hopelessly trapped

Do not be afraid to trust.

Turn and Stop

Glimpse at this breathtaking moment that Jason miraculously captured with our small pink camera. He took it in the middle of our trek up Mt Timpanogos in Utah last September:

cropped-dscn0072.jpg

 

hmm—I can almost taste that fresh morning air. Moist, clear, and rich.

The miracle is not a comment on Jason’s photography skills. He is good at taking pictures. The miracle is that:

  1. We don’t usually stop to take pictures until we reach the top. Who does that?
  2. Heavy fog and rain quickly engulfed the view for the remainder of our hike.

After that photo, we pursued the summit of the mountain as if it might run from us.  When we got there, it looked as if the summit really had run away.  The only scene was a disconcerting 10-foot view of shadowy rock out in every direction. The rest was swallowed up in thick mist. We were glad we made it there but it was not the view of triumph that we expected to soak in. No “king-of-the-mountain” moment at the top that day.

 

Timp1

Ah, what a peculiar experience…

The vista isn’t always waiting at the top. It is waiting for you to take a moment on the pathway there to turn, and to stop. 

 

Why the title?

The quote came from a children’s book by Yuko Takao about a little mouse that goes to the concert and is filled the beautiful music there. Afterward, the music lingers and colors her world. Then she writes about it. Now it is there so she can go back and remember the experience. From there, more experiences will add colors and depth to the experience she recorded that night, making the captured moment more meaningful in the past, present, and the future.

A winter concert image from book

  I believe that one of the reasons why we write is not only to understand what we are thinking, but also to have a way to add/measure the things that are not measurable, the things that color life, the spirit that breathes life into living. More on that later though.