Beyond the Curtain

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

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A misty curtain hides what will be, but

my now is part of that then.

Though unseen but for glimpses and hope, I muddle through

on the darker side, the dying side, pushing even closer to light and color that calls.

As if in a sleep, I guard my steps,

moving in

and on; and

there is somehow a knowing that beyond the curtain where true truth lives,

I will finally and fully be awake.

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Nursery Rhymes Re-visited

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

Jack Sprat could eat no fat—80-10-10.
His wife could eat no lean–Paleo.
And so between them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean.

Jack and Jill went down the hill (makes more sense)
To fetch a pail of water.
Jill fell down and broke her crown,
And Jack came tumbling after (gender equality).

Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock (duh),
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all (Call Child Services!).

The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.
Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain
And the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again (the American economy for the middle class).

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words . . . hurt more.

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First Kiss

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly



My first kiss made me sick.  I was twelve years old and the big sloppy mouthed boy engulfed my lips.  I should have slapped him, but I’ve never been good at confrontation.

There was a creek that bordered the grounds of the church camp.  A wooded area that gave excellent cover for romantic trysts surrounded it.  “Walks to the creek” had become a favorite pastime for pubescent campers, though I’m quite sure this was not part of the standard camp curriculum.

In my naïve mind, romance centered on holding hands and private conversations; so when this nice looking young man asked me down to the creek, I accepted.

My older sister Gwen must have been wiser in the ways of the world for she doubted his intentions and grilled him extensively about his plans.  Having assured her, with the sincerity of a salesman, that we truly were just…

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Youtube Orthodoxy

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

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It’s a Youtube orthodoxy,

Works Cited on an unreachable Google Cloud, but we believe because we see,

believe because we hear.  And

we build belief upon belief from these credible creeds

from the Youtube guides,

picking and choosing from opposing voices what feels right—

until it doesn’t . . . and

we move on to the next.  And it’s about food and theology and vaccinations and and evil Monsanto; and it’s about vegan, vegetarian, Paleo, and good fat, bad fat, no fat.  And it’s about strange fire, no fire, and flames of fire, and and on and on the crossing threads go, and

this Youtube orthodoxy spins out to the stratosphere to planets beyond; and

there is so much busy and fritzing, traveling info, ya know, that any alien tapping in will think he has found the mind of a


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To Remind Me



May the rising vapor of morning remind me that my life is such—a vapor that lasts but a moment—fleeting.

May the intensifying blush remind me that the color of my life is in direct response to the Son’s rising in my life—growing.

May the increasing light of morning remind me that Your presence is ever surrounding— abounding as I struggle here below—persevering.

May the setting of the sun remind me of my limits and that hours spent ought to be well spent, for they will surely end—humbling.

May the brilliant reds and oranges fading into indigo remind me that the best I have to offer is nothing that will last—ending.

And may the last thinning rays remind me that though darkness comes, Light is on the other side of things—rejoicing.


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My Voice Outstretched

For me, singing is like following a rainbow through black rain.It is like crepuscular rays that rupture leaden skies.

Singing is like walking in an unmarked place, lost, not sure of prayer or path and
seeing far off the pinpoint light that means home.

It is faithfilled praise, knowing that in this one moment with this one voice,
I am sure of one thing.

It is a hopefilled reach, feeling that in these simple words with this simple tune,
I am grounded in at least one true thing.

Singing is declaring Your worth when I am unsure of myself.

Singing is my voice outstretched, knowing if my hands were raised,
I would not sing but cry.

For me, singing is a peace of the puzzle of life—respite, restoration, renewal;
and so when other parts of my life seem weak and wondering, lacking conviction,
I will sing.

When disoriented,
disheartened, and
feeling distant,
I will sing.
Psalm 104:33
I will sing to the Lord as long as I live.
I will praise my God to my last breath!
Psalm 5:11
But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;
let them sing joyful praises forever.
Spread your protection over them,
that all who love your name may be filled with joy.


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My Book of Uncommon Prayers: These Frail Threads

I don’t want to be naïve again, speech peppered with Praise the Lord’s and God Bless You’s, and other Christian slang, as if by filling in the blanks I could sanctify the moment.

I meant well.

There are elements I wish I could reclaim—the idea that God would intervene if I could muster enough faith, the idea that God would love me more if I kept more of His rules.

Simple. Kind of.

I would love to get back to the uncomplicated worship where I knew God was big, powerful, and good, and that somehow my weak words meant something in His kingdom economy, that his gifts freely given actually changed things—changed lives.

Even mine.

But things don’t always turn out as expected. The right key doesn’t always fit in the lock; and though I still believe, my belief is tangled and mangled with shaky hopes and sanctified suspicion.

The strength of will is not always armor enough when facing a cosmic battle. And inspiration and revelation once cavalierly received have slowed to a trickle in the murkiness of time, trouble,

and desperation.

Cataracts of soul have dulled even further the glass darkly explanations, and my longing for more drives me to my knees.

Can I have the wonder back? Can I feel again past the numbness of mind and heart? Oh, Lamb, Oh Lover, Oh Rescuer, save me. Let me feel again what it means to be connected to eternity with these frail threads of confidence and leave the doubt of this dirty life behind.
Psalm 86:1-7
Bend down, O LORD, and hear my prayer;
answer me, for I need your help.
2 Protect me, for I am devoted to you.
Save me, for I serve you and trust you.
You are my God.
3 Be merciful to me, O Lord,
for I am calling on you constantly.
4 Give me happiness, O Lord,
for I give myself to you.
5 O Lord, you are so good, so ready to forgive,
so full of unfailing love for all who ask for your help.
6 Listen closely to my prayer, O LORD;
hear my urgent cry.
7 I will call to you whenever I’m in trouble,
and you will answer me.

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My Book of Uncommon Prayers: Death is Hard

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly

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Death is hard.

Though so much a part of life, we never quite get used to it.

Our youthful, anticipating days,

dreams of El Dorado,

meld into the rhythm of responsible days lived in responsible ways, and

that end seems so far off unless

brought near by sudden interruptions.  And yet,

for us steadily moving in the direction of end, it doesn’t really hit home—

the concreteness of it—

until we hold it in our hands, watch its last escaping breath; and

it finally hits that all things truly do end.  And it’s hard.

There is no preparation, mental or spiritual, that can make loss feel anything other than

it is.

We must all walk through it.

Even with resurrection hope, the path to light is routed through dark and deep.

Others’ deaths are a sadness and a sighing, but we move on with our living


it is our…

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This silence . . .

A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly


This silence is not the fresh fingering of morning, the moment before the awakening.

This silence is not the pure blank of night when only bugs and night owls are about.

This day-to-day lengthening of sorrows strings out over miles and memories

and missed opportunities.

This silence feels like loss.

This silence is not the hushed reverence that hovers over just born life.

This silence is not the sad sigh that respects a passing, one weary and worn out.

This breath to breath searching of answers that reaches from earth to heaven

and from heart to head–

this silence feels like loneliness.

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As if in a Dream

I look through my own grid, and I’m not sure how to see differently.
I know just how you feel–
well, not really. I can imagine walking in your shoes,
but truth is I don’t. I can imagine feeling what you feel,
but truth is I can’t. Small wonder we feel the separation and division strongly,
but so often
so alone.
And that warm, fuzzy unity is an out-there goal, a hope,
until I am you, I walk as if in a dream.

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