Lori fiechter
5-22-03

Connected; Disconnecting

 Inbox.
Send and receive mail.
Connected; disconnecting.
I see the words every time I open my e-box inbox:
send and receive,
connected; disconnecting.

I think of prayer.
Is that what prayer is--
we send, He receives?
We disconnect;
the line is always open on His end,
even when we wish we had a private line.
Have you never wished you had a private line?

 I see those words,
Connected; disconnecting
and wonder--
How connected are we to those
we meet every day;
can we connect at all with those
who are different from us?
And if we cannot connect,
will they listen when we witness?
Is our message deleted
as soon as they scan the subject line?

What messages have I sent today?
What have I received?
Just sending and receiving,
connecting and disconnecting,
never knowing that I hit "send",
never realizing that my hand
was on the mouse.

lori fiechter
July 16, 2003

I try to be color-blind; I wish it came so naturally that I didn't even have to try. God is no respecter of persons; He has no favorite color.

One-blooded

(Acts 17:26)

 We can love people
who are different:
different looking, different sounding, just--well, different;
love them in spite of our differences.
Love them from our pedestals--
Yes, that feels snug and smug.
What about loving people
by realizing that
they are not really different from us;
We are not really different from them.
of one blood, He has made us:
One blood--all nations.
One blood--all peoples.
One blood--all tongues and tribes.
The differences are water;
The similarities, blood.
And blood
is thicker.

 Lori Fiechter
July 14, 2003

 Are We There Yet?

 Are we there yet?
Almost there yet?
We've been traveling for years--
Past the seasons, dry and rainy,
Past the false hopes and the fears.
Engine purring, engine stalling,
Tires now with thinning tread.
Fixed the flats and changed the oil--
Cases packed of extra oil,
Cases stacked of extra oil,
Should've packed a map instead.
Life goes flying past the windows
Can we stop to take a rest?
Driving ever onward, upward,
Taillights pointing toward the west;
with our souvenirs and t-shirts,
faded mottos of our quest.

 Lori Fiechter
July 11, 2003

I read  an article in today's paper about Gracia Burnham. It has been nearly a year since her release and her husband's murder in the Philippines. At one point in captivity, after days of crying and misery at her situation, she made a deliberate choice to embrace her faith and turn away from resentment. A deliberate, conscious choice.  I thought how Gracia's victory over her own will and spirit could encourage others in the years to come. One right choice is more than one right choice for one individual. Like Job's victory, our own victories can be an encouragement to others--even without our knowledge. Anyway, all that lead, in a roundabout way, to this poem. We are not alone, although it often feels that way.

This Path

 It feels new;
It is not.
I feel alone;
I do not see the other travelers
and they do not see me.

And so we make the same wrong turns,
snag ourselves on the same branches,
stumble at the self-same stones.
If only we could see each other,
we could help one another.
For each path is just the same path
or something very like it.

But we all feel alone, ashamed, and angry--
Angry at ourselves, at God, at circumstances.
We see dead ends,
deep rivers with no bridges,
Dark caverns with no lanterns,
and holes too deep for any ladder.
Oh, for a sign! A signal, a mark to blaze the trail--
to say, "We have been this way before and
made it through. You will, too." 
But this path seems all too new and lonely;
all new too new and lonely.
I cannot see the other travelers
and they cannot see me.

lori fiechter
May 28, 2003

We Faint Not

(II Cor. 4)

 unblinded souls
unmasked deceiver
unhidden gospel
unshakable loyalty to the
Unchangeable One.
undaunted by the present,
undeterred by the perishable,
unveiled eyes looking past the visible,
unswerving gaze toward the things unseen.
unfeigned faith; unfainting  hope.

 lori fiechter
7-23-03

 We read in Galatians 1 last night. Good jumpstart chapter for grace appreciation.

 Refusing Grace

I pay my own way.
(not here, you can't)
I don't take charity.
(you won't receive it)
I can wash my own feet
(you missed a spot)
I will work harder.
(to what purpose?)
I will earn more.
(sigh. Not everyone loves gifts)

lori fiechter
7-24-03

Will You Listen Now?
(Ecclesiastes 12)

Mortality whispers in gray hair and wrinkles
and winks at us knowingly
out from the mirror.
And I wonder if middle age is
God’s “April Fool!”

It’s obvious now that we won’t live forever
and we can’t keep the body we had
at eighteen.
Is it all a joke: bags and sags,
creaks and crinkles,
a sick cosmic joke or a "wake-up-now" call?

We can camouflage,
suck it in
(or have it sucked out)
however stylish the package,
the expiration date’s showing.
No, we won’t live forever;
Will we listen now?

Will we listen now
while we can still hear
the One who is calling,
”Come now, all ye weary--
There is rest for the restless
and hope for the hopeless
and life everlasting for the spiritually dead.”

There is more than this handbreadth
that people call life.
No, you won’t live forever;
Will you wake up and listen
Before the silver cord’s loosed,
And the golden bowl’s broken,
Before your spirit’s released
to the only Breath-giver,
And your dust settles back
 into nothing but dust?
Listen.

 Lori fiechter
April 4, 2003 

Job 3: 25 The thing I greatly feared has come upon me.

We dread things that may happen to us, upcoming appointments, or uncomfortable things we know we must do.
And fed fears grow fat.

The Thing I Dread

 The thing I dread, the thing I dread,
Oh, keep me from the thing I dread:
The snake that rears its ugly head
and swallows me before I'm dead;
Oh, keep me from the thing I dread.

Oh, put it off--the thing I dread;
bid it to come next week instead
Or better yet, another year
that dreadful, frightful thing I fear.

Don't ask about the thing I dread;
I've tried to shake it from my mind,
That faceless foe that takes its time
and preys upon a fragile mind,
persistent, nagging, and unkind;
It waits and knows it will be fed,
Oh, slay for me the thing I dread.

lori fiechter
1-14-03

This is the Rest

(Isaiah 28:12 & 30:15)

 "This is the rest"
but I was restless;
This is your peace
but I had none:
No comfort, no promise,
No patience for waiting,
Just a mind of disquiet
and a spirit to run.
Just a tail-chasing race
that could never be run.

 lori fiechter
2-06-03

 The painful thing to remember is that the letters from our Lord were written not to unbelievers but to the churches.

Laodicean

Rev. 3

 Not just folded, but crumpled;
Not just torn, but sorely rent.
Not a scratch, a mortal wound.
No, not rich; without a cent.
We do not see our hurt;
We are in worse shape than we know:
Not just near-sighted, but blinded.
Not just poorly clad, but naked.
No, not hot, but just half-cold.

lori fiechter
2-04-03 

One Who Waits for Me

 I would be more world-tethered,
Yes, more worldly would I be
Had I not one in heaven--
One who waits for me.

 And though this world seems real,
It is not all everything to me;
There is another world
and one who waits for me.

 Broken circles here--for a world that seems complete--
Broken threads and circles:
the graves beneath our feet.
A part of me still calls this home;
A part will homeless be
Until I spy, on that far shore
The one who waits for me.

 lori fiechter
1-15-03

 I was reading Psalm 126 this morning and wondered (for the first time, admittedly) "Why was the sower weeping?" I've read that the context of the Psalm could be the victory over Sennacherib in Hezekiah's time or the return of the Jews from Babylon, but that still doesn't explain it for me. Is the sower weeping because the laborers are few? Because so little fell on good ground? I don't  know.  I can't help but think of Jesus' first coming in tears and His second coming in joy.   Of course, the old hymn "Bringing in the Sheaves" came from this Psalm as well. 

 Psalm 126:4-6 "Turn again our captivity, O Lord, as the streams in the south. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him."

 The Weeping Sower

(Psalm 126)

 Why is the sower weeping?
Why does he sow in tears?
Does he cry for wasted seed?
Does he sigh for wasted years?

Is it because the seed is precious
and so little will take root?
--because the seed is precious
and so little will bear fruit?

 But what is that joyful singing?
What is the reaper bringing?

 There is a harvest coming
after all the tears and pain;
a harvest and a gathering
after years of sun and rain.
And the Reaper comes rejoicing
when at last He comes again;
He comes again, rejoicing
as He brings His sheaves with Him.

 Lori Fiechter
January 9, 2003

Cinderella's slipper belongs on Cinderella's foot.  And as someone told me (thanks, Sue) you can’t really walk a mile in someone else’s shoes because the shoe won’t fit.

The Glass Conviction

 Unshod feet?
Shopping for convictions?
Stop shopping now--
I have what you need:
several pairs, identical
(I bought them on sale)
plenty to spare.
Try them on.

What?
How can you say they do not fit,
that the slippers are too tight?
It cannot be!
They fit me perfectly and
hardly pinch at all.

You are not trying hard enough;
Here, I'll force them on.
See, they fit just fine.
Now, walk! 
Never falter, never stumble,
never worry, never think.

 You say you cannot walk?
I'll help you with
Just a little push in the right direction.
Now look what you've done--
you've fallen and soiled
my lovely slippers!
Fallen in the mud!

I would help you up but
I don't want to get
my own slippers dirty.
Sorry.

 lori fiechter
January 4, 2003

Straw-grasping

 Because we are so desperate for hope,
we clutch at flimsy things
that cannot hold
and then we fall, headlong.
We grasp at straws
instead of clinging to the Rock,
instead of trusting in the Anchor.
We are swept away by despair
with fistfuls of straw
in our tightly clenched hands,
worthless straws
in our tightly clenched hands.

 lori fiechter
12-26-02