Books with empty pages


I read a whole book on
the Art of Happiness
by the Dalai Lama
and I learn nothing new.

I read Psalms that have watered my soul
and the words turn to dust in my mouth

...for such a time as this...

He lit up the cathedral on the farm
with white snow-light,
a million crystals suspended
in the wind
reflecting Grace on a chipped paint tack room

And that one thing,
the morning light,
the horse napping

Sara Groves told me in a song

you do your work the best that you can
you put one foot in front of the other 
life comes in waves and makes it's demands
you hold on as well as you’re able



you've been here for a long long time
but hope has a way of turning its face to you
just when you least expect it
you walk in a room 
you look out a window 
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since i felt this
but it feels like it might be hope 

Where is your face, Father?
Where is your hope?
How do I open hands to receive redemption -
the kind that rescues us from the everyday
not just that moment in heaven
when I see my name in the Book of Life.

I need you now
I need truth to be drink and food
replace these tears
and place before me a fresh cup