"Season of Holy Moley"

“Holy Moley,” she exclaimed as she poked her eyes over the edge of the mixing bowl.  Cheryl and a granddaughter were busy making cookies last week.  I can only wonder at the comment made by the 3 yr old as the beaters began to stir the batter.  Was she surprised, perhaps even amazed, by what she was seeing.  Or was she just being a three year old who has a flair for the dramatic at times.

I have experienced Moley, even Holy Moley, at times in my life.  Feels like less as I get older.  However, I often wonder if that is because of my inattentiveness or because I am not as easily shocked.  A few of my experiences of  Holy Moley are, seeing my wife walking down the isle toward me at our wedding, experiencing the birth of our children, and seeing natural wonders like the Rocky Mountains, the Grand Canyon, and the Ocean.

Wouldn’t that be the same reaction of the women and the disciples when they encountered the risen Christ?  Holy Moley!  Maybe a brief season following Easter should be called the season of Holy Moley.  Works for me.

Is Moley even a word? I do not think so.  Still communicates, just the same.  

"New for Easter"

New!

I am thinking: What do I really know about New?

I know the Smell of New.

New plastic swimming pool,

New leather boots,

New hay stacked in a barn.

I know the Feel of New

New haircut on a Saturday night,

New dollar bill, stiff and crisp,

New skin over an old scar.

I know the Look of New

New moon in the sky,

New car in the showroom,

New tooth just breaking the skin.

I know the Sound of New.

New calf’s First gargling breath,

New guitar strings stretching into tune,

New gravel on the road home.

Maybe new is not really altogether new.  Not always.

Maybe new is new for today, new only to us, or new for just a season.

Maybe why something is new is more important than how.

What do I really know about New?

Maybe, Easter.

A Good Friday

I scratch me head.  I ponder the sight.

I lower me chin.  I kick dirt for spite. 

Thou speak without words; like clouds in the wind.

And I feel me pain, while I suffer thy death.

Brother, my brother, what purpose this.

And I scratch me head.  I lower me chin.