The Fence

I wanted to be a wall

Steadfast boundless, rising ten feet tall

A stone steel fortress blazed with murals to proclaim

I would huddle troubled masses, blocking wind, blocking rain

Upon my parapet the triumph trumpets blast.

Make straight the way a kingdom coming fast

Well…Hmm….

It looks like I’m a log,

covered moss, in quiet fog

A tower turned side down

Feeding grubs to mice around

Mixed and hidden amongst the hills,

Clover wrapped and waiting still

Long limber limbs reaching filtered in the stream.

Where secret birds and shadows find rest and time to dream

I am not a fortress force, upon great heights to plot a course

But a fence for streams and grace. a place to sit and rest the race

Refuge

I’m Stuck on the coast in Montana

Sailing for refuge with a friend in mind

We’re bound from Billings to Bighorn

Chasing decades down the highway lines

Just a bullet caravan of dreamers

We drift onward with no port in sight

I’m stuck on the coast in Montana

Hoping Wyoming is a friend of mine


There is a storm up on the mountain

Raining coast to coast, all day & night

Its that same ole blue hound of heaven

He's not safe but I'll be all right


My refuge is uncharted waters

Searching for my home in an open sky

There's a storm up on the mountain

He's not safe but he's a friend of mine

Ten Sleep

Good morning Ten Sleep, the sun is rising fast

With the color of ten thousand years, tomorrow is fading past

To leave you won’t be easy, but my love has called me home

She whispered through the Bighorn, “You’re forgiven and not alone”

________________________________________

Chorus:

You are more than capable, to soar among the skies

To run out with the speed goats, to drift in shadows with the times

I’ve never seen beneath the river, or the canyon in my mind

It’s just these old saloons and saddles, that make my troubled worries blind

________________________________________

Good morning Ten Sleep, you’re waking in your grave

Where cowboys dream of pardon and peaceful room to graze

Your older than the highway, you never change or rearrange

I’m just mist upon the fence line, a quiet pining for open range.

________________________________________

Chorus:

Pastor Pirate

The last pastor pirate fell in the pulpit today

He was placed in the dock for the words they might say

They charged him with murder and offered one wish

Then tossed in the ocean for trying to fish.

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

The Reject who bled out for you and for me.

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

His courage now drifting alone on the sea.

Santiago and Fantine, both offered a chair

Two fellow pirates not under their care.

As the fog machine carried his corpse in the light

He stumbled down knob creek and swore not to fight

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

His questions now pondered ten miles out to sea.

Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho, Hidee Ho Dee Hi Dee

He’s a strawman that walks just like you and like me.

To the last Pastor Pirate… we all raise a glass

A Father, and Brother, whose time has now passed.

Hidee Ho, Dumpy Oh, Tweedle Dum Tweedle Dee

This song is for someone that we didn’t see.

Being Small

How does a man make himself small?

Can he pass through a keyhole and stay 10 feet tall?

When he tumbles like Alice, down a rabbit hole of blame,

Should he eat condemnation and shrink into shame?

A keyhole his exit, but the locked truth will not turn

Eat me, Drink me, be humbled and learn.

What is he losing? What is the cost?

A portrait of power, now pummeled and lost.

His pride will be sifted, as he’s redeemed from the fall

To eat, drink and remember, a joy from being made small.

I'll keep it

Faith uses the past to shepherd us forward.

____________________________________________________________________________

I am keeping these half-burnt candles.

Wisdom-worn wicks,

Waiting in cake,

Remnants of Sichuan and Metairie.

The wax has waned,

A memory stained,

Faces full of sunsets and revelry.

Now I walk through the valley of the shadow of doubt.

“A table was set”, I will not forget

So I will keep these treasures and smile.

-B.Oaks

Psalm 77 gives an honest look at the struggle of remembering God’s provision in hardship. It’s a beautiful intersection of life’s questions and hope.

“I will cry out to God and call for help. I will cry out to God and he will pay attention to me.2 In my time of trouble I sought the Lord. I kept my hand raised in prayer throughout the night. I refused to be comforted.3 I said, “I will remember God while I groan; I will think about him while my strength leaves me.”4 You held my eyelids open; I was troubled and could not speak.5 I thought about the days of old, about ancient times.6 I said, “During the night I will remember the song I once sang; I will think very carefully.” I tried to make sense of what was happening.7 I asked, “Will the Lord reject me forever? Will he never again show me his favor?8 Has his loyal love disappeared forever? Has his promise failed forever?9 Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has his anger stifled his compassion?” 10 Then I said, “I am sickened by the thought that the Most High might become inactive.11 I will remember the works of the Lord. Yes, I will remember the amazing things you did long ago.12 I will think about all you have done; I will reflect upon your deeds.”13  O God, your deeds are extraordinary. What god can compare to our great God?14 You are the God who does amazing things; you have revealed your strength among the nations.15 You delivered your people by your strength— the children of Jacob and Joseph. 16 The waters saw you, O God, the waters saw you and trembled. Yes, the depths of the sea shook with fear.17 The clouds poured down rain; the skies thundered. Yes, your arrows flashed about.18 Your thunderous voice was heard in the wind; the lightning bolts lit up the world. The earth trembled and shook.19 You walked through the sea; you passed through the surging waters, but left no footprints.20 You led your people like a flock of sheep, by the hand of Moses and Aaron”
— Psalm 77

Invisible Hospitality

The true test of hospitality comes when another’s comfort rises at our expense and the exchange is unseen. There is value in welcoming a friend, there is honor suffering for another. But to lose in secret for another’s gain, then we flourish.

When will we beg at midnight?

When should wisdom unlock the door?

When does justice collect its memories?

When mercy is more.


When hospitality swims shallow, we see merriment.

When hospitality runs deep, we feel loss.

When hospitality is invisible, there is love.

When mercy is more.


Oh, the intangible brilliance of veiled charity.

libations of kindness without leverage.

When mercy is more…

Then we know who hospitality is for.

-B.Oaks

“5-6 Then he said, “Imagine what would happen if you went to a friend in the middle of the night and said, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread. An old friend traveling through just showed up, and I don’t have a thing on hand.’

7 “The friend answers from his bed, ‘Don’t bother me. The door’s locked; my children are all down for the night; I can’t get up to give you anything.’

8 “But let me tell you, even if he won’t get up because he’s a friend, if you stand your ground, knocking and waking all the neighbors, he’ll finally get up and get you whatever you need.

9 “Here’s what I’m saying:

Ask and you’ll get;
Seek and you’ll find;
Knock and the door will open.

10-13 “Don’t bargain with God. Be direct. Ask for what you need.”
— Luke 11 5-13 The Message


Work - Part 2

Do I have to be alone to find rest?

Our default is to think of “Rest” in terms of escape. While there is value to stepping away, (Jesus did it) reducing “Rest” to isolation misses the bigger story of the Gospel. In the coming Kingdom “Rest” is not a nap and its certainly not isolation. The true “Rest” we long for will be experienced in community and is so much more than cessation.

This is counter intuitive. So maybe it’s easier to think in terms of peace. Peace is more than avoiding activity or people. It is experiencing order over chaos.

Though I walk in death, you are with me, you prepare a table for me. - Psalm 23

Think of a well-oiled machine, an orchestra, a garden or assembly line. These systems have an order that is beautiful and a peace that is contagious. Consider how nature reflects this to a thirty soul.

Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days, inciting at once to work and rest! Days in whose light everything seems equally divine, opening a thousand windows to show us God. - John Muir

Is this window to rest proprietary to nature? Can work bring peace?

There is no tension between creativity and peace. No tension between creativity and work.
So then why does work seem in opposition to peace?

Our sin is to blame. It promised but destroyed peace. Everything, including work has been stained.

Part of the problem is that we treat work like an end unto itself. But our labors will never be sufficient to swallow the complexities wrought by sin. This is beyond our reach. (Which btw is part of the problem. AKA fancying ourselves too much)

Academia acknowledges the limits of our endeavors in a thing called Ashby’s Law.

Ashby’s Law, also known as the Law of Requisite Variety, examines complex systems saying: For a system to be at peace, it must be able to handle the same level of complexity found in its surroundings. A system will fail if its capacity does not match or exceed its context. The more complex the context, the greater capacity a system must have.

OK that will break your brain. What does it mean here?

Answer: The world is enormously complicated and needs suitable solutions. No one person or team is enough. This means sustainable rest will never come from work, church, finances or even family. Even religion cannot absorb the problems of the universe. Only the grand narrative of the Gospel can absorb all the variabilities of life (including your story). This is extremely liberating. If God is really big enough, then we need not fear complex problems, obscure solutions or even failure.

But God, through the amazing work of the cross, is making all things new.

Sin is not the end of the story. The cross swallows chaos and restores peace to broken systems. It makes straight the crooked. We all (me, you and everyone) introduce trauma into our systems. Constantly causing a cumflumple. Weeds in the garden, wrenches in a machine, sour untuned instruments.

And this is an amazing grace, God commissions broken people as ambassadors of rest. Whether student, teacher, barista or entrepreneur, we are peace givers in all the places we live work and play.

So… Maybe work stinks right now. But escape is not the solution. Neither is the perfect job. The rest your heart long for comes from Christ. And you have the privilege of living from that rest in the midst of the stink.

I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”. - John 16:33

God Knows

Grace is Enough

Knowing the one who knows.

The veil and marred held powerless.

Proclaiming peace in an economy of condemnation.

A truth discovered in unrequested places.

But I belong to Royalty. I am well acquainted with the King of Kings. I am better known and better understood among the great family above than I am on earth - Amanda Smith


For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. - 1 Corinthians 13:12-13

The Poet

"God was a maker, which is what the word 'poet' means. When God spoke, a poem was created and there was a pattern, meter, symmetry, rhythm, and a pure sense of delight. If God was a poet, that means we are poems."

— Rev. Dr. Luke A. Powery

After Holy Pond

The story below is a sequel to Holy Pond. Its ending is like much of Scripture, pondering mercy in an unresolved space. Which is a unique mercy unto itself. I often forget this.

Holy Pond is well, I can tell. She was never mine from the start.

The scattered remnants of birthdays and barns will be hard to collect.

I will miss the pier. The sound of flips, trips and “I got a bite”.

This morning I sip Jack, not coffee, as the sun warms the dew. If that sounds like heresy then I suggest you watch the morning news.

This chair, with the arm torn off, has a stinging tattered edge. Its mine for now. If I sit shifted, I have elbow space to write about a mercy. But something about this edge reminds me of beauty.

I feel guilty for wondering what others lost.

So I will sit here a little longer, and wonder about these geese and how they managed the wind?

- B.Oaks

I challenge you to release your previous thoughts about Jonah. Instead contrast Jonah from just before chapter 1 verse 1 with the context immediately after chapter 4:11. The story of Jonah is a complex one with many applications. It ends with an unresolved strange look at Life, Grace and cattle. I put this here to give us all license to stop trying to put a bow on circumstances.

“7 But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the plant, so that it withered. 8 When the sun rose, God appointed a scorching east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint. And he asked that he might die and said, “It is better for me to die than to live.” 9 But God said to Jonah, “Do you do well to be angry for the plant?” And he said, “Yes, I do well to be angry, angry enough to die.” 10 And the Lord said, “You pity the plant, for which you did not labor, nor did you make it grow, which came into being in a night and perished in a night. 11 And should not I pity Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than 120,000 persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also much cattle?””
— Jonah 4:7-11

Repentanc-ing

I have longed with all my heart to sit in the dining car of the northwest rail and see the rising sun’s warmth on the Canadian Rockies. 

And here, as the train sifts the morning clouds, with hot coffee, fresh orange scones, jam and linen napkins, there is a familiar smell. An unfriendly odor. So my gaze slides from the window to an invisible creature seated my opposite in a miserable chair.

It is too late.
A mortal wound and the bite is fresh. My blood now runs through the veins of a thief. A life stolen to satisfy guilt. 

Did the other passengers see? Do they care? Did they not smell the malice? Do they drink coffee as I die alone?

Wither does the train now move? Whither do I move? Away the sun sifts cold and black. I wish to dash but drift as death drips beyond directions into nothingness. 

An eye for an eye! With the last reserves of strength my left hand grasps a silver fork as my right hand prepares the trap. Vengeance will fuel my final reach. I smirk, knowing the creature will soon join my tomb.

I dash upon the creature's chair and press the weapon home. Again and Again. Fool foul upon my brow! Another successful assassination.

Terror. Ironic shattered terror.

My fingers have not gripped flesh, but the stem of a looking glass. My reflection fractured and the wound is mine. Everything: the scones, butter, jam and even this stupid mirror are now covered with my bloody ignorance. 

If I hurry I can clean this mess before the creature sees. Out dam spot! Who will wash me clean of guilt and shame? Who can absolve me of these stains?

And worse, much much worse, I have squandered the sunrise.

Burdened with regret I hang my head and cry.

Then the creature says softly: “It’s alright, we will try again tomorrow. Can I serve you some fresh scones and jam?”

Work - part 1

Some thoughts on living out Micah 6:8

Gospel Fluency

leads to: Gospel Curiosity

leads to: Gospel Innovation

leads to: Gospel Centered Communities

I’m thinking about how fluency is manifested. Then the importance of curiosity in our endeavors. Right now, as I sit by this fire I think this is a path for the Kingdom of God in my own life.


Sweet Creative Mind

I wrote this over 12 years ago. Still true today.

The painting is from 2014. Wood board. 36x36 with 2.5 inch relief

We tucked in the kids and headed to the kitchen. It was that time of day when spouses finish chores and debrief the ebb and flow of life. Tonight the dishes were piled a bit higher because the ladies of the house had made cupcakes, frosted cookies and marshmallow strawberry treats. This is ironic because our family does not eat many sweets. In fact, there is not one sweet treat made in our home which does not end up at our church or neighbors house.

So there we were, cleaning dishes and chatting about parenting, friends, work and what not. Then came the blind side. "I sure love cooking, but these dishes gotta go" It took a moment to sink in before I realized what she said. The girl who claims she can't draw stick figures had just confessed she was an artist.

The curtain had been pulled back. It was a glimpse into the sweet creative mind. The mind that delights in creating. In my bride I saw a reflection of God's image which takes tasteless things and turns them into beautiful objects, sweet and delightful.

Many people think artist are creative. This is only part true. Real creativity is rooted in love. God is love and He is the ultimate artist. Every time we create (songs, cupcakes, friendships, houses, paintings, jet planes, heart valves etc..) we reflect the Father's image. When creating is born from love you have art. Life is a grand canvas, and he has given us a sweet creative mind.



Ephesians 2:10 
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.