One Who Can’t or Won’t

(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)



In my crawl through Luke, I’m to chapter fifteen. There are several celebrations in this section—and some people who don’t care to celebrate.

This morning, I’m reminded of family devotions at the Hepp house in Puebla. Before heading off to the seminary to teach, Dad would lead us in considering a portion of the Bible. We took turns reading. Then Dad would often say, “Now tell us what you just read in your own words.” If it was my turn, I’d just as often sass, “Why should I do that, given that it’s already in the best possible words?!”

Now, I’m grown up. I’m forever trying to put things in my own words, often in the form of poetry. Much of what I hear, read, or experience gets compressed and squeezed through the piping cone of my poetic mind. I’m like a cake decorator in training, looking for celebrations, looking for something to squeeze decoratively into my own words.

Dad wins.

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