Personal Work 

                               I am beginning to write my life story
                               On blank sheets of paper
                               The one that I write everyday
                               Whether or not I pick up a pen
                               The days: pages
                               The nights: illustrations
                               My mouth: dialogue
                               The years: chapters

                               Characters come and go
                               The protagonist which is me
                               The antagonist which is me

                               Somedays I lose the plot
                               And flounder
                               I can't remember why I dreamed of what I now have
                               Joyless hours lay about
                               Like fish on the bank of a river
                               Gills no longer even heaving
                               And these are the pages I wish I could leave out
                               Pages where nothing much happens
                               Pages where I sabotage myself
                               With muddled thinking
                               And lack of will
                               And the pale pasty flowers of malaise
                               I paint all over my walls
                               With the paintbrush called
                               What if
                               If only
                               Instead of
                               What is

                               But every writer knows we have to write to find out
                               We have to write to discover what wants to happen
                               We have to write to know where the story needs to go
                               We have to write to learn why we are here
                               We have to write to find we are not alone

                               And a few days back I had an epiphany
                               I am not going to talk about my epiphany with anyone
                               Because I have a long list of failed epiphanies
                               That I talked about too soon

                               But in the meanwhile
                               Here are a few reasons why I might bother to get out of bed
                               I can work to serve my future children
                               If I should ever have any
                               Give them the gift of passion and persistence
                               In my own life's work
                               I can write to bring some heart and warmth to others
                               However few
                               I can strum music to make the world a little wider for my friends
                               I can fling handfuls of muddy joy at a whitewashed church
                               That all too often misses the point
                               And missed the point again
                               A church that would rather be white than alive
                               I can give back what I was given and let it be multiplied

                               I want to put on this threadbare tuxedo and serve
                               Is this not what any good film does
                               That makes us want to watch our own lives
                               And take care not to miss the good parts
                               Any song that makes us want to pull the car over to the side of the road
                               Any book that someone labored and poured over
                               That makes us weep and smile together
                               A painting that makes us breathe deeply
                               The air sweeter because of its existence
                               (Close your eyes and still see it)

                               These are all gifts that were ultimately the work of servants
                               Whether or not they knew what they were doing
                               They served a thirsty world a glass of water
                               The best they could offer
                               Surprising Jesus and even themselves

                               There is at times much dogged effort that goes into creating good things
                               But by mopping our brows with the backs of our hands
                               And continuing to run after something that we sometimes cannot name
                               We hope to see our love made physical
                               Find our feet have left the ground
                               And hello, we are suddenly being skyjacked by joy (are we not)
                               And it is fleeting

                               And by doing the least we could do
                               We occasionally find ourselves doing more than we knew how
                               Last first
                               Lost found
                               Unbound

                               Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
                               Roll your eyes:
                               Now it's your turn