This mountain I climb,
does it feel my tiny, astonished footfalls?

This river I wade in, does it notice
what of me it carries to the sea?

The stars, they don’t have any idea, do they,
of my admiration?

The bee working the blossoms
doesn’t suspect, does it, my gaze akin to worship?

And you, are you aware of the Mighty One
stooping to adore you?

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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Flying across the country
in our little enclosed world
of seat backs and tray tables
I see all these little worlds down there,
the little farms, the towns,
the tiny vast sprawling cities,
and each is a world,
and each is a world of worlds.
In one there is joy, another labor,
someone searching here and resting there,
joking or weeping or dying or rearranging a drawer.

My family gathers, all ten of us,
a world of worlds, the ones we carry around with us,
meeting and overlapping and flowing into
and out of one another.

Sleeping, I am a world of worlds,
my past, my hopes, all there,
my brain dreaming a world,
the mites on my face in their world,
the microbes in my gut in theirs,
my knees whose world is not like my forehead’s,
all in the one world of me.

When you meet someone
there is no travel guide
to all the worlds they come from,
all the worlds they see,
all the worlds they are.
Only the reminder that
we are always learning a new place,
and that there is only one world,
all of us part of it,
little cells in a great living being.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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I’m going on vacation for a couple weeks.

To vacate – to leave, give up or relinquish,
such as a place or an office.
To evacuate.
To lose in order to find.
I’ll vacate the premises;
I’ll not be writing.

To become vacant.
To create a vacuum.
To go on vacation
I’ll empty my mind.
I’ll make an empty space.
I’ll make room in my life.

(Those who stuff their lives full
have no room for anything;
those who empty their lives
have everything.)

I’ll go on vacation
(though not with a vacant expression)
empty-handed,
with nothing to show for my life
but itself

and return—amazing!—
full of life.


See you in September.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           She said, “Yes, Lord,
           yet even the dogs eat the crumbs
           that fall from their masters’ table.”
                           —Matthew 15.27

You will be told you’re not worthy.
There will be heavy theology behind it.
It will be untrue, but seemingly irrefutable.

But a voice in you knows.
A Wisdom knows otherwise.
Knows you belong at the table.

She pleads for your wholeness.
She doesn’t back down.
She will confront the Almighty.

She’s uncredentialed.
Speaks with an accent.
Hides in out of the way places.

Find her.
Let her speak.
The Divine listens to her.

She is, in fact, divine,
the mother of your soul,
securing your life.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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You hardly notice do you
the little sprite
who comes along behind you
erasing everything
all your failures
all the complicating little details
all your successes—
       (things that something in you
       works so hard to remember)—

rubbing them out with a silent little eraser
until there’s nothing
but this moment

and a great, deep affection
coming from somewhere unseen
a living breathing cherishment
holding you

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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          When some Midianite traders passed by,
         Joseph’s brothers drew him up, lifting him out of the pit,
         and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver.
                  —Genesis 37.28

Frost is mostly right that home is where,
when you have to go there, they have to take you.
Mostly. But what would Hagar say? Or Joseph?
Biblical families aren’t havens of belonging,
places of safety or unconditional acceptance.
Think of them. Every one. They struggle to be decent.
I can’t break it to you easy:
Loving or not, family is where your shit comes from.
Where your problems start. Where conflict is inevitable.
Where we treat loved ones as we would never treat strangers.
Home is where monsters live under our beds, and in our closets,
and maybe in our parents’ room.
The monster is who we are supposed to be, expected to be,
made to be. It swallows us.
Sooner or later we have to come home and reckon with family.
It’s the final frontier: the deepest wounds, the greatest fears,
the heaviest failures, the sneakiest neuroses
we have to wrestle with. Jacob and his angel.
Face to face or elsewhere, we have to go back into that house
and work things out. Engage in loving conflict.
Accept without yielding. Take what’s true and flush the rest.
Forgive them, and ourselves. Honor the child of us,
the one who protected and sustained us—
and thank that child, and say goodbye. Let them stay there
while we move on. It’s how we get free.
The Bible is right: family is where you work your stuff out.
I pray for your courage to go there.
I pray that, alive or dead, they will help you.
But remember nothing depends on them. It’s your work.
Do it, and even to those who sold you into slavery
you will be ready to act with grace and honor and generosity.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           He became frightened,
           and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Boss, save me!”
           Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him.
                           —Matthew 14.30-31


On the sea within me
there is one who cries out
and one who responds.

Within me, one who commands
and one who asks to be commanded.

One who panics in the chaos
and, yes, within me, one who is steady.

One who is terrified at the waves
and one who finds footing there.

One clings to the known
and one strides in mystery.

They reach out to each other
on the beautiful stormy sea within me.

As long as they hold onto each other
I do not sink.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           Peter got out of the boat,
                started walking on the water,
                       and came toward Jesus.
                                 —Matthew 14.29

Huge writhing sea
       tiny scared boat
              all you have to hang onto

You sense something
       Someone
              in the waves, or on them

Coming halfway to you
       beckoning you
              out of the safeboat

into the chaos
       dark swirling deep
              moving undulating errantly

(and beneath the green black water
           a vast stillness
                      a great dark emptiness)

but here disruption the pitch and heave
       no footing no handhold
              only the voice

with you a presence
       more solid
              than the waves

that calls you
        reaches out to you
                 holds you

Forever now
       everything you do
                is reaching for that voice

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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           “Boss, if it is you,
           command me to come to you on the water.”
                           —Matthew 14.28


You know you’re following the real Jesus,
not something made up,
if he calls you so strongly
that it’s actually you who’s doing the calling,
calling you out of where you are,
out of what’s familiar,
out of your safe place,
out of your religion.
All the way out,
with no wooden doctrine to steady you,
no religious flotation device.
No safety from ambiguity or mystery or doubt,
no protection from the impossible,
no certainty, just trust.
Just Jesus.
Just love that’s steady, untroubled,
even amid thrashing nightmares.
So you go.

Once you’ve been there
the boat is never the same.
Nor are you.

Passing by lepers,
you hear the voice again.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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Why nibble on the Bread of Life
when you can chow down?

Why only smell it, faintly,
when you can feast upon it,
every moment, every breath?

The Baker of the Universe
has made for you a special batch
of your favorite—
and it’s him!

All of his teaching, his healing, his love;
his passionate arms around you;
his insistent draw into the deep,
to the other side, into this crazy
trust and delight and brokenheartedness,
his terrifying stagger toward the cross,
his complete collapse into resurrection—
this is no time for moderation,
for politely picking at the crust.
Take the whole thing. Both hands.

Here, eat it slowly.
Close your eyes.
Let it fill you.

What use are right beliefs
about bread?
This is the work of God,
that you savor the Bread
God has given you.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net