Resurrection
I’m a gonna rise up like my Savior.
I’m a gonna touch the sky from my knees.
I’m a gonna kiss the ground when knocked down
and sing when no one else believes.
I’m a gonna dance when the devil chases.
I’m a gonna love in the midst of hate.
I’m a gonna trust in a God of love, little children.
Doing it now… no need to wait.
I’m a gonna watch for the unexpected.
I’m a gonna wait for the seed to grow.
I’m a gonna keep on planting hope and healing
fueled by sorrows and the woe.
I’m a gonna laugh on Easter morning.
I’m a gonna roll those stones away.
I’m a gonna shout my hallelujahs
cause Jesus loves us every day.
I’m a gonna thank my holy Maker.
I’m a gonna serve my sisters well.
I’m a gonna reach out to my brothers,
and we’re gonna ring those freedom bells.
I’m a gonna rise up like my Savior.
I’m a gonna shine just like the sun.
I’m a gonna claim my resurrection
in this life and the one to come.
Kathy Fuller Guisewite
April 3, 2012
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************
Tell Me No
I will not cry.
I will not lose my footing.
The bluebirds flash their color, and the green shoots move slowly toward light.
They do not lose their vibrant hues on grey days.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I will not lose my story.
Ancient voices once thought to be silent,
continue to rise and sing and shout for what is just and good and beautiful.
We may bury the body, but never the soul.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I will not lose my joy.
The sun will set. The moon will rise. And dreams blaze trails
our waking hours cannot wait to roam.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I will not lose my essence.
Daffodils will smell as daffodils do, and little dogs will
wag their tails when they are happy.
We cannot lose what is holy.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I cannot be lost or forsaken.
The days grow long, the light hangs easy
and, like breath, goodness comes
enough for this day.
March 19, 2012
********************************************************************************************************************************
Sun-Warmed and Weary
I lie back into my porch chair
like a tired mother who
has nursed the needs of the world and
the wounds of the beloved for too many nights.
Now the sun covets my chest,
and I say,
“Come. Rest your warm head here.”
The heat of her wisdom soothes the sad weariness,
and all of the cold, harsh edges
sharpened by the wearing away of joy,
soften.
The heart is reminded to pump not
for mere sustenance,
but for passions and grace.
“Feed my sheep…”
but then
tilt your head back.
Push your heart forward.
Let replenishment offer its blessing.
Don’t bother asking,
“What’s next?”
Rather, offer the prayer that needs to be prayed
in this moment…
the prayer that hushes as sacred balm.
Like wildflowers on the altar of God,
rest is the soft scent of
today’s sweet sacrifice.
Kathy Fuller Guisewite
October 18, 2011
************************************************************************************************************************
I’m a gonna rise up like my Savior.
I’m a gonna touch the sky from my knees.
I’m a gonna kiss the ground when knocked down
and sing when no one else believes.
I’m a gonna dance when the devil chases.
I’m a gonna love in the midst of hate.
I’m a gonna trust in a God of love, little children.
Doing it now… no need to wait.
I’m a gonna watch for the unexpected.
I’m a gonna wait for the seed to grow.
I’m a gonna keep on planting hope and healing
fueled by sorrows and the woe.
I’m a gonna laugh on Easter morning.
I’m a gonna roll those stones away.
I’m a gonna shout my hallelujahs
cause Jesus loves us every day.
I’m a gonna thank my holy Maker.
I’m a gonna serve my sisters well.
I’m a gonna reach out to my brothers,
and we’re gonna ring those freedom bells.
I’m a gonna rise up like my Savior.
I’m a gonna shine just like the sun.
I’m a gonna claim my resurrection
in this life and the one to come.
Kathy Fuller Guisewite
April 3, 2012
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************
Tell Me No
I will not cry.
I will not lose my footing.
The bluebirds flash their color, and the green shoots move slowly toward light.
They do not lose their vibrant hues on grey days.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I will not lose my story.
Ancient voices once thought to be silent,
continue to rise and sing and shout for what is just and good and beautiful.
We may bury the body, but never the soul.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I will not lose my joy.
The sun will set. The moon will rise. And dreams blaze trails
our waking hours cannot wait to roam.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I will not lose my essence.
Daffodils will smell as daffodils do, and little dogs will
wag their tails when they are happy.
We cannot lose what is holy.
Tell me no.
I will not cry.
I cannot be lost or forsaken.
The days grow long, the light hangs easy
and, like breath, goodness comes
enough for this day.
March 19, 2012
********************************************************************************************************************************
Sun-Warmed and Weary
I lie back into my porch chair
like a tired mother who
has nursed the needs of the world and
the wounds of the beloved for too many nights.
Now the sun covets my chest,
and I say,
“Come. Rest your warm head here.”
The heat of her wisdom soothes the sad weariness,
and all of the cold, harsh edges
sharpened by the wearing away of joy,
soften.
The heart is reminded to pump not
for mere sustenance,
but for passions and grace.
“Feed my sheep…”
but then
tilt your head back.
Push your heart forward.
Let replenishment offer its blessing.
Don’t bother asking,
“What’s next?”
Rather, offer the prayer that needs to be prayed
in this moment…
the prayer that hushes as sacred balm.
Like wildflowers on the altar of God,
rest is the soft scent of
today’s sweet sacrifice.
Kathy Fuller Guisewite
October 18, 2011
************************************************************************************************************************
I wrote this on New Year's Day... so aware that I have found myself in a better space... while so many ache. I pray for openings, for faith, for strength to persevere... for all who seek and even more... for those who feel they cannot.
The Crow’s Cawing
The year’s end is counted down
flanked by celebrations of hope and happiness
all pulsing on the new horizon.
With bells and whistles and toasts of champagne,
the turning of the year is revered
for the change it evokes.
And yet
the crow cawing over pencil thin pines
knows no different.
He sees the world simply as it is
here in this moment.
There is no coloring of past days,
no future gazing
just a mere acceptance of what is here
in this flight
on this soggy grey day.
Last year,
some mourned,
some sought employment,
some grew ill.
And this year,
in the turning of a night to day
some will experience change
and some simply will remain in
the grips of sameness and pain.
Perhaps
it is the act of lifting
our own black wings,
stretching them wide enough
to notice the sheen
and the lapping of iridescent brilliance
that ignites
the mysterious illumination
toward acceptance and a hint of this
strange, unencumbered joy.
When nothing inside
beckons a celebration,
when sorrow still burdens the heart,
and pain remains the most present companion,
speak to these
of the common crow
and beauty so sacred
mere whispers attend.
The whistles have grown quiet.
Let the fainthearted
sing.
Kathy Fuller Guisewite
January 1, 2011
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
This is a December Haiku to carry as you wander and wonder. It comes on the heels of finally finding a space inside me to make peace with life as it is... trying and beautiful all at once. May you find such spaces and graces for your journey at this time of the year.
Made Ready
Finally, let go
like trees made ready for snow
open, waiting, free.
All works on this page are copyrighted by Kathy Fuller Guisewite unless otherwise noted.
The Crow’s Cawing
The year’s end is counted down
flanked by celebrations of hope and happiness
all pulsing on the new horizon.
With bells and whistles and toasts of champagne,
the turning of the year is revered
for the change it evokes.
And yet
the crow cawing over pencil thin pines
knows no different.
He sees the world simply as it is
here in this moment.
There is no coloring of past days,
no future gazing
just a mere acceptance of what is here
in this flight
on this soggy grey day.
Last year,
some mourned,
some sought employment,
some grew ill.
And this year,
in the turning of a night to day
some will experience change
and some simply will remain in
the grips of sameness and pain.
Perhaps
it is the act of lifting
our own black wings,
stretching them wide enough
to notice the sheen
and the lapping of iridescent brilliance
that ignites
the mysterious illumination
toward acceptance and a hint of this
strange, unencumbered joy.
When nothing inside
beckons a celebration,
when sorrow still burdens the heart,
and pain remains the most present companion,
speak to these
of the common crow
and beauty so sacred
mere whispers attend.
The whistles have grown quiet.
Let the fainthearted
sing.
Kathy Fuller Guisewite
January 1, 2011
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
This is a December Haiku to carry as you wander and wonder. It comes on the heels of finally finding a space inside me to make peace with life as it is... trying and beautiful all at once. May you find such spaces and graces for your journey at this time of the year.
Made Ready
Finally, let go
like trees made ready for snow
open, waiting, free.
All works on this page are copyrighted by Kathy Fuller Guisewite unless otherwise noted.
