​Martin
By Kathy Fuller Guisewite
January 21, 2019
 
Oh, what would he tell us?
Oh, what would he say
to help us bring justice to
our land this day?
 
And what about kindness?
And what about peace?
Have we lost all possibility
of sweet release?
 
We’re gritting our teeth,
and we try to hang on,
but insanity reigns
as we march with our songs.
 
How can our nation
be so far from what’s real?
How can we conquer the
zealot’s fake zeal?
 
Is there any hope left
that we can still find
a way to the truth
that is loving and kind?
 
Can we live out his dream?
Can we learn to unite
as a humanity created
equal in the Maker’s sight?
 
Oh, what would he tell us?
Oh, what would he say
to help us bring justice to
our land this day?
 
Grow not weary
in pursuit of what’s pure.
Lean on God’s truth
to find what’s secure.
 
Stand steady for those
who’ve been pushed to the ground
whose beauty need not be lost
to the powers that abound.
 
Remember the words
pressed deep in your being.
Honor them and live them for
what’s shallow is fleeting.
 
What remains is his legacy,
his lessons, and the call
that humanity be kindred
to prevent the divided fall.
 
So today as we remember,
may our spirits rise anew
to do the work before us
as Martin urged we do.

The one day that he spoke of
may not be so far away
if we keep working for the dreams
day by day by day.

​My Grandma was walker.
No matter the season or weather,
she was called to get outside and walk…
for her body, her mind, and her spirit.
 
My Mom was and still is a walker.
In her working days, she walked there…
sometimes out of necessity,
sometimes for the exercise,
but most often (as a mother of three children
and a teacher of preschool children),
she walked as a measure of self-care and
self-preservation.
She, too, found new life in the fresh air,
in the bird songs, and the neighbor’s greetings.
When someone she loved was going through
a trying time,
her kind suggestion of taking a walk
would often wondrously help to ease the load.
 
My Grandma and my Mom walked
to the hospital
when my Mom went into labor with me.
It was late, on a cold December night
when walking together seemed the
most natural thing to do.
I guess you could say, that was our first
big walk together… three generations of
women finding strength and love under the stars
in the cold night air.
 
And this morning, on my winter walk
all these many years later,
I find we are still walking together.
My Grandmother is on the other side, but her essence
shines through with the morning sun.
My Mom now walks a bit slower and often with her
arm linked in mine or Dad’s,
but she still finds great release
in taking a walk where something can shift,
something can give way that frees her.
 
And I give thanks as I walk with my eyes
to the mountains
and my heart to the sky
that the walking wisdom of my Grandma
became my mother’s
so it could
become mine as well.
 
*********************************************************************
 
Walking Home from Oak-Head
By Mary Oliver
 
There is something
about the snow-laden sky
in winter
in the late afternoon
 
that brings to the heart elation
and the lovely meaninglessness
of time.
Whenever I get home - whenever -
 
somebody loves me there.
Meanwhile
I stand in the same dark peace
as any pine tree,
 
or wander on slowly
like the still unhurried wind,
waiting,
as for a gift,
 
for the snow to begin
which it does
at first casually,
then, irrepressibly.
 
Wherever else I live -
in music, in words,
in the fires of the heart,
I abide just as deeply
 
in this nameless, indivisible place,
this world,
which is falling apart now,
which is white and wild,
which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
our deepest prayers.
Don't worry, sooner or later I'll be home.
Red-cheeked from the roused wind,
 
I'll stand in the doorway
stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
my shoulders
covered with stars.