Wind

photograph by Joel Clements










I cannot see the wind
(in a tangible way) with my eyes
no matter how long I stand and look
for it’s source, for it’s destination
(yet I know that it is there).

I see how it plays on the surface of the water
creating patterns, ripples, white caps, storms.
I feel it pulling at my hair, convincing loose strands from my ponytail
that tickle my face, get into my eyes.
I see it sway the Ponderosa as easily as the fields of grain
that move in waves before it’s breath.

And I think, how like the wind
to be so hard to pin down, yet everywhere
around, in, over, under, upon me.

I cannot see the wind
(in a tangible way) with my eyes
no matter how hoarse my voice for asking
how bruised my knees for bending
(yet I know that it is there)

I feel how it presses me, presents itself in people,
circumstances, undeserved kindnesses and grace.
I hear it in the melody of Chick-a-Dee
and child outside my open window.
I know it in my deep and silent places, my hurts,
my dreams, my unexpected realizations.

And I think, how like the wind
to be a thing of faith, unseen yet everywhere
around, in, over, under, upon me.

How like the wind.
How like you.

Lesley-Anne Evans
September 2009

Channel Swimmer

You stand on the edge
waves lapping at your ready feet.

In your gut emotions wage war
provoked by whispers of darkness, sharks
and endless miles of open water.

Yet, out there is the siren call… of land
and other less solid surfaces.

Just offshore, bobbing
in a liquid trail of moonlight
the support boat waits.

You raise your hand
tighten the strap of your goggles,
and step into the water.

Lesley-Anne Evans
29/07/2008

Things I saw while not looking…

A lone robin -- Spring’s ambassador --
hopping tentatively over the tired snow.

Redwing blackbirds calling in raucous warbles
from hidden perches in the frozen marsh.

Three tundra swans banking wide white circles
in the valley below us, on our way home from school.

The sun painting my kitchen a watery yellow
through fingerprinted winter windows.

Lesley-Anne Evans
02/03/2009

Palm Sunday Meditations

Meditations on Palm Sunday, 2008

Over 2000 years ago you rode into the city that would be the death of you. You rode on a donkey, and people flocked to see you and lay down palm leaves and their clothes on the road in front of you. They called out to you with shouts of excitement for who they, in their narrow minds, thought you were -- deliverer from the oppression of the Roman rule, catalyst for a new power, a new age, a warrior prophet - one whose words promised a better way.

“Hosannah in the highest,” they cried out in a euphoria that passed in waves throughout the crowd. Did they wonder why their future King rode on a donkey? Did they question your lack of weapons or armour? Did they wonder what action you would take in the capital, who you would see, what you would say? Or were they merely curious about this one whom they heard had raised the dead?

And your closest followers - what were they thinking? You had given them fair warning on several occasions yet did they really fully understand that your journey to Jerusalem would be a one way trip? As the crowds screamed, did the disciples glance at one another with a hint of pride to be counted as one of your friends? Or did they get caught up in the party atmosphere and miss the look of intent on your holy face?

What gripped Peter’s heart that day? A warriors heart, was he preparing for a fight? And Judas, where was his heart as he walked beside his comrades? Was Satan working on him even then? Did he feel discomfort, embarrassment at the spectacle his teacher was creating? Did he lag just slightly behind the rest, distancing himself from direct eye contact with you?

Who was in that cheering crowd? How many of those whom you had touched with your healing hands, had received your life-changing words where there watching, celebrating, feeling a renewed and overwhelming thankfulness mixed with disbelief at what you had done for them?

Did the man with the once withered hand lay his coat on the road in front of you? Did the bleeding woman, fully healed, weep for joy? Did the demon-possessed, now spirit filled one, sing songs of freedom that day?

And then you passed by, and they watched your figure grow smaller in the distance, the sounds of rejoicing fading with you. What happened to them then? As they returned to their homes, their vocations, their families, what occurred in the hearts of so many who, only a few days later, would be part of another crowd of people screaming, ‘Crucify him, crucify him.”?

And I see in that fickle crowd a snapshot of myself. My heart full of adoration one day then sidetracked the next, allowing circumstances to dictate my feelings and overrule my heart for you. My intentions for service, love, relationship, grand and strong, and then slowly becoming complacent. And I , like Judas perhaps, avert my eyes in embarrassment and shame for who I am, for my lack, for my defeat and I drift even further from you as I choose to look inward rather than into your eyes.

I see me in that crowd - euphoric in worship on Sunday then discouraged in my real-life by Tuesday. How many of us experience our faith like that? Striving, trying, desiring, hoping, but with no staying power?

Fall on God’s grace, you say! Let go and let God! Surrender! Yield! And my heart cries, “Yes”, while my head asks, “How often”? How often must I revisit this place of surrender, of repentance, of crying out to God to rescue me from my self? How often?

It’s getting late on this Palm Sunday and I realize the nature of time and the need to make the best of it. And my responsibility therefore lies in choosing how to spend my limited time… both today and for the rest of my life, choosing You over and over again.

So right now, I choose again to stay close to you, to do my best, to learn the sound of your voice and obey it, to love my husband and my children faithfully and well, and to learn what it means to love my enemies, and to serve you with the gifts you have given me.

And when I fall or grow tired, complacent and ashamed, I will choose to come to you again and again and again - to get a fresh look into your eyes - to fall on your mercy and grace - and to call out “Hosannah to my King”.