Sheep's Head Mountain: for my Montana Family

Sheep's Head Mountain 

Sheep's Head Mountain stood like
a suspicious giant behind
Ronan, Montana.
A mere speck of  a city
yet large as a bored child's sigh,
still freshly weird
to a six year old big city girl.
Buried deep within the mountain's shadow
was grandpa's house.
         Grandpa are there really bears here?
         That's right little girl. Seen'em myself.
Flower fields by a crystalline stream
that called to you
on a hot day to play
like a bright mermaid.
Real cows, huge and wonderful
grazing near apple trees.
Jumping into freshly stacked hay,
with Montana cousins,
exotic with Northwest accents
and Montana sun in their hair.
Grandpa held the feline strays
with infinitely patient hands.
Those same hands,
gnarled and sun-stained,
carefully tied the line for fly fishing
or the bright blue ribbon
in his granddaughter's hair.
        Grandpa they're my ponytails, not puppy dog ears.
        OK, little girl. Wanna learn to catch trout?
He was a cheerful inquisitive bird
with his bright eyes and small smiles.
He sent fall leaves from Montana trees.
Precious artifacts from another world.
They were cherished
on a shelf lit by Texas Sun.
Fall leaf rainbows.
Mountain shadow smiles.

Dance Floor

For God in all his fullness was pleased to live in Christ, and through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of Christ’s blood on the cross. This includes you who were once far away from God. You were his enemies separated from him by your evil thoughts and actions. Yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ in his physical body. As a result, he has brought you into his own presence, and you are holy and blameless as you stand before him without a single fault. Col 1:19-22

What came to my mind after reading these verses were certain songs… YMCA, Macarena, Cha-Cha Slide (everybody clap your hands), Thriller. You know the ones. If you’ve been at an elementary or middle school dance, wedding, bar mitzvah, or women’s’ retreat any time recently you’ve heard these songs. And something magical (stay with me here) seems to happen when these songs come on.  People come to the middle to dance. You see friends pulling friends in, kids daring each other to move, wives dragging in husbands, all are invited in.  Some times with great enthusiasm (yours truly), with great athleticism (not yours truly), or with a rather sheepish quiet excitement they come. And they dance. And they laugh. And they smile. And they are together in the middle.  Whether or not they can dance, or they have rhythm, or they even know all the words or can do all the movements they come, because none of those things really matter because its about the music and being together again in the middle.

To me, these verses are an invitation to come back, recognition that things are different now.

You were his enemies, separated from him by your evil thoughts and actions.

At some point, we are all on the outside. We try to dance alone on the outside even as the harsh unnatural rhythms of our sins, of our own nature become misstep after painful misstep. We ignore the True Song written in our hearts that was there before there was sin, before there was an outside, when we were still there in the middle of the Dance of Father Son Holy Spirit.  But we ignore the True Song thinking that we alone are the ones who make the music or that this deep rhythm of our heart, of God’s heart, could never be truly for us.

Yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ in his physical body...he has brought you into his presence…

But now we hear this new music bringing us back to the dance floor.  We are called back through Christ and perfected in His Song. There is an open dance card and a space on the floor.

You are holy and blameless as you stand before him with out a single fault.

I am no longer alone. I am no longer on the outside. I am called back by the Spirit into the waiting arms of the Son, to dance before the Father, to dance with my sisters, to dance as One.

Christmas in July or August. Shepherd Song

Images of Jesus birth are often full of angel chorus in the night sky witnessed by some shepherds. A lovely bucolic scene perfect for the flannel graph. My thought reading this passage is always about what kind of men the shepherds were.

Outside at night in the cold and rain. Dirty with the smells of animals and camp fires. Watching for the predators...wolf, lion, fellow man...anyone that could harm their livelihood the rather stupid sheep. These were hard men, not easily shaken.

Yet their first response was not  " Hey, Bud did you see that?" but worship,belief, evangelism. Having witnessed the Angels' Song of Truth , that The LORD, the one true GOD had come down to them, for them, to bring them back like some lost sheep; the shepherds ran to spread the Gospel.

Praying you can witness truth like that. And that you will RUN to spread the song.

The Shepherd’s Song : Luke 2:8-20

The night was cold. No moon, no stars.

Only inky clouds giving nothing

but the promise of rain.

The sheep huddled together –

Their low breathy cries

Hovered above them like a strange mist.

My older brother called the flock,

accounting for each one.

He did the night watch with me, the youngest.

He always went after the lost ones

Bringing them back triumphantly around his shoulders.

The counting done,

I lay down on the hard packed earth,

staring a the black sky

wondering when the rain would come,

if it could wash away the sweat and stink

of sheep that stained my hands.

Dark sky, black night,

suddenly broken

filled with LIGHT.

Light! More than the stars and the moon,

more than the Sun.

Light. More than a thousand suns.

Light.

It pushed into my eyes.

Light.

It pushed me to my knees,

my face in the dirt.

Everywhere, beautiful

Terrible Light.

No sound save my brother’s fearful breathing.

Then a Voice.

A Voice of wind in valleys

And water crashing on rocks.

A Voice that held me

to the ground and pierced my bones.

Do not be afraid!

I bring you GOOD NEWS

Of Great Joy!

The Voice spoke of a child, a Savior.

Then a thousand voices

filled the night.

They sang of

Battle and Victory.

They sang of

Loss and Triumph.

They sang of

Glory and Love.

Glory to God in The Highest!

The quiet returned.

The crickets picked up their night song.

A mother ewe bleated questioningly.

Her lamb quickly answered.

My brother, oldest, strongest, fearless…

was weeping,

His face streaked with mud.

“We were lost and now found.

Our King has found us.

A shepherd’s king.

The Shepherd King.

Let us go and find HIM.

Let us go

And Sing.”

Lilly Monson 11/18/2010

Falling Stars- What summer should be.

With about 5 minutes of trolling on pinterest, facebook, etc you can find literal libraries worth of information on what to do with your kids during summer, how to do things with your kids during summer, why you should organize/teach/inspire/make more of your kids during summer.

 I know the majority of this information is meant to give inspiration and encouragement to parents but most of the time ( at least for me ) it is laced with a fair helping of guilt.  I am not saying we should not seize "teachable moments" ( what a silly term-- your actions are constantly teaching from the food you put in your mouth to the actions you take or don't take ) or that we , as parents shouldn't erect healthy boundaries.

But sometimes its good for them to be bored and outside with friends, sometimes its good for them to work hard at something that has no purpose other than imagination-- they aren't going to show it to you for approval or show it off for comparison.

I wrote this poem a long time ago remembering a friend. I hope you enjoy it.

Falling Stars

Rebecca had long black braids

her momma fixed

every summer morning

before she came over.

She was nine, me seven.

Her quick smile rescued me

from older brothers and TV boredom.

We crashed through driveways,

our bicycles

becoming rocket ships.

The wind whipped our hair

into victory flags

and tore our laughter

into cries of triumph.

Conquistadors,

in bright hand-me-downs

we claimed her backyard swing set

in the name of Spain.

We hunted the Great White Lion,

My slow-footed lazy cat,

Through the jungle of Mom’s tomato garden.

We spent the night outside

In Dad’s old green tent,

Reveling in the sweet musty smell

Of old canvas mixed with the summer night.

We made faces out of the moon,

Then went outside,

Spinning ourselves around holding hands

Until we threw ourselves

On the warm wet grass.

Laughing we looked up

And fell into the stars.