This is a lot of stuff all into one piece of writing. Been thinking about life’s struggles and how we overlook difficulty in coming to Jesus. But in twenty years of church I realize that actually doing the word is harder then just showing up. What do you think about that?

That time, in the car seat again,
In the sleep again, in the fog again,
In the wake of the eyes, in the subtle
Why, in that asking for sugar, in the
Asking for caffeine, in the waking from
The dead to life, who has it, who has it
These days? A life in the storm, in the
Struggle, in the needle of the argument,
In the heat of the sacrament, who has
Sacrificed? Who has lived more than
Twice, more than thrice fold struggle,
Thrice fold bubble to be popped, who
Has been left, abandoned, disappointed,
Pressed, crushed, hushed, misunderstood
In front of the crowds, he escaped it, left
Through them, fled from them, lived alive,
Until death was to be won, to be overcome,
Who has it, has that thing called strategy,
Called calligraphy, can sign off on struggle,
Can sign off on this hospital bill, owe it,
We took you, sought you, emergency rinsed
You, strapped you in, stuck the needle in—
In your head the man got, inside your brain,
Took the pain, only for a moment, then the
World owned it, owned all of me, took it out
Of me, she and he never looked the same,
Family pain, family ties, family to blame,
Genetic impulses, dad left it, left it in the
Sixties, never came back the same—war
Took most of them, most of em, took all
My friends, all my friends parents, all
My struggles have been passed down,
Passed along, shall my sour teeth stay
Sour forever? Shall I relish in this endeavor,
Life isn’t fair, isn’t peace, is mostly war,
Is full of fight and a little bit of love,
At least its not a suddenly, but a sweet
And sour always—it’s the driveway,
The edge of it, the kedge in the sea,
The anchor of me and you, the fireworks,
That hot and sunny night, the pain and
The plight of the homeless around me,
The bottles, the bags, the rags, the tags
They strap onto themselves, carts full,
Heart dull, my mind full of bull and hypocrisy,
Full of mediocrity, vomit he says for the half
Hearted man, half hearted women,
All to say, its not what I have expected,
The Gospel resurrected—but someone,
Some of us, we have to live what we hear
Or else we have nothing to give, nothing
To say, nothing to change those who
Listen, and many do, they listen but they
Don’t see it in us—be the light, be the love,
Be the change, be the rearrange, I am no
Good sitting and listening, I am more good
Living and doing, so..lets..do the truth..that
Is proof