Not Mine

Not Mine

17 agosto de 2008

My Time
Is not my own.
My Body
Is not my own.
My Dreams
Are not my own.
My Plans
Are not my own.
My Eyes are not mine—
The eyes that beckon…
The indigenous eyes
The Tico eyes
The Mexican eyes
The American eyes
Mis américas...not mine.

These countries
These continents
These many rainy nights
Starry nights
Restless nights
In foreign lands
Not mine.
Not mine—Not mine.
I long for a Place.
And I realize the place
Is You.
The Place is resurrection
From dead dreams.
The Place is Your Life
Brillando in these eyes.

My Love
Is not my own.
My Music
Is not my own.
My Hope
Is not my own—

But it IS!
They Are!

There is this dichotomous friendship/
Servanthood intrinsic
In the life of every believer.

So Teach me what to Hope.
Teach me what to Dream.
Teach me what to Love.

You say:
Act Justly
Love Mercy
Walk Humbly with your God.
punto.

Nómada.
Nómada con corazón de Jesús
Yendo de casa en casa.

What do I pray, now?
“Lord, bring me another Nomad?”
or do I pray,
“Lord, make me a settler?”
Or,
Do I wait for the morning,
Seek You in Your Place,
And let You teach me to pray?