The Eye Gate

Purging images from the mind strikes me as an impossibility, especially strong, vivid ones. The one below was a moment I tried to capture from the time Jacob underwent his bone marrow transplant. I had scribbled it down on a scrap of paper and recently found it tucked in with some other writings. I read this again for the first time in probably a decade the other night. I can still see that moment even now.

The crystal drop spilled from the bottom of his eye. Having found that exit, it slowly eased down his cheek like a piece of sleet on a warm window pane --- only not dissolving clean away like sleet is wont to do. The tear’s trail could be traced back to the liquid, pain-filled eyes. The drop simply stopped at the down slope of his cheek and stood. It wasn’t wiped away; it just melted into the soft pores off his skin marking the end of the damp trail. He had closed his eyes now and thus squeezed out the last bit of moisture before falling back into sleep. That drop too hurried down the damp trail but couldn’t succeed in dashing off his cheek. It too melted away at the trails end.

Those crystal drops just stick in my mind. Their movement seemed to communicate the course Jacob’s pain had taken. No rapid attack--- but a slow assault finally melting away to a faint reminder.

Unlike so many images that crowd my mind, this one came to the Eye Gate unbidden. And like so many images in my mind it will never go away. Not that I want it to go. It has become sacred.

But, Guard the eye gate. What enters by that way seldom leaves. 

The Gift

I wrote this for my wife for our tenth wedding anniversary. Upon further consideration and almost another 15 years of unwrapping, I still consider her the greatest gift with whom the Lord has blessed me , for through her have come all the best things in my life. A marriage is not all RC cola and moon pies. We have weathered some heart breaking times that have strained our marriage to the breaking point, yet the Lord  has been gracious.

The Gift

Ten years now I’ve had this gift

I pledged to have and to hold.

Its wrapping is a complex weave

With facets manifold.

This gift in not yet opened,

Nor can it fully be.

For years have passed and layers plumbed

Yet layers new to me

Have come to light through trials and fright

And shared anxiety.

Yes, layers more are underneath,

The ones time pulls away.

New shades and colors, lines and shapes,

For yet, another day.

My gift, though still concealed

And in its fullness yet unknown,

Has made my life a richer place

By the layers it has shown.

As time slowly pulls away

The layers of my prize,

I understand its beauty

And where it truly lies.

It lies not in the wrapping,

Though fearfully and wonderfully wrought,

But in the inner sanctum,

The place where Christ was brought.

For it was Christ who made this gift.

‘Twas fashioned just for me.

This gift I love and speak of

Is the wife Christ gave to me.