Belief is motions of the heart stitched together into a home-made understanding

Look at your hands

There are lines so small

you can barely tell they’re there.

And sometimes our cracks

leak and burst and give us away.

But others they drizzle out

a glorious light from inside us.

Because I know we all

have glitter in our veins,

even if you can’t see it

when we walk into the sun.

I know we are all beloved

even if there are no arms around us.

I know that on night’s when we gaze up at the stars

and realize how huge everything besides us is,

that there is a Holy Elephant

whispering that, ‘size…doesn’t…matter…”

He is counting hairs on our head

as we argue the difference of

a trunk or a tail.

While we are searching for Jesus’

long-form birth certificate,

he is singing to us,

slow down, you crazy, crazy, child,

While we are flowing arguments

off our spitting lips,

He’s calling us

from an inter-galactic pay-phone,

‘come home, come home,’

But we are stubborn,

stubborn creatures.

And for every ounce of stubborn,

we are two times fragile.

And it is so unfortunate,

Because it’s the limbs that

just barely survive the storm

that are pruned back.

And so we are pruned.

I told you I believe in Jesus

because The Bible told me.

But that’s not true. 

I believe in Jesus because when

I was three-years-old I wandered

away from my Dad at the Wal-Mart

and a gay couple put my in a basket

and walked me around the entire store

until we found my family.

I believe in Jesus because a

pick-up truck full of men pulled over

onto the side of I-35 and taught me

how to change my first flat tire.

If I didn’t believe in Jesus,

I may calmly walk into the ocean,

and so I believe He calmly walked upon it.

I believe a lavender-scented ghost

follows you around everywhere,

whispering in your ear, “be nice,

be kind, be gentle, be loving,”

and you often blow raspberries

right in its face. 

I believe a cloud of invisible

smoke hugs you every time 

you have a bad day.

And that it is not a giant, white man

who tells it to do such things.

I believe it’s a giant pair of eyeglasses,

because it sees potential in everyone.

I believe it’s a victrola record player,

because it hears everything we pray.

I believe it’s ten-or ten billion-thumbs,

because it always says that it’s all alright.

I believe you die and your

relatives and childhood pets are waiting

for you in an airport lobby.

I believe you dance,

even though you are old.

I believe you sing, 

even though you are broken.

I believe you are embraced, 

even though you are flawed.

I believe all these things 

fall off of you like

clothes after tequila.

(or so I’m told) 

I believe in long talks

with The Creator,

and he just says,

‘you are done,

you have fought your fight,

you have run your race,

let us rest now.’

And a couch emerges from 

the clouds and you sit and watch

Boy Meets World re-runs together.

I believe the hurt stops.

I believe confusion settles. 

I believe that feeling small is permanent,

but that feeling alone is temporary.

I believe our logic leaves us to our own devices

and we find comfort we don’t understand. 

I believe our brain only takes us so far

and our heart picks up the slack from there. 

But most of all,

I believe that when you cry out,

someone up there hears you

and they want you to know

that they do



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