Methodist hymnal

Nov 01 2012

In some ways, lives are novels.
A new day, a new page. Chapters.
Stories with hardships and resolution.
But today I’m a Methodist hymnal;
the emotions recur like songs
that I turn to over and over.
Life is not a straight line
now it turns back and loops forward
but all within the confines of the book.

And the hymnal is pretty well organized
There’s a topical order to its musings.
I try to say the same about my own life;
Mostly I end up in the miscellaneous.
And when I apply a method to my life,
I see how far this aimless wandering
has taken me, for better and for worse
Not truly aimless (for I am not in control)
but without a sense of who controls.
Not acknowledging the method, or
acknowledging it and resenting it for existing
for not being mine.

for not being mine.

And now the future pounds at my door
and I can’t get there to open it yet
there are steps that have to happen
I’d rather drink whiskey, eat strawberries
and only think about the good that happens
after the little, methodical things I need
to make a life. I’d like to skip steps.
But things can only happen, or be made.
So I want to make, while acknowledging
that I am not the ultimate maker,
and I cannot just make things happen.
I can turn the screws as hard as I want
but that doesn’t make the thing go.

Yes, the method is not mine.
And accepting that is my new
method.

And songs I sing in the world,
audible, edible and otherwise
come from my Methodist hymnal.

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