ghosts

His teachings still haunt me, following my thoughts, questioning my actions, examining my motives. They poke and stare, murmuring to themselves, at times nodding, at time furrowing their brows. I can’t shake them, but neither can I always make out what they’re saying. Perhaps if these archaic ghosts became friends I wouldn’t feel my spine tingle every time they showed up.


~lg

summer camping 2

My tent is leaking. This always seems to happen on camping trips – Jasper or Judea, makes no difference. I can’t sleep, my stomach is growling too loudly. Wish I’d brought more food, but I ran out of trail mix at the Beatitudes. I didn’t think I’d stay so long, but I’ve never heard anything like this. I wonder if the Teacher sleeps much. He and some guys were still around the fire when I called it night. I think they were bringing out the guitars and smores. Well, it’s still a night and I’m still awake. Maybe it’s true what they say – no rest for the wicked. Might as well get up and check out the stars. Bare ground is even more uncomfortable when you’re awake. Wish I’d brought a therm-a-rest.


~lg

summer camping

I’ve been camping out on the sermon’s mount
With teachings as old as the hills
The preacher-man and his strange commands
Are enough to give me the chills

But the hungry hikers and washed out bikers
Are given a place at his fire
And to the pure-hearted grace is imparted
To behold what they desire


~lg