in progress

God spoke to Moses from a the middle of a burning bush in the boondocks of Midian, I recall hopefully. Maybe he'll speak to me from Joan's space heater out here in rural Virginia - there's sorta a flame at the top

Joan and Cheryl, two ex-hippies sitting on a porch with the fading green hills of October darkening in front of them, concerned with the small prayers and problems of homemakers. God has not called everyone to bleed and suffer and go without sleep and food and flushing toilets; he has allowed some to sit in rocking chairs with dogs and cats and homemade gingerbread warm from the oven. Joan talks constantly, forcefully. She gestures and tosses her short, chic hairstyle for emphasis. She tells informative stories. Around her is the brick-a-brack of 50 years of traveling- bright Jamaican magnets on the fridge, Ethiopian butterfly art on the walls,a mix of Mediterranean and home-style country clutter. In a calm chaos she grinds her Brazilian coffee and warns me not to follow the wisdom of the world. "Put both feet in Truth, in Christ."

kneel down and listen to them pray
feel the warmth through the ceramic
of a mug bought halfway around the world
and wonder
if
a porch and a kitchen
a dog and three cats
two sons
and an introverted husband upstairs reading
is fulfilling the Great Commission.