Uphill idealist

There is nothing better than a windy day. One that arrives, with almost, too-much-force. Disheveling hair. Opening the door of my soul. Stealing the sound of my laughter like a game of hide and seek. Whipping around my arms and legs. Holding space for me to ebb and flow – Like the seagull held secure in her head-first, wing-flapping, flight. Going somewhere and nowhere at the same time. This is a playful space to pull and press worry, hope, and wonder in and around me. Refreshing, drawing out, and channeling away,  everything that keeps me from flying. Copyright September 2020 T.L. Eastman

  1 2 3 4 What do we stand on a rock for 5 6 7 8 We stand for God’s love, don’t hesitate! We’ve been blessed with hearts bold and stout worthy strong. We, like Peter, have been called by love our whole lives long. To stand for love, justice and grace – Everywhere we go,  mercy all over the place. Wherever it is a rock you see That is the place for love to be This is the place for love to be You are the place for love to be Crying out with songs of praise Never-ending for all our days Lived, shared, generous, true. LOVE Wherever we go, God’s love is calling you … Stand. 1 2 3 4 What do we stand on a rock for 5 6 7 8 We stand for God’s love, don’t hesitate!

Rocks, lines, running, laughing - going somewhere bigger. Missed, overlooked. Determined, telling me something important. Refill with a silver ladle. Missed, overlooked. Salamander, tadpole, dragonfly, sparrow - alive because you are here. Refill with a silver ladle. Where the common people walk. Salamander, tadpole, dragonfly, sparrow - alive because you are here. Determined, telling me something important. Where the common people walk. Rocks, lines, running, laughing - going somewhere bigger. (French Pantoum) Copyright 2020, August - T. L. Eastman

We'd wake up early to drink hot, black coffee in the summer heat -   because you believe the heat of the coffee will help keep us cool as we...             walk to the garden,                           pull up carrots whole out of the earth                                                  and pick and eat concord grapes -                                                 ...

     Too late I opened the pages of a new to me book written by  an author I loved. I was in a hurry to get to the pages that  I  just  learned existed.                Too late. I rushed through the forward greedy to get to the main event. But the words cut me to the quick.                Too late. "Who's writing this? I know this voice." The tone, the hope, the wisdom  slowed me down to        savor            every               word.                Too late. I knew it was you. You write these words like they are just for me. You write your words so I hear your voice in my head.               Too late. The writer is/was  dear to me.             ...

  For a Prophet, empathy is a gift, that sometimes feels like a curse.   I was taught, or maybe assumed, that a prophet is: MALEANGRYSHAKINGFISTSGROWLING JUDGING what they see, as ugly.   But maybe a Prophet can: Smile. Paint. Listen, Write. Speak. Sing.  Be human AND connected to the Divine.   A Prophet with empathy: Comes to tiredness and tears, because they care.   A prophet without empathy: IS LIKE AN UNPLUGGED MICROPHONE. It should be saying something important…………………...............................But isn’t.   Being a Prophet is a curse, if empathy, is forgotten.   T.L. Eastman   Copyright  August 2020 Written in honor of poet   Lucille Clifton

It's still me.... These words tried to bridge the distance. But the gap was too wide. Too wide for that moment. Too wide for the confusion. Too wide to make it, past the rocks of fear. Too far a journey - past what is visible, into what can't be seen. For you, the distance too far to travel. I wish you could see it, but understand why you can't. For me, it's a path I walk everyday. For me, it's a labor of love. For me, it's action to grow, to learn, to be. It's still me. It is not your place to be. It is not your call to understand. It is not your work to do. It's mine. It's still me. Copyright July 2020 T.L. Eastman

There are words, probably as old as time that meander around the human mind. Wondering of meanings big and small that are scrawled on parchment papers, caves and cathedral walls. What is the purpose of this and that - and why does my heart go rat, ta, tat; when joy comes near and calls my name; these things of wonder are never the same. The call to other and unknown lands is eased when hope takes me by the hand. The answer of all, I cannot say - except that there always is a way. A way of wandering, that may be, but the way of adventure - is yet to be seen. "You don't know if you don't go", has echoed in my mind - making changes to my meter and my time. Going to the new does not excuse the known;  but confirms the real, the dear -  and who really is my home. The words as old as time still pace, dancing a tango that seems out of place. My wandering and wondering big and small has an answer, after all. No matter the journey, no matter the fall; my call...

Last Advent I wrote weekly poems to go along with my sermons and this year I will be using them for the traditional Advent candle wreath lighting - being read by church members. If you are interested in using these poems for your worship setting, please credit them to myself, Pastor Tara Lamont Eastman. Advent Blessings!                                            Advent Mural by Pastor Tara Lamont Eastman A Poem for the first week of Advent - HOPE Hope seems as light as a feather,  but sparks all good, deep things that are yet to come. Hope is a glimmer of light, in the darkest night.  Even in the midst of chaos, hope is new growth of a fig leaf or bud of the cactus plant;  growing slowly to remind us, that Jesus is nearby.  As the Solstice draws near, days grow darker and colder and a single candle of hope shines.  A si...

For All Saints Sunday, I shared the poem I wrote in honor of my older sister Heather, who passed away at the age of 15 due complications from a heart defect. After sharing this on Sunday morning, I've had people comment on this poem and how meaningful it was to them in the griefs they were coping with. It's my hope that the words will help you to recount and retell the stories of the loved ones that have passed on. That somehow, in grief, we can  move from silence into times of tearful but joyful conversation. For my sister, I desire that her life be remembered not for her illness, but for her gentleness – laughter – and love of God. As you read this poem written in Heather Lynn Rain's honor, think of the Saints whose stories need to be told. Share their stories... Yellow Leaf    This yellow leaf once was green with promise.  It was connected, nourished, and alive. Hints of the fall were all around: Crisp evenings, rushing winds, and shorter day...

Shepherd in the light of day, Share with us your whole heart. Loving people today - make us a new start. Jesus’ blessing, we carry – it’s a blessing we are called to share. Good Shepherd lead us all along the way, From each new beginning and in the midst of the fray. We are bound up in God’s presence – in the dark valley and fields of green. The Good Shepherd is guide us on high ground, low ground and all places in between. Shepherd in the light of day, Shepherd in the dark of night Share with us your “Good Shepherd” heart. Help us love people today – Jesus, make us a new start. Painting -  The Little Shepherdess  is a  painting  by  William-Adolphe Bouguereau  completed in 1889 Poem Copyright 2019 T.L. Eastman Based on 23rd Psalm

It may sound dramatic for one to say a poem can save a life. But, for me, I believe it to be true, because... In the aftermath of grief, a poem was there. In the celebration of new life, a poem was there. In the mists of confusion, a poem was there. In the waves of wonder, a poem was there. The lines might not have rhymed, but seldom a good poem does. Nevertheless, the poems held up a light to my darkness, gave me strength for what could be, and gave me room to dance - when no dancing was allowed. So welcome the drama, embrace the muse, put on those dancing shoes... this is poetry after all. Can a poem save a life? I'm writing. I'm breathing. I'm dreaming. A poem saved my life. Copyright December 2018 T.L. Eastman

The greatest of the four weeks of Advent into Christmas is here: love. With all the hope waking, peace-making and joy breaking, We need the glue of love to make this stick. Please stick. More than paper on packages with packing tape, But something that goes beyond the surface of things  And fills the darkest corners of us with lasting love. I don't want these gifts of hope, peace, joy and love to disappear like grandma's frosted sugar cookies. But if they had to be consumed, hope, peace, joy and love would empower us to live out actions …like the making of many snow angels; when we abandon everything else  and surrender to love that stays. Please stay love,  I don't want you to melt like snow drifts above 35 degrees.... be crumpled like old gift wrapping... or abandoned on the curb like a used Christmas tree. Christ’s light has grown. Five candles are lit. Illuminating  our way with hope, peace, joy and the greatest: Love. One candle for hope...

Just, Outrageous. You! Joy is no wallflower. She, yes she, is bold , sassy and a somewhat fearsome. Joy bursts into the room and won't stop grooving', till everyone is on the dance floor. Her name is short, but her actions are memorable; causing laughter to tears in only the best way. Joy is unstoppable. You can't ignore her and you must respect her. She is just. She is outrageous. She has one candle for each letter of her name. Joy will break through all barriers and bring her colorful wonder to you, and you, and you, and you, and Y O U... just, outrageous, you. JOY Copyright December 2018 Tara Lamont Eastman

Peace calls to... pause, embrace, act, contemplate, and exhale. Pause. Storms make me feel like running and hiding, when I'm frantic, can peace be present? Peace. Embrace. In conflicts and hurt that push people apart, is peace working to break the ice? Peace. Act. When anxiety freezes me in inaction, does peace give a warm nudge to move? Peace. Contemplate. When swirls of activity tempt me to do, be and see all things at once... will peace slow me down to savor each  beautiful      thing? Peace. Exhale. Filling of lungs can only be sweet, when exhale helps me let go of what is not longer of use. Will peace help me to release and fill my heart, mind, and lungs? Peace. Peace calls to...pause fear. Peace calls to...embrace a need for people. Peace calls to... act in life-giving ways. Peace calls to... contemplate beauty. Peace calls to... exhale  and trust the oxygen to keep breathing             ...

Like a foot that has fallen asleep, the process of "waking up" those toes isn't comfortable. Like the eyes that have grow accustomed to the cool darkness of a movie theater; there is much squinting and stumbling when reentering the light of day. Feeling and seeing are necessary to life. These senses help to keep us safe. But when we tamp them down... to save time....         to save energy.......                 to save face in relationships..... We aren't saving anything at all. In fact, we lose ourselves and walk in a stupor of presence minus engagement.......                       a warm body but a mind that meanders over old tapes and trappings..........                                             a life lived in relation to people, inste...

Image found at Doctors of the Church When I learned today was your day of remembrance, I took some time to learn more about your life. You were a teacher, preacher, and healer of divisions.You honored Mary, calling her the treasure and heart of God. While you longed for a quiet life of prayer and service in the Abby, God called you to use your gifts of communication to bridge the gaps for the church and communities that beckoned. You took your call to share good news seriously - but felt the pain of your words being twisted. That pain is said to be what ended your life too soon. If we were to sit down for a chat, I'd ask how you maintained balance; one foot in the church and the other in the world. While I might not be preaching to the masses like you; I understand what it's like to stand with each foot on different plots.  As a pastor today, you would probably be defined a community developer-redeveloper. You would be working with new and old systems. You would be...

For Alden and Gertrude on Memorial Day weekend 2018 Living in the “NOWS” was the only way they knew how: with gardens, chocolate chip cookies, flowers, baseball, dancing and accompanying dogs. Holding hands, encouraging hearts, living in the “NOWS” even when bending a brow. In sorrow, in joy, living “do not worry” was the tempo to each step,  and carries them to the dance we can’t see yet. Living the “NOWS” is the legacy they leave, beckoning us with sunshine, flying birds and warm breeze. Calling us to live our “NOWS” bound in the promise of God’s love - Now is our dance of love to lead.  NOW. Copyright 2018 T.L. Eastman

A little guy told me about a collision in gym class. "I crashed into -----, it was an accident. My lip was bleeding. I cried. But I got an ice pack - I'm fine now." Sometimes we bump heads. With foes as well as friends. Perhaps if we remember each noggin' is precious - we would't have so may hurts that are delayed in healing. All noggins bump. All noggins are precious. All noggins can heal. If only we give ice packs for each other, like preschoolers. Amen, Preschoolers, ice packs. Amen.

(Inspired by Psalm 23) Shepherd in the light of day, Share with us your whole heart. Loving people today - make us a new start. Jesus’s blessing we carry – a blessing we are called to share. Good Shepherd, lead us all along the way; from each new beginning and in the midst of the fray. We are bound up in God’s presence – in the dark valley and fields of green. The Good Shepherd guides us on high ground, low ground and all places in between. Shepherd in the light of day, Shepherd in the dark of night Give us your “Good Shepherd” heart. Help us love people always… Jesus, make us a new start.    Copyright 2018 T. L. Eastman