Sunday, August 27, 2006

The Answer

I cannot follow you
right now:
your words are too hard,
your road is too long,
your life is too demanding,
your death is too frightening.

Maybe . . .
i could follow you:
in a few days
when the weekend comes
(but those are 'days off,' you understand);

in a few months
after school has begun
and the Thanksgiving crowed is gone
(but then come the hectic days of Christmas
and all that means - surely you understand);

in a few years
after i've done what i want,
after the kids are gone,
after the work is done
(i'm sure you understand).

i will follow you:
trusting my heart,
trusting your words,
trusting you, Lord.

which answer
will i give today,
my God?

(c) Thom M. Shuman

Monday, August 21, 2006

Thank You!

the first drops of rain
on a tin roof
breaking a six-month drought;

the mustardy kiss
of a child
at a summer picnic;

a cool breeze
dancing down
an August street;

the smile on a teacher's face
when her student masters
the intricacies of simple words;

the fading photographs
of a loved one
no longer here;

for every grace,
even those we cannot see;
for every moment,
especially those we do not notice;
for everything,
including those we cannot endure,

we offer to you,
Companion on the Way:


(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

Sunday, August 06, 2006


an individual by birth,
a loner by nature,
i find myself
joined at the Hope
with others
not always of my choosing

nor i of theirs . . .

called by Another,
my humility-resistant pride,
my gentle vindictiveness,
my weak patience
threaten this life-shattering unity.

while i do not have
the body i may want,
i am graced
with the Body
i need,
and which,
by God's sense of humor,
needs me.

(c) 2003 Thom M. Shuman

Thursday, August 03, 2006


some day,
i would like to learn
how to pray:

i can hammer words together
to make a nice box
for you to fill
with what i am sure i need:
but i falter
when i try to climb out
of that hole of hopelessness
i find myself in;

i can bring you
my scrapbook filled
with all the stories
of the brokeness of the world:
but the pages
of my dreams, my fears,
my fickle faith
are out in the trashcan;

i can race to you
to tattle on
all my friends and neighbors
so you will know where all the mud-stains
on their lives come from:
but in my haste
to get to you first,
i stumble over
the shadowed secrets
in my soul.

some day,
i would like to learn how to pray,
Listening God.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman