Not a popular topic of conversation - God. Not a favorite. Not easy. I get shy myself, just typing this note. Do you remember that old George Burns movie? What was it called? Anyway, this little girl started the campaign “Think God”. Brilliant. And everyone thought she was crazy. I can relate. It’s going to be hard sending this memo off. But that’s it. God. Here is my latest “I’m here” story.

On Tuesday, Claude Anderson died. He was an artist in Oklahoma City -a painter that I once posed for. He was also an eccentric man; witty, charming, and talented. If life was a watermelon, Claude devoured every part, swallowing the seeds and wearing the green striped skin as a hat. He was my friend. I couldn’t get back to Oklahoma for the funeral and I couldn’t really talk to anyone who saw him the way I did, so I raised a toast to him, alone in my new residence and prayed I’d have the honor of displaying some of his work on my walls before it’s all said and done.

In short, I feel it’s a very small team I’m on, and we’d just lost a player.

Then on Wednesday I went to a birthday party for my friend Allison. There, I met a guy from San Diego who is traveling around the country; living off a small bit of money he saved waiting tables and the cash of sales from his homemade CD. He has a college degree, a Martin guitar, a bike, a Honda Passport, a gentle heart and a lot of courage. Before he left Nashville we had a little talk at Portland Brew about life, and the process of learning to see things as they really are. Chad Gray is one of a kind. As we talked and he strummed his guitar, I felt a player being added to the team. And I swear to you, I heard it. God bent down to my ear and said, “I’m here.”

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Water Dance

The walls in my room are cream from the smoke of the people before.
I lay in my bed and lazily dream of what I had, but don’t anymore.
It’s an easier way to let it all go and sweep our care under this tattered rug
It’s harder to face who we’ve really become and see the holes in the things that we love.

You don’t get the water if you don’t dig
You don’t hear the truth unless you speak up
You don’t know passion 'til your first kiss
You don’t know peace until you give love

I saw you or I wouldn’t be here with my poems and my hope and my pen
But I’m no good at predicting if you’ll soon open up again
Been told I should let it all go and shake the dust from my sandal-clad feet.
I’m not afraid of the things I don’t know, but maybe you’re afraid of me

You don’t get the water if you don’t dig
You don’t hear the truth unless you speak up
You don’t know passion 'til your first kiss
You don’t know peace until you give love

You don’t get the water if you don’t dig
In the middle of the desert
Is that any way to live?
You won’t get the rain if you don’t dance
It takes a brave little brother
Willing to take the chance

-penny rene-
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"Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get."
- Forest Gump -