Once there was born
To a man who was funny,
A small boy whose nose
Was always quite runny.

It dripped and it dribbled
He coughed and he sneezed
And the problem arose
With the slightest small breeze.

Flu like symptoms it seemed
Were the obvious cause
For the uncomfortable drizzle
At the end of his schnoz.

But it wasn’t just snot
That flowed with wind weather,
More often than not
What he blew was a feather.

A feather is weird
You have to admit
His parents conferred
They prayed and had fits. 

They worried and feared
And quite often teared
Their special bright boy
Was really quite weird.

His parents did notice
When they stopped and they sat
He’s a remarkable boy
In more ways than that.

They asked friends and neighbors
They pointed out things
Have you noticed that when
He is sad he just sings?

He knew all the hymns
The ones that showed how
The creator was good
Whether or not we knew how.

And what about
All those days when it rained
He chuckled and muttered
But never complained.

He makes us all laugh
With his antics and joked
He’s just like his dad
Always teasing with folks.

But still there was trouble
Absolutely no denying
Even the hint of a breeze
And he seemed to be flying.

Those two bumps on his back
We’re worried for those
And it’s not just all that
Have you looked at his toes?

Instead of walking
Around on his feet,
His toes always hover
Just an inch off the street.

“We’re really concerned”
They whispered at night
We should see a doctor
These things just aren’t right.

So they loaded him up
In the car and they went
To the top of the hill
To see Dr. Flint;

Alone in a room
With white walls and machine
Flint offered just gloom
It seemed really quite mean;

“Flu like symptoms,” he said
“May not go away
He’s not quite right in the head
And you know what they say,

These things sometimes happen
There’s nothing to do
Your boy has a sickness
It’s something like flu.”

“We’ll try what we have
But it’s really not much
For your boys big problems
It’s not quite enough,

He’ll be gone in a year
If he’s tough make it two
You’ll have to be strong
Have faith to get through.”

Mom and dad just stared
Glassy eyed, not believing
How could our bright boy
Already be leaving?

So back down they went
With their plans and their schemes
And hearts that were full
Of broken plans and crashed dreams

And Luke…

Afraid and alone
At home in the dark
An idea in his head
Lit up like a spark

A burning fresh dose
Of truth and of hope
Took away all his fears
He was no longer morose…

I wonder he thought
As he studied his toes
What if there’s a reason
For jokes and my nose

So he thought and he wondered
On the reasons for things
And he wiggled and squirmed
And felt for his wings

An experiment of hope
Snuck up in his mind
He wiggled his toes
And stretched with his mind

From out of the dark
In his sad lonely place
A voice in his heart
Brought a smile to his face

“The pain that you feel
In your legs when you walk
Is not really much more
Than a twist in your sock.”

“The way that sometimes
Feathers float from your nose
And you’d rather not walk
Just float on your toes?”

"These things about you
Are different than most
It’s really quite simple,
Like cooking some toast.

See, some people grow
The same inside as out
But others are fast
Their heart has to shout

The message they have is
To important to wait
The plan made for them
Is real hard to fake

Here’s the secret young man
You’ve been hoping to hear
I’m telling you now
Cause you’re time’s getting near

Your parents are worried
And sometimes quite sad
The symptoms you know
Are really quite bad

But flu like’s not right
Dr. Flint missed the boat
You have Fly Luke symptoms
Your soul’s meant to float

I've done you a favor
In the short time you’ve lived
All the life that’s set in you
Is for you to give

In a world changing way
That can’t fit with the crowd
So rise up and fly
Cause the sound’s getting loud

So Luke shut his eyes
And he felt with his wings
And as he rose in the air
He started to sing

The sound from his mouth
Was a bright winsome song
All the people around him
Awoke before long

As the notes from his tune
Struck the strings in their hearts
Sleepy people were dancing
And there were more from the start

Who saw that their friend,
This small broken boy
Was a powerful warrior
His song brought real joy

As dancing was spreading
From bedroom to street
Luke rose up in the air
His conductor to meet

He approached his best friend,
His real source of strength
The dancing got quiet
On the streets, their whole length

By the look in his eyes
And the crook in his brow
The conductor was pleased
With the show up ‘til now

But it wasn’t enough
He raised both arms up high
And the air seemed to shimmer
And let out a big sigh

He looked Luke in the eye
In a pause of great wonder
It could be described
As a rumble of thunder

Then both hands came down
With great force and a fling
The conductor looked up
And he roared, “LET US SING!”

And there in the air
Was the heavenly host
Both evil and good
But the bad were all toast

The angels all stood
With their feet on red throats
Not one demon could wiggle
No liar could boast

A sound like the wind
Swept out from the sky
It changed all the hearts
Who were standing nearby

Transformed by the song
Where a small boy had been
Appeared a powerful warrior
A giant man amongst men

He clapped his hands with great force
And the demons were crushed
Then the angels arose
With a thundering rush

Around and around
The great throng he flew
He circled the crowd
And danced while wind blew

The feathers from before
From his nose when he sneezed
Now made up great wings
With no need for a breeze

So the truth about Luke
Came from a real place
No longer broken
His heart was in place

For making us laugh
And making us cry
And drawing attention
From earth to the sky

Now all battles are fought
The war has been won
The flu is now over
And Luke flies with the Son

His small body has been
A great place to compose
A powerful song
That will defeat all great foes

His life has meant more
Than a nine year old’s should
The love that exploded
Did more than most could

We remember and hope
To be big in our hearts
So we set life aside
To follow his start…

This story is about a boy who is much more powerful than he appears. 

The life that filled up Luke to overpower his earthly body had called forth such a powerful outpouring of love that the enemy was destroyed.  Prior to Luke’s powerful life, the enemy had made great headway and was on the eve of a successful invasion.  But the gathering of saints had been a surprise attack by the Good and Wise King who had chosen a powerful warrior to take the surprising (not to him) form of a small, broken child.  This child had successfully fulfilled his calling as a wielder of love, joy, peace and hope in the midst of terrible worldly circumstances.  Multitudes of otherwise lost and asleep warriors had been affected and their ties to the world all but severed.  They prayed and lived and the enemy’s plans were thwarted.  Now, the host of heaven, in the wake of victory, sings Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty!!  The whole earth is filled with his glory!!  And Luke stood next to his Friend the King surveying the wrecked demons; trampled by the warriors he had led into battle.  His Friend was heard to say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant, enter into your rest.”  And those of us left behind, waiting our whole lives to become the kind of warrior Luke was in only nine short years, sang with hope that we would never forget his story and the way he had changed our lives – bringing us into the glory of God in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Thank you Luke.

Therefore, we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18

There is a battle being fought even now.  It has raged for millennia and we are in the thick of it.  Our enemy is determined to destroy all that is good, pure and innocent.  He wants to make love powerless and life meaningless.  He already knows he will be defeated in the end, so he rages to bring as much destruction as possible before he is sent away.  In the realm of the Spirit, the enemy works to keep the doors and windows shut.  He does not want us to get in.  He does not want us to respond to the invitation given by Jesus to “repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.”  It is his desire, this squirrely, sneaky enemy of ours, to keep us out of the Kingdom of Heaven.  For it is there that our new, real identities await.  He knows that we will find what we want, slip out of our superhero costumes and put on the power of new life.

Battle rages as it has
Going on for millennia past
We think it nothing
Not here or there
So we walk around
In our underwear

Ignoring the secrets
Hiding from rest
Flexing and bragging
And posing nearly nude
Wearing our long johns
With a dumb attitude

How silly we look
With our plans and our books
Like we know where we’re going
Or what it all took

Why don’t we just stop
Listen and wonder
What is that sound
That crashes like thunder?

It’s the hope in our heart
That beats in our chest
That something is real
That something is best

And it’s true that it is
There is something right
We’ve been invited inside
Every day and each night

If we’ll wake from our stupor
And head for the cross
We’ll find that the answer
Is there, it’s the boss

The guy who made
The thing spin around
Is waiting up there
Above common ground

Where no one’s a loser
If willing to bend
His knee to the one
The beginning and end

Life then will ripen
A seed breaks apart
An awakening starts
Down deep in the heart

If allowed it will grow
Into a full tower
Of love and of glory
Of hope and of power

And so a full circle
We come to the where
The place we are wearing
Our long underwear

You might wonder why
You might think it’s funny
To be hopping around
Like a pink easter bunny (think “Christmas Story”)

But consider the cause
What could be the source
Of so many people
Front and backs of a horse?

Go back to the cross
Look there in brimstone
A red devil is there
His tights all a crimson

You see he was fooled
By his own foolish pride
And brought low in the end
Where he then had to find

A way to get back
To punish the man
Who sent him to earth
As a low life and band

Of losers and liars
Stinkers and cheats
No one to like
Just things to beat

So he put on a costume
Of red tights and some horns
And started to brag
Real quiet to all born

We believed his dumb lies
And gave up our hearts
To a guy who smells
Like burnt dust and wet farts

He told us all how
He gave us the steps
But its gotten too hard
Even doing our best

So we must give up
We must quit trying
The only real way
To live is by dying.

Some people swore that the house was haunted. 
 
It sat low, surrounded by unkempt and jagged grass, crowded by clumpy shrubs and dark, viney trees.  Darkness clung, diminishing lightness and drawing it down.  Heavy and sinking, witnesses waited to see it list to one side.  They whispered and scrunched their shoulders in twitchy shudders.  In the midst of wandering, well-dressed souls, the Smith house wrested quietly in a row of unnoticed neighboring homes.  Speculating observers only stopped there.  Dark curiosity arrested fertile minds.  Stories were told, but the Smith house mystery remained.  It hung, waiting for an answer.  It hunched, giving the strong impression that it was about to do something. 
 
For the watchers, bored in their corners and shadows, the consternation of the curious entertained deliciously.  They waited for someone to come too close.  Most resisted the temptation to touch, but from the ranks of the under-thinking, someone always became prey to the guards.  The house seemed alive but sick, not right in some elemental way.  Like if you touched its flat surface, it would possess a barely discernable pulse.  If a long stretch of time went by with no victims, the watchers hid the warning signs.  The chief guard always punished them mercilessly when they tricked people, but he never forced his minions to bring them back. 
 
So the legend and the mystery surrounding the house grew.  Suspicions and fear were reinforced when patrons disappeared.  And yet, they continued to come.  Invited and dared by subtle cues, they came and stared and spread the news.  The other homes were largely left alone. 
 
Often in the crowd, an old man stood.  Silent and stooped he watched as well.  He left as he came, unnoticed and alone.  If you noticed you could see that he watched not the house in its darkness but the eyes of the people.  He searched and shuffled away disappointed.
 
Then one day, something changed.  The house did list.  Unmistakably crooked, too heavy on one side.  Crowds grew and whispers coalesced, humming.  The watchers paced nervously.  This new development unsettled the sense of balance.  The old man stood with them quietly, turned sideways, he looked at their eyes.  Finally, he moved away from the ranks and stopped in front of another house.  Gazing at it for a while, a smile turned up the corner of his wrinkled mouth.  A small boy wandered over.  Tilting his head, he looked up at the man and followed his smiling gaze to the house.  Bright and straight it stood, comfortable and warm.  Sunshine reflected and birds splashed in rain puddles.  The house next to it shared the same light.  He found himself smiling as well.  He turned round and round and saw that the whole room was filled with paintings of bright, happy homes with only one dark, scary one.  After pondering a little, he whispered to the man, “why is everyone looking at that ugly house instead of these pretty ones?”  “Ask them,” the man replied.
 
So the little boy, standing by the old man, asked loudly, “Why isn’t anyone looking at the happy houses?  Do you like to feel scared and sad?”  His question broke the spell.  Like magic, the pull of the crooked picture shriveled and the people spread throughout the room.  The museum curators came from the corners and talked with the visitors, telling stories of art and artists.
 
The next morning, on a post in front of the crooked house, was a note.  “Be naught drawn only to darkness, but consider more the light.”  It was signed, Mr. Smith.
 
Nothing was ever the same again after that.
 
 
 

Strolling studiously slow
In my sticky fingers
Focused on near attention
Pretending not to linger

Instant potatoes
Waxen beans
Tawdry fixens
Minimum means

Casting glances not quite furtive
Certainly not knowing
Connecting in my mind
With the place I am going

Clinking on plastic
Trays and cheap silver
Cardboard milk boxes
Cold peas all a dither

Across the room
Corner of my eye
A big handle comb
Flies through the sky

Crowd stops and watches
The clinking gets quiet
No chew and no swallow
Awaiting the diet

Of luck or of shame
Of coolness or lame
By catching or dropping
Will it bring him great fame?

Windows part foggy
With fingertip scrawls
Floor kinda sticky
With smashed up meatballs

Barely a motion
Slight turn of hand
Comb in my fingers
I stop still and stand

Don’t look surprised
I think in my head
If they think it a’ purpose
You’ll win them instead

Hesitation erupts
In a rapturous cheer
I loft the green comb
With a wave and a leer

For now in this instant
Flung on me by chance
I’ve become quite a man
In my bell-bottom pants