ann kiemel

rest. warriors. rest.
listen. hear the crushing music.
feel the earth shift as broken sons and
daughters, empty and now, triumphant, rise
from the ashes of deep affliction and
searing pain. see the victorious and
cleansed as they rise out of the
ashes.

listen. quiet.
a new song. radiating from
hallowed corners of a reckless, and
calloused world. choirs. with raised
hands to the Savior of the universe. the
only One who understands the correct chords
and rhythmic chanting of the lost and
struggling and redeemed.

stand.
shout.
paint across the sunrise your
deliverance from the cold wilderness
and deep waters from which you've come.
trace the arc of a rainbow. the promise of
beautiful, happy tomorrows.

sitting by my sister's bedside.
a hospital in berkeley, ca.
chemo and a stem-cell transplant
accomplished. courage oozing
out her fingertips. her eyes. running
down her cheeks. wet with triumph
in spite
of illness that has taken her to death's door.
suddenly, her white cells rising.
a miracle. dreams really can live.
thank you all for praying. for standing
by us. sharing in the victory.

i left jan's side
to fly to irvine, ca. to keynote the
international convention for exodus.
gays and ex-gays reaching for peace
of mind and spirit in a brutal environment
of judgement and condemnation. trying
to do God's will. to understand truth.

for me, attempting to share
pure, untarnished love that promises
healing for any and everyone's
woundedness; kissing the deep scars of
shattering isolation. embracing their pain
as they did mine.

i am not gay.
i only know that the complexities
in them match, on a different level, those
in me. i know what the Bible says. and
i filter that through the loving heart of God
who calls all of us to rest. to lying by still
waters. Jesus remembers we are made of
dust. He understands our frame.
(ps. 103:14)

home at last.
regrouping with my children.
heading for the gym, and a fast,
racing six miles. my eyes filling
with tears as the gal behind the check-in
desk crawled over the counter
close enough to hug and kiss me,
and i, her. two single mothers
collide with love and commonality.

i love you, fellow warriors.
run the Race.
breathe even
with the consolation
that you will never
be alone.