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Advice for the Long Walk Home

3/9/2023

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By Sheila Dougal

Plant your life like a winter garden 
Before frost hardens the earth
Understand it will cause trouble
There’s rubble and thorn, 
Weeds that must be pulled 
Others left to propagate, 
Even among the patient plants, 
Lest they grow tired of their 
Circumstance and loosen their roots

Plant a garden where your 
Companion has plans for walls
Though a garrison stands ready
To keep mercy out. March round
Side by side, this tent, a fortress 
Tangled in your friend’s shield 
Of arguments. Keep planting 
Round the walls 

The hawks are circling, 
Screeching, ready to steal 
The younglings hatched under 
The shade of the olive trees
Gather them under your wings
Sparrows flutter in the breeze 
Singing songs of home in the sissoo trees
​

Try not to forget the way is planted
With gardens among the ruins
Lives descending into the dirt, between 
Jagged walls of hurt
The cost is great 
The pace is 
Walk and wait

Sheila Dougal lives in the low deserts of Arizona with her husband and sons. Some of her poetry and essays are published at Fathom Mag, Clayjar Review, The Gospel Coalition, The Joyful Life Magazine and other publications. You can also find her at her blog, Cultivating Faithfulness, Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.

Sheila's other work on 
Foreshadow:
Descent (Poetry, June 2023)
Ode to the Day (Poetry, July 2023)
Invitation (Poetry, August 2023)

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Locusts

3/9/2023

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By Julia McMullen

I looked for a god
The locusts couldn’t eat
And when I heard He sent
Them, I imagined hands
Dripping with honey,
Feet like mountains of grain
Not all the locusts
In this dry desert could hope
To devour,
A god who could make up
For the years the locusts
Had eaten away, He who
Commanded those sharp-flighted
Creatures, whose battle cry
Whistled against my door.
But when I walked into the desert
Alone, feet raw from the pacing
This long plague had brought,
My stomach remained empty.
I found Him, and He, a man,
Did not tower before me,
And the locusts did not cower
Before Him. Instead, he offered
A drink, and I lay on a rock
To rest my feet.
My heart wept like a cold
Vessel of water.

Such sorrow, to be filled
Though desolate heat
blistered my cheeks,
Though locusts covered
The field and sang out in the night,
How lonely still to find God
In the desert
And learn I must face it tomorrow.

Julia McMullen is a poet living in the Midwest USA with her husband and young son. When she isn't writing or mothering, she enjoys singing at her local church and tending to her garden.

Julia's other work on
Foreshadow:
Red Sea (Poetry, August 2023)

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The Waters and the Pilgrim

3/9/2023

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By Anthony S. Zimmer

As the warm water supplied by the Euphrates sprays gently from the shower head onto my shoulders,
I recall my father telling me about how our family escaped from Egypt through the Red Sea –

“If the LORD had not been on our side, then the waters would have overwhelmed us,
The proud waters would have gone over our soul”

And the Jordan River –

“If the LORD had not been on our side, then the waters would have overwhelmed us,
The stream would have gone over our soul.”

My father, long dead, tells me now –

“The LORD shall bless thee out of Zion,
And thou shalt see the good of Jerusalem all the days of thy life.”

Turn again our captivity, O LORD!

The LORD splits the Euphrates! and drowns me in the Jordan! that impassable barrier that impedes every pilgrim’s progress,
And fire and cloud and Nehemiah pull me upward to Ezekiel’s river, and I flourish in Edenic Zion.

Under the warm water of the Euphrates I wait for the LORD,
My soul doth wait.

Anthony S. Zimmer has served in a variety of pastoral roles in America and South Africa. Bi-vocational, he lives and works at the nexus of business, missions, local ministry and theology. He holds a bachelor’s in Bible and Theology, an MBA, and is working towards an MA in Biblical Interpretation.

Anthony's other work on
Foreshadow:
How to Be Christians When We Hate Our Job (Non-fiction, October 2022)

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Heart to Heart

3/9/2023

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By Bonita Jewel

I watched your heart reel from the shock
You said the ground beneath your feet
Which you assumed was solid as a rock
Was a rug pulled out from underneath
I recalled dark, lonely days along the trail
When all that seemed to glitter in my hand
Was rusted, torn, and broken, set to fail
And turn to ashes, dust, to lonely sand
But when the brittle gold of fools shatters
When the pseudo silver turns to brass
Can we then see and know what truly matters
What is real beyond the looking glass
This, our goal in a broken, winding land
To know the solid Rock on which we stand

Bonita Jewel visited India when she was 16 and stayed for nearly 12 years. Now residing in California with her husband and three children, she holds an MFA in Creative Writing. A freelance writer and editor for 13 years, Bonita’s writing has recently been published with upstreet magazine, Ekstasis and Dos Gatos Press. You can connect with her at bonitajewel.com.
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Another Turn in the Spiral: Third Quarterly Review (Forecast Ep 55)

26/8/2023

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Picture
After clicking 'Play', please wait a few moments for the podcast to load.
You can also listen on ​Spotify, Apple, Google and other platforms. 
Listen to other Forecasts here.

Josh and Will explore the most recent Forecasts: 'The Perpetual Pilgrim: Paul Cornelius and Pilgrimage' (Ep 51), 'The Way of a Pilgrim: Prayer and Pilgrimage' (Ep 52), 'What Do We Do When We Arrive?' (Ep 53) and 'On the Camino: Pete Kelly and Pilgrimage' (Ep 54). Among other topics, they discuss leadership in a Christian context, how we can benefit from the Jesus Prayer and the purpose and meaning of devotional practices when arriving at a holy place.​

Josh Seligman and Will Shine are co-hosts of Forecast.
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Napping

26/8/2023

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By Joseph Teti

A poem with folly.
To ED.


Before or after naps, after labor,
after being lowered into my bed
with tiredness, I’d glance about my room,
weighed down still with my anxious, hasty thoughts
and graspings after straws.
                                                  On my right side,
above me, on the windowsill, there stood
an icon of the Pantocrator.
                                                 There
my gaze hesitated—my vision blurred
--
my right eye looked on Him in clear, straight lines,
but my left eye blocked itself on my nose!
I winked each eye to prove my theorem, but
too dead to hold my left eye shut for now,
I satisfied myself with half-veiled sight
until it would be time to get up
--soon--

Joseph Teti is an emerging poet from Hyattsville, Maryland. He is a recent graduate from Hillsdale College and a fierce defender of Platonism and Romanticism.
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Rosary

26/8/2023

1 Comment

 
By Alina Sayre

Suffering Jesus,
hungry ribs and tin loincloth,
sculpted figure on a wooden cross
the size of my thumb.

Loop of smooth wood beads:
all the prayers I haven’t said,
a chronicle of shoulds--
but also prayers said
and not answered,
an infinity loop
of asking and denial,
stones and scorpions,
each bead a rock in a mountain
too massive to move.

And at the end again:
bronzy emaciated tin Jesus,
knobby knees and nailed hands.

Can you hear me,
suffering,
beautiful one?

Can you teach me to move the mountain
of beads?

Alina Sayre is the award-winning author of five books, a graduate student of theopoetics and an editor of Foreshadow. You can learn more about her work here, and you can find her book of poems Fire by Night here, where 'Rosary' was previously published. The poem has been republished here with the author's permission.

Alina's other work on 
Foreshadow:
  • Keeping Vigil (Poetry, March 2022)
  • Vocation as a Gift (Interview, March 2022)
  • Sleepwalker (Poetry, April 2022)
  • Highway (Poetry, May 2022)​​
  • Deep Gladness: Writing as a Vocation (Non-fiction, June 2022)
  • Stone Church (Poetry, August 2023)
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Invitation

20/8/2023

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By Sheila Dougal​

Said the Pilgrim to her friend, 
“Let's go home!”
He looks at her blank
He doesn’t understand
The language she speaks

She points and signs,
But his wrinkled brow 
Remains inclined 

Said the Exile to the colonized,
“Let's wander on home!”
She’s looking for kin
Longing for another 
Who knows this tongue.
She’s young in the language
Her Brother taught:
Love means reaching
Truth and grace make a complete thought

Said the Sojourner to the resident, 
“Let's gather at home!”
She’s looking for a companion
To walk this thorn-covered road
Neglected by those who have abandoned it

Our mother, wayward as she was,
Told us the way.
Ammi to her husband,
She nursed us in faith

Asked the Wanderer of the lost, 
“Do you know the way home?
Will you walk with me?
We’ll go the way where free means
You can bend your knee.”

Asked the Redeemed of the bound,
“Do you want to go home?”
Won’t you walk with me?
There’s a way where high is low
And lost is searched for till found

Come home with me, friend
I’ll motion and sign
I’ll walk slow, and if you need to stop,
I’ll take the time

Come home with me, friend
I know you’ll see 
The goodness of walking this road
With me

And when we get home 
The air will be sweet 
The land I’ve heard is vast
Our Brother we’ll meet

Sheila Dougal lives in the low deserts of Arizona with her husband and sons. Some of her poetry and essays are published at Fathom Mag, Clayjar Review, The Gospel Coalition, The Joyful Life Magazine and other publications. You can also find her at her blog, Cultivating Faithfulness, Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.

Sheila's other work on 
Foreshadow:
Descent (Poetry, June 2023)
Ode to the Day (Poetry, July 2023)

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Stuff that Happens while I preach

20/8/2023

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By Michael Lyle

the man
who never pays attention
weeps

the councilman
who wants me gone
scribbles in the bulletin margins
while his wife holds a Bible
between her face and mine

a woman
beside her nodding husband
studies me like a child
might an ice cream cone

I mention evil,
and heads turn
to follow a wasp’s
perambulations
in winter’s dim-lit nave

the elderly usher
by the door
hands a bulletin
to the buzz-cut man
in a black duster
who threatened the secretary
Friday afternoon

Michael Lyle is the author of the poetry chapbook The Everywhere of Light (Plan B Press), and his poems have appeared widely, including Atlanta Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Crannóg, The Hollins Critic, Mudfish and Poetry East. He lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

Michael's other work on Foreshadow:
Wick of the Soul (Poetry, October 2022)
Tennis Players (Poetry, October 2022)
Yahweh (Poetry, October 2022)
Family of God (Poetry, October 2022)
"Carvered" for Christmas (Non-fiction, December 2022)
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A Pastor's Psalm

20/8/2023

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By Patty Willis

My heart opened wide yesterday,
Thanks be to God
cracking from the force
of my gifts aligning with your urgings.
 
Each time this happens
I wake the next day
in wonder at how connections
like arteries and vessels can be rerouted
until they flow unhampered
to and from the heart
bursting out with such energy
at first
and then slowing as horses do,
after a sprint
as runners do—bending forward,
hands on lower legs,
and then in a split second
they remember that big board
with their name and time recorded
for everyone to see.
 
We watch from our comfortable chairs:
athletes
victorious, jumping,
no longer tired,
a second wind
that carries them in a victory lap
around the field.
 
But who deserves our thunderous praise,
our feet slapping the bare stone?
 
We learn to be silent,
tears coming to our eyes.
 
Even when we are alone,
we’ve lost the habit of falling
to our knees.
 
My heart broke open when I saw them arriving:
familiar people
slipping into back rows,
names forgotten
but not to You.
Thirty minutes before,
they had heard a call to come
not bothering to comb their hair
or iron a shirt:
Come as you are,
You said.
You will be fed.
 
Their hunger is the thread
that holds my Sabbath
like the fence around
a medicine wheel upon which
we can tie our hopes.
Our hunger satiated at last
by the wide view,
the wind moving clouds,
the mountainsides once covered in
buffalo herds
at last seem hospitable for their return.
 
Pray for us,
we say to the stranger
next to us
as if we each hold
a piece of the puzzle.
All put together we
would become the night sky
that waits above the clouds
for us to roll out our sleeping bags and lie back,
each star a heart asunder.
 
Thanks be to God.

Rev. Patty Willis is a minister, writer, artist and translator based in Arizona. She has also been active in immigration justice and reconciliation between white settler descendants and indigenous people. 

Patty's other work on Foreshadow:
Pumping Station in the Desert (Poetry, July 2021)
Openings (Poetry, May 2023)

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