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By Linda McCullough Moore April waiting I intend to spend in a bus station in Falls Creek, Pennsylvania, where in 1956 my aunt Delores – no, I didn't like her – bought me peach pie, a piece – yes, homemade – expecting I'd be nice to her. Because. The waiting room, old then, before these sixty years clock-ticked, drop-kicked my life. Gray lint, gum wrappers bussed here from America, something rumpled in the corner, a ragged shirt a man from Lithuania worked eleven hours for, wrinkled tickets, a carry-all no one has opened since the war before the war. The ticket window's closed. The tattered magazines named Look and Life and Cosmopolitan. (Why Men Pay for Love, p. 17.) My mother will not wonder where I am. The air is cold, old gasoline perfumes rust on the radiator. No sound arrives, no hiss, exhaust, no bus’s exhalation. I‘m seventy-two years old. I still have homework due on Monday. My childhood wasn't much. It's all I think about. Linda McCullough Moore is the author of two story collections, a novel, an essay collection and more than 350 shorter published works. She is the winner of the Pushcart Prize, as well as winner and finalist for numerous national awards. Her first story collection was endorsed by Alice Munro, and equally as joyous, she frequently hears from readers who write to say her work makes a difference in their lives. For many years, she has mentored award-winning writers of fiction, poetry and memoir. She is currently completing a novel, Time Out of Mind, and a collection of her poetry. www.lindamcculloughmoore.com
Linda's other work on Foreshadow: A Little Thing I Wrote (Poetry, October 2022) Please support us by sharing this post or buying us a book.
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By Steven Searcy He is still sitting with me-- the gentleman I saw hunched over his walker, slowly making his way down the sidewalk in the park early Friday morning, and how he paused to make the sign of the cross to the empty tree-lined path laid out before him. Oh, my frantic, fractious heart needs the patient peace each day to pause, smile, and say: I can move! I can breathe! I can be! Steven Searcy lives with his wife and three sons in Atlanta, Georgia, where he earns a living working as an engineer in fibre optic telecommunications. His poetry has been published in Ekstasis Magazine, Reformed Journal, Fathom Magazine, and The Clayjar Review.
Steven's other work on Foreshadow: Morning Prayer (Poetry, August 2022) Do What Cannot Be Left Undone (Poetry, September 2022) Support us by sharing this post or buying us a book. By Michael Lyle Zebedee sits in the boat among the torn nets and sees his sons walk away with the Nazarene. His burnt cheeks sting, embarrassed to be heartbroken in front of the hired men, watching the brothers disappear down the shore as Galilee laps the hull. Michael Lyle is the author of the poetry chapbook The Everywhere of Light (Plan B Press), and his poems have appeared widely, including in 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) Please support us by sharing this post or buying us a book. By Alan Altany “… the action of grace in territory held largely by the devil.” Flannery O’Connor A good man now is harder to find among the standardized waste land violence that bears hope away despite the triumphs of profane progress and techno-futurisms in the wizened blood of the times. Original misfitting of the soul is scoffed in a nihilistic clouding with hubris seeing the grotesque and the dearth of God as natural, with no immunity from the disease of a dark-rising and crippling culture. A contrary-wise “Christ-haunted” prophet pushes theological absurdity “towards the limits of mystery” in maimed stories of memento mori and of a salvation long- forgotten and even longer disdained as a medieval relic of a reckless God brutally dying for dreary-down souls. In this modern age of radically ungraced self-saving and hapless secular sufficiency, a local lady tells stories of divine comedy breaking open infernally brazen addictions to oblivion, blazing tumultuously graced, shocking faith where in an ironical city always “the good is under construction”, and evil suffers itself towards the sacred. Alan Altany, Ph.D., is a septuagenarian college professor of religious studies. He’s been a factory worker, swineherd on a farm, hotel clerk, lawn maintenance worker, small magazine of poetry editor, director of religious education for churches, truck driver, novelist, etc. He published a book of poetry in 2022 entitled A Beautiful Absurdity: Christian Poetry of the Sacred. His website is at https://www.alanaltany.com/.
'Habit of Being Wise' first appeared in A Beautiful Absurdity: Christian Poetry of the Sacred. It has been republished here with the author's permission. Alan's previous work on Foreshadow: Grunewald's Crucifixion (Poetry, September 2022) Please support us by sharing this post and buying us a book.  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. People are singing less in church, and that's a problem, writes Episcopalian priest Benjamin Crosby in his recent article in Plough. Jarel and Josh discuss Crosby's article in light of their experience making music and singing for worship among churches, whether with worship bands or choirs. They explore the tension between being relevant to the dominant culture and providing a life-giving alternative that challenges or discomforts. Then they describe what the hymns 'Be Thou My Vision' and 'What Wond'rous Love Is This?' and the song 'Instrument for Noble Purpose' suggest about vocation. Additional resources:
Art: Thomas Webster, The Village Choir, oil on panel, 1847 (Public domain) Jarel is a co-host of Forecast with a music emphasis.
Josh is the founding editor of Foreshadow and a co-host of Forecast. Please support us by sharing this post or buying us a book. By Abigail Leigh One day, He’ll tell me “It’s time.” No chance to gather my years To pack up relationships To sign across the line It will be a day Begun just as others Then, with trumpet sounded Clouds will be parted The vineyard master reappearing My tenancy expired By herald hastened I’ll climb the hill Blow out my lamps Look upon entrusted fields below The ones promised—tomorrow Still to plow, unripened now “Too busy!” my plea Preparing to be busy Shall reap solely season-sown futility “Too worried!” my apology Worrying what worry was left unworried Shall inherit merely misused opportunity “Too distracted!” my confession Digging up the next distraction Shall unearth but poor-stewarded possession “Too perceptive!“ my rationalization Perceiving perceivers’ possible perceptions Shall produce not proper-planted attentions Days of cultivation and harvest Threshed before Him What have they to say-- A seedbed left un-watered? A garden tended half-hearted? A branch, by thorns, overgrown? A foundation without Cornerstone? What fruit have I to give To the One whom I now beg—forgive? Only pray by grace, for this empty plate There still may be a place Set at the table of my Heavenly Host. Abigail Leigh is a harpist and poet from Oregon. As a self-proclaimed paradox, both a creative and analytical being, she draws inspiration from life's dichotomies: the belief that light and darkness, growth and decay, and joy and sorrow travel in tandem. Every season has a story to tell, and she writes because she is committed to unveiling truth from learned experiences. Her poetry has been published in Darling Magazine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Equinox Biannual Journal and Clayjar Review.
Abigail's other work on Foreshadow: A Deeper Calling (Poetry, October 2022) The Mountain Sermon (Poetry, October 2022) Related work on Foreshadow: The Parable of the Talents (Poetry by Bill Ayres, April 2022) Please support us by sharing this post or buying us a book. By Linda McCullough Moore People are forever saying, Can I read you my poem? and I say No, my oven’s broken and I have a cold casserole I have to find a fire to heat so I can feed a small village else they starve before night blackens the jungle round them, plus my leg is cramping probably thrombosing, and the phone is ringing with a call I’ve been expecting my whole life. But I wish I could, I like poems (one lie more). I mean to do acts of kindness every day. And I would if the people in my life would stop trying to read their poetry to me. Linda McCullough Moore is the author of two story collections, a novel, an essay collection and more than 350 shorter published works. She is the winner of the Pushcart Prize, as well as winner and finalist for numerous national awards. Her first story collection was endorsed by Alice Munro, and equally as joyous, she frequently hears from readers who write to say her work makes a difference in their lives. For many years, she has mentored award-winning writers of fiction, poetry and memoir. She is currently completing a novel, Time Out of Mind, and a collection of her poetry. www.lindamcculloughmoore.com
Please support us by sharing this post or buying us a book. By Ron Hickerson I've never had career aspirations – I've just never thought about it. I don't remember having an answer when adults asked me, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Careers are tricky things that can swallow you up if you're not careful, like a sand trap I'd rather steer clear of instead of trying to navigate slowly, like the sandwalkers of Arrakis. The closest I came was the adolescence I courted becoming a minister. Singing songs of how I belong to a generation that seeks God’s face, I pictured excitement and adventure at every corner, bringing about the kingdom of heaven – instead, burnout answered the call. Now, I shrug my shoulders when people ask about my dream job – if such a thing exists. Sure, as much as I wish I could work in the factory for 50 years, get my gold watch, and retire, I don't think Irenaeus would be impressed much. But a few nights ago, I made spaghetti for a small gathering of friends who came to my house for refuge and rest, and we shared noodles, sauce, life, and laughter as we broke garlic bread and munched biscotti. It made my soul sing, "This is what life is for!" My greatest work is prepping for the feast to come. Practicing eternity in smiles and crow's feet. Such duties are for an economy that transcends empire, paychecks, vacation days, and health insurance. The clock winds down toward punch-in time. Ron Hickerson helps college students navigate the murky waters of academia. When he's not advising, you can find him wandering the campus, looking for the oldest trees or writing at his desk. His work has been published in the Clayjar Review.
Ron's other work on Foreshadow: Resistance (Poetry, October 2022) Please support us by sharing this post or buying us a book. By Katie Baker Vocation: a strong feeling of suitability for a particular career or occupation. (Oxford Dictionary) I will be upfront with you. I do not feel a strong feeling of suitability for my chosen occupation. To be honest, I was not exactly proactive in my choice. Post-Bible college, my only requirements for a decent job were 1) not working on Sundays and 2) stability of schedule. The first requirement was God-focused; the second was me-focused, and I did not pray as much about any of it as I should have. The result of this lackadaisical approach is that I have found myself working in one of my least favorite fields for the last 10 years. Yup. 2022 was my big 1-0 anniversary with its resulting bump in paid time off. The other side effect is that I do not, and never really have, felt called or suited by God to work in the banking industry. I have always enjoyed words, not numbers—ideas and stories, not finance. Therefore, I feel called by God to something that is not my 9-to-5 job. Something that does not pay the bills. I have been a writer and a storyteller for as long as I have been able to read, and that is where God has placed my passion. When I was 23, this sort of disconnect did not bother me; I was mostly worried about paying off my student loans as fast as I could. Now that I am 33, the line between what I am doing and what I feel I should be doing feels muddled. Is it okay with God if we spend all our life doing what we view as a meaningless job? Would God even agree that there are meaningless jobs? (Do I even agree with that supposition?) Can I be true to my calling while spending all my mental energy for a paycheck? It’s a rough, if not non-existent, accomplishment some days. Then I think: Well, sure. Sometimes God calls people to certain vocations that also serve as their “9-to-5”. We most associate missionaries and pastors with this reality. But the Bible also does a lot of talking about toil and the sweat of our brow—results of any vocation, whether God-called or chosen of necessity. After all, many of the figures called by God in the Bible had to have “day jobs” to support their ministries: Paul was a tentmaker. Peter was a fisherman. Lydia was a seller of purple. So why do I feel such dread and shame when someone I have not seen in forever asks, “Well, what are you up to now? You still work at _____?” It never fails. I always cringe. “Yup. I’m a blah-blah-blah clerk. Very exciting, I know.” If anyone asked the Apostle Paul what he was up to lately, I doubt he was replying with an abashed, “Still sewing those tents.” Pretty sure it was more like: “Spreading the Good News about Jesus Christ.” I doubt his occupation entered his mind at all when the shekels and generosity of the churches grew a little tight. Paul’s life mission was not to sew tents, even though that is an admirable profession; it was to reach people with the gospel of Christ. And isn’t that every follower of Christ’s first and foremost vocation? To show the truth, light, and compassion of Jesus to whomever is around, no matter what we may be doing? Who is to say I cannot proudly answer the question “Oh, what do you do?” with “I’m a lover of Jesus. A writer. And a blah-blah-blah clerk”? God may call some of us to make a living with the calling he has given us, and he may call some of us to scribble into notebooks and post on blogs, never really knowing who needs our voice and never really knowing if it makes a difference. He may call some of us to punch a clock at a job that intellectually bores us so that we can pay the bills for—or (maybe!) have a break from—the God-centered work we are called to do in our spare time. The word vocation conjures up more than just a 9-to-5 paper-pushing or ditch-digging job; it conjures up a sense of purpose and completeness. God calls us to a higher purpose than pursuing money or simply paying the bills, knowing full well that we will still need to pay the bills. In my life, my higher calling often collides with my day job by supplying me with inspiration to write about, and sometimes it opens up my highest calling when I am given the opportunity to show a co-worker or a customer the grace and love of Jesus. Although we can easily compartmentalize our life into work/home/hobby, God does not want us to compartmentalize Him. He wants the fullness of all of our moments ordered under Him, in sync with His will for our lives so that we can say like tent-maker Paul, “In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:12b-13). God calls us to serve Him in every moment, on every platform. Even if you are like me and do not love your job, there must be a reason He has put you there for this season, however long it may last. Perhaps we are just a little bit too Western when we ask someone what they do and expect their 9-to-5 job to actually jive with their life purpose. Maybe we draw ourselves into these boxes by trying to keep pace with those around us who measure their success in currency symbols, promotions, doctoral degrees, and all those initials lining up behind their names. Our faith tells us that all those things, as nice as they are, if pursued outside of the will God has for our lives, will be so much hay and stubble when we reach heaven. Earlier in Philippians chapter 3, the Apostle Paul lists out his whole resume, all of the reasons he has for “confidence in the flesh” according to his culture and his religion. It reads exactly like someone today who has all the initials lining up behind his name, but because Paul’s calling was beyond all of that, he ends his pedigree with this realization: “But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” (Phil 3:7–8) Sometimes I have to take a step back and remember where God wants me when I am beating myself up because I am bored or stuck in my day job. I have to remember that it is God who gave me a passion for writing stories in an era when writing stories is not always profitable, and when I am wondering if anyone will ever read them and hear whatever it is God is trying to say through me. I need to forcibly remind myself of God’s grace and sovereignty when I get into that headspace where I believe my job does not fit because I do not like finance. Just because our perspective is too limited to see something’s value does not mean that that something is valueless. Above all else, I am called by God to have a correct perspective of my life and those things He has tasked me with doing. Despair can happen, but we do not need to stay there. I suppose God’s answer to someone like me whose vocation is beyond their occupation might just be, “Focus on Me, and keep on keeping on.” Katie Baker is a graduate of Clarks Summit University with a Bachelor of Arts from their writing programme. She lives in beautiful upstate New York and writes mainly fiction that deals with the truths of life even in the small moments. Her work has been previously published in Adelaide Literary Magazine, TWJ Magazine, and Torrid Literature Journal. You can find and follow her writing at Seekingprose.com.
Please support us by sharing this post or buying us a book.  Plaque at St Anthony's Church, Cartmel Fell, Cumbria (stridingedge.net) When the holy Abba Anthony lived in the desert he was beset by accidie, and attacked by many sinful thoughts. He said to God, 'Lord, I want to be saved but these thoughts do not leave me alone; what shall I do in my affliction? How can I be saved?' A short while afterwards, when he got up to go out, Anthony saw a man like himself sitting at his work, getting up from his work to pray, then sitting down and plaiting a rope, then getting up again to pray. It was an angel of the Lord sent to correct and reassure him. He heard the angel saying to him, 'Do this and you will be saved.' At these words, Anthony was filled with joy and courage. He did this, and he was saved. *** Someone asked the same Abba Anthony, 'What must one do in order to please God?' The old man replied, 'Pay attention to what I tell you: whoever you may be, always have God before your eyes; whatever you do, do it according to the testimony of the holy scriptures; in whatever place you live, do not easily leave it. Keep these three precepts and you will be saved.' *** Abba Pambo asked Abba Anthony, 'What ought I to do?' and the old man said to him, 'Do not trust in your own righteousness, do not worry about the past, but control your tongue and your stomach.' *** Abba Anthony said, 'I saw the snares that the enemy spreads out over the world and I said groaning, 'What can get through from such snares?' Then I heard a voice saying to me, 'Humility'. *** He also said, 'Our life and our death is with our neighbour. If we gain our brother, we have gained God, but if we scandalise our brother, we have sinned against Christ.' *** A hunter in the desert saw Abba Anthony enjoying himself with the brethren and he was shocked. Wanting to show him that it was necessary sometimes to meet the needs of the brethren, the old man said to him, 'Put an arrow in your bow and shoot it.' So he did. The old man then said, 'Shoot another', and he did so. Then the old man said, 'Shoot yet again', and the hunter replied 'If I bend my bow so much I will break it.' Then the old man said to him, 'It is the same with the work of God. If we stretch the brethren beyond measure they will soon break. Sometimes it is necessary to come down to meet their needs.' When he heard these words the hunter was pierced by compunction and, greatly edified by the old man, he went away. As for the brethren, they went home strengthened. *** It was revealed to Abba Anthony in his desert that there was one who was his equal in the city. He was a doctor by profession and whatever he had beyond his needs he gave to the poor, and every day he sang the Sanctus with the angels. *** Abba Anthony said, 'Whoever hammers a lump of iron, first decides what he is going to make of it, a scythe, a sword, or an axe. Even so we ought to make up our minds what kind of virtue we want to forge or we labour in vain.' From The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (trans. by Benedicta Ward, SLG).
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