When you were born you were so small.
And you had blue eyes shaped like almonds.
Your mom thought you looked like her mother.
Your dad thought you looked tough.
That’s why they named you Kirk, after Kirk Douglas.
But Kirk is also the church, the house of the spirit.
Your house had potential.
Twenty-three years later you left home,
seeking adventure and true life.
And you were named Francis.
Childhood ended. Duty began.
Potential became kinetic.
But you still lived for yourself.
Every movement to satisfy your belly,
and to win love from others.
Twenty-three years later you died in water,
and your new life began.
And you were named John.
God is good.
The Spirit dwells within His church now.
Kinesis turning toward stillness and peace.
Unfocused motion resolving into hesychasm.
Then your mother died.
And again you died.
Not in spirit or in body,
but in some strange, intangible way.
Shaking the stillness,
and making the future uncertain.
I see you now and I wonder,
“what will you make of this third act?”
Will you seek the Lord,
and let him heal you?
and giving yourself in love?
Perhaps your next name,
who knows what that will be,
could it be one written on a white stone?