September 11th

“When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." John 10:32

it is the whisper of that grief
we carry which is too heavy to bear:
“Lord, if you had been here…”
whispered in the smoke and falling ashes,
carved in the bench in a backyard,
wrapped like a tefillin around our hearts
through years of war,
the reading of names
with silence after each,
the lowering of flags,
coffins and urns 

placed in sacred ground,
the lives divided into
before and after forever.
Jesus does not give a reason
or try to defend heaven’s silence
but simply draws near,
and maybe that is how
faith is rekindled—
not with answers, but
simply by the One who
steps into our weeping,
sits with us in hope’s ashes,
and will not leave us there.
one year, twenty-five, a lifetime—
we still remember,
and it may be that
God remembers as well,
not to rip off a scab,
but to keep reminding us
that sorrow does not
have that final word.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 10th

“If I have withheld anything that the poor desired, or have caused the eyes of the widow to fail,” Job 31:16

i never realized it
came from old Job:
that apology we hear
all too often in our times—
“if I have yada yada yada”
in which the speaker makes clear
if there was any offense
or hurt, it was due to
the attitude of the injured,
not the speaker.
the hungry aren’t asking
for a banquet, just a
decent meal,
the widow simply wants us
to see the emptiness
of her life,
the forgotten would like us
to realize they have a name
which is not ‘get lost.’
in truth, others don’t want
some sort of
one-size-fits-all apology,
but people who are
as honest as Job in confronting
our failures in treating others
as we demand to be treated.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 9th

“The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest.” Job 30:17

for some reason,
the platitudes and poems
never mention the sharp
teeth grief comes with—
it finds those tender spots
we thought we had hidden
and nibbles at the little
strength we try to husband.
that cottage industry
never tells one of how
our bones which ache—
from the memory of a kiss,
the fading sound of a laugh,
the feathery touch
of an imagined hand,
the whisper of that name
which makes the hollow space
even emptier,
are placed on the rack
as grief, slowly, gleefully
turns the wheel
we can’t explain it,
make peace with it,
or dress it up in those
comforting words of therapy
but only hope that God
sits with us,
in those restless hours
until, somehow—
morning comes.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 8th

“As with a deadly wound in my body,
    my adversaries taunt me,
while they say to me continually,
    “Where is your God?” Psalm 42:10

like a stone thrown through
that window cracked by grief,
the world hurls the age-old
question to us every day.
and we search our sanctuaries,
we long for answers to show up,
we offer the well-worn platitude
that everything will turn out well.
but maybe
God is in that hand
reaching across the table
to the lonely curmudgeon,
in the stranger who listens
to us in the airplane,
in the children who would
stop believing in Santa Claus
before they give up on kindness,
in the weary single parent
who gets up every morning
and tries again.
e might not always
recognize God among us,
but wherever compassion
interrupts cruelty’s rants,
wherever folks with trembling
knees push back against hate,
wherever love will never
leave anyone behind—
God is already there,
waiting patiently for us.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @ThomShuman

September 7th

“Again the Jews were divided because of these words.” John 10:19

it still happens.
Jesus speaks—
and folks find themselves
standing on opposite sides
of the same words.
where one hears weakness,
another listens to mercy
where some hear threats,
others hear a warm welcome
where we might hear
the voice of the One
who gathers us like a
shepherd with wandering sheep,
there are those who build fences
to keep the scattered out
we all do it—
clutch his words like
weapons in our hands,
ignoring his longing for us
to lay down those stones
of course,
if we argue so much over
whose side Jesus is on,
we continue to forget
that he has on been on
the side where love
is trying to bridge
every divide.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 6th

“No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.” Matthew 5:15

may
we be

the spotlight
finding the nervous student
memorizing lines
for her first play—

the flashlight
illuminating the pages
for the refugee
learning the language
of a new country,
a new beginning;

the nightlight
glowing beside
the cancer patient
through the frightening
hours of treatment—

and may we also be
the small candle
left burning
in the window
for someone
who has forgotten
the way home.

may our light
never be
for ourselves alone—
but always
more light
for someone
walking through
the shadows.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman

September 5th

"Oh, that I knew where I might find him, that I might come even to his dwelling!” Job 23:3

we act as if you
play hide and seek,
in corners of places
we never think to look:
sermons
worship spaces,
answers we can hold.
when all the while
you are in the woman
helping to mop up
a flooded basement,
in the hands crafting
a playground where every
child can be welcomed,
in that man who gives up
his treasured cave
so a foster child has
their first room ever,
in that stranger becoming neighbor,
in that neighbor becoming friend,
in every small and stubborn
act of grace,
hope,
justice,
peace.
we keep looking for you
in all the wrong places,
while you wait
for us to simply
notice.

(c) 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo:@Thom-Shuman