Older preachers like me

see the treadmills of passing ministry 

as foisted rides in some clergy amusement park.

To roller coaster rides of success we were drawn

the rising then the falling,

stars on the upward climb

the ticking, clacking sounds of approval, rising

taking us up to the crest for release

towards the bigger, the better, the more,

becoming models dressed for ascent

soon to be clothed in mid-life therapy.

New books now written on the healing ride down

filled with sage advice to not,

to not board the ride in the first place.

Remaining earth-bound now

reconnecting with deeper things discovered under
foot

than the high ride can promise,

things missed the first time around.

At this age these rides make me dizzy.

Ride if you must,

youth may require it of you.

But here’s my ticket-to-ride, its yours.

I say cash it in,

buy some cotton candy.

Then take a long stroll, look up and pray

for those on the roller coaster ride,

each one a cotton candy candidate.