Be All To Me

Funny, I can go months at a time without writing a poem. Then, all of a sudden, one hits me and a few follow. Hope you don’t mind me posting another prayer-poem. 🙂

May God bless and keep you, Friends.

Oh Father, 
Increase my hunger for you. Screenshot 2014-04-12 13.55.44
Whet my appetite for prayer
And my tongue with intercession.

Greater in me,
Let your Life-breath swell my chest.
Illumine my eyes.
Weaken my resistance to your probing eyes,
healing hands and pure, fiery heart.

I want to know you and,
In knowing you to need you more.
I want to pummel you with questions,
Seek you for guidance,
Fear you with wisdom,
Love you with passion and an undivided heart.

Even in my frailty and oft distracted gaze,
I know, I know that you alone
Are sufficient for my days,
And more, more, more!

With answers to past troubles,
And light for distant paths,
Oh Father, when hungry teach me to feast on you.
When thrilled to glory in you.
When troubled to seek you and rest in you.
Be all to me.

Intoxicating

barbed-wire-on-a-stormy-day-1117143-mHow good of you Lord, to wrap another day
In pre-storm quiet and low-hung gray.
Sweet, tingly scent of fresh-cut grass
Hangs lazy, expectant in the air.
Silence pierced as with tiny holes,
By bird-song here and there.

The air is due for washing,
Pollen latent, clings to walls and walks where,
In minutes or hours, pure rain
Will leave them clean and bare.

How Good is God–Creator God!
To mold the world for me!
And add the redbud highlights as far as I can see.
Intoxicating beauty, I try to hold my breath,
And wish, as Joshua, “Sun stand still”,
Let worship resound in me!

In kind deference, God gifted me this world
While cold and undeserving my fists still clenched and curled.
But in this gift so undeserved,
He radiates Himself,
In quiet, sweetness, and cleansing rain.

Right here I’ve come to know Him,
Right here to understand,
The vastness of His love for me,
The perfection of His plan.

My soul awakes, revives to sing,
My fists loosen and relax.
For here within His goodness
Drunken by His beauty,
Mesmerized by love…

I give with abandon all I have
So frail compared to this.
But in all He has, He only wants–what I alone can give:
My trust, my faith, surrender,
My life to largest hands,
The ones who sculpted all this world,
This intoxicating land.

Thanks for Aching

nail-993864-mFriends, a couple days ago I shared with you some of the frustrations and discouragement I’ve been facing in the course of my walk with Abba. It seems that when we’re smack in the center of His will we’re still not immune to setbacks. But this is the promise:

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. Do not quench the Spirit. Do not treat prophecies with contempt but test them all; hold on to what is good, reject every kind of evil. May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.” 1 Thess. 5:16-24

There’s a process required if we would profit from pain,

From rejection and loss and more of the same.

When we’ve sought for God’s will and pleaded for answers,

When we’ve plumbed the depths and scaled the rafters.

When no answer comes and day waxes cold,

When we’re waiting, still waiting, our dreams growing old.

There’s a process required if we would profit from pain,

Against all our nature, against human grain.

To bow the knee and thank the King,

The Providence who could,

Revive our dreams, rebirth the old.

To bow the knee, sing thankful refrain

Grateful in the shadow and rain.

This the process to profit from pain.

This is His will, this precedes peace.

He is faithful, He will do it.

~Abby Kelly

Worship

Like a rush of butterfly wings, or maybe an angel

My heart wakes and rustles.

Worship runs between the membranes of my heart,

Lifts from kneeling, worship

Rises heavenward, ecstatic flurry.

Then rests. Settles. Calm washes over.

Repose, stillness.

Like the mysterious, hidden beating heart.

Pulse continues, power resting

In the requisite moments of peaceful worship.

Returns, unrestrained, loud

Worship of tongue and whole being!

Then rests. Settles. Calm washes over.

Irrelevant

If I fit nowhere
If I have no home or beloved
If I have no posterity
If I have no purpose or calling

If I fit nowhere
If like a missing puzzle piece
I lie lost and trampled on the floor
If I’m shuffled under shadow
forgotten and discarded
If I am wedged into painful places
or tossed useless in the box

If all my life seems forfeit
If I am irrelevant to a box-lid world
That sees beauty only by definition
This one thing will I recall
This one truth hold dear
Then this will secure the joy of all my life

That HE has claimed me.
That HE has done it.
And it is marvelous in my eyes.
Ps. 118:23

 

Obvious

For an obvious reason
My heart is weighty with your praise.
Obvious as the icy rain that
hangs frozen in mid-air.
Obvious as the durable, quiet man upstairs
(between my sheets.)
Obvious as the smallish mongrel who insists
to share my seat.
Obvious as that blest morning aroma,
Perfume of homes worldwide.
My own tamed with milk,
thin brim of foam.
Obvious as its porcelain cup,
“I love you,” on its side.
Obvious as the three faint lamps
Lending softness as they provide
My eyes with visions of your word
And highlight pen to page.
So here I scrawl my meager words,
Slight as they may be.
To altar the obvious praises
Of my perfect, worthy King.

My heart overflows with a pleasing theme; I address my verses to the king; my tongue is like the pen of a ready scribe. Ps. 145:1b

Naked Disparity

This is a slightly more casual chat about nakedness than we have been having here lately. But, it struck me so bluntly Sunday morning that I just had to share.

My girlfriend texted me: “My son is so funny. When he’s naked he kinda goes goofball silly on me!” (her son is almost 2)

Body image
Credit: http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/b/body_images.asp

I replied: Aren’t all men a bit that way?

Now, certainly I’m not an expert on all men and I haven’t seen but one man naked, but nonetheless, I think it’s a widely accepted fact that most men are pretty proud of their nakedness. If you spy on a naked man with a mirror (who thinks he’s alone) you’ll probably find him flexing, dancing, admiring and pinching (his biceps.) Replay that scenario with a woman and you’ll find her hiding behind her towel, dressing as fast as possible, or moaning about the jiggle on her right butt cheek and pinching (what she calls flabby thighs). Am I right?

How did such similar bodies, both fashioned in the image of a divine, creative Master become interpreted by one as near perfection and by the other as nothing short of a pariah?

Food for thought.

Bearing in this broken frame

Your stamp, your glory, emblazoned name.

Bearing within His mortal dust

Your hope, redemption for all of us. 

That now inside our fragile flesh,

We can know your heart to bless

Breath, shape and perfect form.

Christ’s life in us, naked flesh reborn. 

Borrowed Words

How easy for me to live with you , Lord!

How easy to believe in you!

When my mind casts about

Or flags in bewilderment,

when the cleverest among us

cannot see past the present evening,

not knowing what to do tomorrow –

you send me the clarity to know

that you exist

and will take care

that not all the paths of goodness shall be barred.

At the crest of earthly fame

I look back in wonderment

at the journey beyond hope – to this place,

from which I was able to send mankind

a reflection of your rays.

And however long the time

that I must yet reflect them

you will give it to me.

And whatever I fail to accomplish

you surely have allotted unto others.

Alesksander Solzhenitsyn

exerted from Acceptable Words, Prayers for the Writer pg. 101

The naked and difficult truth is that often I don’t know what to say. Often, I struggle desperately to find impressive words for editors. I search the halls of my memories for an experience I pray will resonate with someone, anyone. And sometimes, nothing comes. In those tearful moments at the computer screen, I have frequently turned to this book. In those tearful moments, sometimes even my own prayers are drowned by fretful searching for something of value to say.

May you too find peace in these insightful, borrowed words.

Peace Presents

I see the boxes ‘neath a verdant tree,

Of size and corners, of soft and flat.

Of tiny bows and licked envelopes.

Near are socks pinned to the mantle

Empty, gaping, hungry for the treats of Christmas Eve.

 

One question remains.

 

Good or bad? Worthy or not?

Will favor extend till Christmas morn?

Or with harsh words or one false step

This bounty quick be shorn?

 

Tiny, faceless, serene nearby

A wooden manger scene. A Prince of Peace.

One given and never recalled.

Given for liars and lonely, good and bad.

Given a bounty for hearts who will believe.

And behold, a gift again,

Peace on earth, goodwill to men.

 

This Peace eternal

Not as the world gives. Not for reciprocating or to the worthy.

Not wrapped or hidden

Never retracted.

Peace given.

Peace left.

In a name, in a babe.

Through a Prince who knew no peace.

Spread to me before assailant and foe.

Peace, a feast.

Amid green meadows, still waters.

 

This verdant tree will wither.

Gifts peeled, received or returned.

Praise the Prince! This giver of Peace!

Not as the world gives

But for the eternal enjoyment of my soul.