inspiration

The Sea & We

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Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord his God, 6 who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, who keeps faith forever;

The sea is His, for He made it,
He knows every molecule within it.
He told the waves how far to go,
And created the creatures that call it home.

The sea is His, deep and vast,
Seemingly endless to us yet a mere drop to Him.
For we are finite but He is infinite.
No part remains uncharted or hidden to Him.

The sea is His, and sometimes He leads us to it,
And He commands even the winds that churn it.
Sometimes He calls us to walk on the water,
And is there to catch us when our doubts try to swallow.

The sea is His, and He has been known to use it,
And sometimes He uses even the big fish within it,
The fish isn’t appointed to simply devour,
But to rescue and change us, by His mighty power.

The sea is deep but we are in His hands.
For even if we find ourselves in its deepest depths,
Still we will be held in His righteous right hand.
Whether we are high or low, He remains firm like land.

We are His, for He made us,
He knows the number of hairs on our heads,
And sees all the days that we have breath.
Billions of people but no identical fingerprints.

We are His, vessels of wrath redeemed for His glory,
He knows us fully yet still loves us radically.
His love is more vast than any sea we encounter,
He has made us a part of His family forever.

We are His, and even when we start to doubt,
No waves intimidate Him from reaching His hand out,
No darkness impairs Him from seeing all.
When we are weak, He remains strong.

We are His, bought with a price at Calvary.
And in Christ there is no condemnation.
Nothing in all creation – not even the most raging seas –
Can separate Him from you and me.

Create In Me

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Create in Me

In the beginning, God created and saw it was good,
Creating through His word, like only He could.
All of creation is testament to His artistry,
Even in the darkness, His creativity shines brilliantly.

He made everything from the magnificent starry night sky,
Where every massive star looks like a shiny pin way up high,
To the largest whale in the sea and the tiniest insect on the ground,
From every grain of sand to every molecular compound.

He formed the whole world and He formed me,
He knit me together in secrecy, carefully and intricately.
My frame was not hidden as He knit every organ and limb,
Even the number of hairs on my head is known to Him!

Even before I ever took a breath,
He knew me and saw my mortal days from birth to death,
He also sees me on that glorious day,
When all is made new and the old has passed away.

Sometimes I feel like a hopeless case,
And some days, even just a waste of breath and space.
But out of His grace and mercy, He still calls me His workmanship,
And beacons me to live with Him in relationship and fellowship.

And in this earthly life,
There will be pain and strife.
And even when the chaos of life refuses to cease,
He is working in the mess to make a masterpiece.

I am clay in the hands of the skillful Potter,
Being carefully molded as His beloved daughter.
He shapes this lump of clay not on some whim,
But rather with a plan, so that even dust may glorify Him.

Sometimes works in progress look like something gone awry,
But a caterpillar must first become a chrysalis to become a butterfly.
The most elaborate embroidery, pleasing to the eye,
Has a messy, tangled, abstract underside.

God was not and is not afraid of my life’s complexity,
What is overwhelming to me is still subject to His sovereignty.
My past, present, and future self are fully known and fully loved,
For He called me out of sin and shame, and calls me His beloved.

For all who are in Christ, a new creation has come-
Out of death, true life now flows from!
Not because of what I have done, but because of His grace,
I will not be abandoned nor sent to my deserved fate.

Oh Lord, create in me a clean heart!
Have mercy and remove my sins and spiritual rot.
Transform my crimson-stained attire,
And change my evil and selfish desires.

Oh Lord, You are the author of my story,
Let each word shout of Your great glory!
And help me to remember that what I now see,
Is merely a cropped image of what You are doing in me.

Oh Lord, weave together both the dark and light strands,
To create some beautiful tapestry, the work of Your hands.
Stitch me into your family of diverse believers,
Into a quilt more beautiful than myself or any individuals.

And when all I see is what I wish I could be,
Help me remember that You began a good work in me,
You will not abandon nor give up in frustration,
You entered my mess and will bring me to completion.

The Crazy Quilt Church

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Crazy Quilt Church
We all have ragged edges,
yet somehow fit together beautifully,
A crazy quilt of splendid variety,
Stitched together with elaborate red stitchery.

Each piece unique in color and shape,
With different backgrounds and histories,
Yet united together to tell of the Maker’s glory,
More beautiful together than each piece separately.

Whether emotional and dramatic,
Or more somber and even partly tragic,
Every scrap has a story to tell,
Not just the bold but the quiet as well.

All coming from different places,
And purposefully placed in designated locations,
He brings together even clashing pieces,
And makes them united through His love.

Apart, not very helpful in longevity,
Yet together, purposeful for all of eternity.
Even the most odd piece can be a part,
Each piece He stitches in belongs in His work of art.

Lessons From Flowers

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Lessons from Flowers

The flowers in the garden may be unable to speak audibly,
but they can teach us and remind us of so much visibly.
They speak through metaphors and brilliant imagery.

They all need sun and water to grow and survive,
But like us, only under certain conditions will they thrive.
There is more to life than being labeled as “alive.”

The first crocuses of early spring,
Tell of the promises that the season will bring.
Reminding us of the nows and not yets, promised by our King.

As the season marches on, flowers grow and reach towards the sun,
They remind us to set our gaze on God’s Son,
To grow in relationship with our Savior, the risen One.

Their mere existence on even cloudy and stormy days,
is a testament to the sun’s presence when we cannot see its rays.
And like the sun, hope remains when we cannot see it through life’s haze.

The flowers in a garden don’t all bloom concurrently,
They all grow but their times and rates of growth vary considerably.
But they don’t compare their speeds, or fret about the future wearily.

They come in all sizes, shapes, and colors,
But that diversity makes a garden full of beauty and wonders,
Reminding us to love and appreciate our different sisters and brothers.

Some flowers are deemed as nothing more than weeds,
But what is a weed to some is a treasure to others indeed.
A reminder that a little perspective is something we all need.

The lilies of the field neither toil nor spin,
Yet God adorns them, reminding us to not be anxious within.
We can trust Him who is, will be, and always has been.

And as the grass withers and flowers fade,
Our earthly bodies will die and decay.
So let us be thankful and content today.

 

Living in the Saturday

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We Live in the Saturday

The events that unfold in this world can shake us to our core,
The dreams we once had can fall and shatter on the floor.
Darkness descends and weighs heavy upon our souls,
And then we truly realize we were never in control.

We may wonder if there is any reason to continue on,
Forgetting the promise of the coming dawn.
For even in the darkness, hope is never lost –
It was forever won long ago on the cross.

Love was nailed to a rugged tree,
A disturbing truth, a gruesome reality.
In fear, His followers were scattered,
And in grief, their hearts were shattered.

But the tears they cried were not the end of the story,
God gets the last word and all of the glory.
His followers then did not remember his prediction,
But his followers now know that after mourning came celebration.

Like those followers of ancient days,
We don’t always understand His mysterious ways.
It’s easy to slip under the raging waves,
Taking our eyes off the One who saves.

We live in the Saturday,
and the tension is too much to bear some days.
But in the darkest of dark nights,
Our HOPE still shines bright.

We live in the Saturday,
but our HOPE will not betray.
Our God is the Master Storyteller,
And will be faithful to us forever.

We live in the Saturday,
and while these vessels do decay,
He will make all things new,
His word is forever true.

So in all our sorrows, pain, and strife,
We can hold fast to the giver of true Life.
Our hope is steadfast,
We will see Sunday come to pass.

A Thousand Words & An Incomplete Story

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A Thousand Words & An Incomplete Story

A picture may tell a thousand words,
but sometimes a thousand words aren’t enough.

A thousand words may tell quite a story,
but sometimes that story is fiction.

Sometimes the story the photo tells,
is not be the story the subject knows.

Sometimes the photo has pieces missing,
or intentionally cropped out.

Sometimes the photo is retouched,
altered, distorted, with filters applied.

What we see is not always enough
to know the full extent of the truth.

Your feelings may speak a thousand words too.
but they don’t always tell the full story.

Those feelings are indeed valid,
but they are not always truthful.

Sometimes we are like a thousand-piece puzzles
with less than a thousand pieces present.

Sometimes there’s not enough ink
to express all that we think.

Sometimes the story your feelings share
Is the exact opposite of truth.

What we feel is not always enough,
to know who we are or to Whom we belong.

Eggshells on the Shores of Grace

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Eggshells on the Shores of Grace

This is an attempt to explain my testimony.
But these words are ultimately not about me; they are about Him.

“God is love” or so I sang, with an on the spot melody.
Not a care in the world but attracted to the Light that loved me.
A faith so strong, a mind so sure.

But cares came quickly, and I started to flee from the Light.
Trying to run from disapproving glares, only to run into snares.
I took my eyes off of Truth and stared at the waves I created instead.

Unintentional middle fingers and petty thievery,
Webs of lies and never satisfied jealousy,
I was only a child but able to feel condemnation upon me.

Reading words that felt like a heavy burden,
I cried myself to sleep believing I surely blew it.
Fear spread through me like an uncontrolled tumor.

I was only in the single digits, but definitely double-minded.
Unstable in all things, I was the storm and the storm was in me,
Seemingly ripped in two, torn between God and this world.

Still, a part of me kept hoping for redemption,
Believing that God’s grace might indeed be for me.
This hope was a flicker of light in the darkness of night.

That fire, though dim, stayed lit through all these years,
Long smoldering coals, never fully extinguished,
A testament to His great grace and mercy.

But my soul seemed legally blind to the grace being offered,
Able to sense light’s presence but not see what it illuminated.
Pride held me like an abusive lover, and I held it closer.

In Sunday school, I became well versed in basic knowledge,
Like one who has read about and studied the ocean,
But never been in the actual water.

Day by day, clearly definable wrongdoings matured,
Becoming more and more covert, yet with a stronger hold.
Pride was my ultimate hunger, fuel, and ulterior motive.

And in that pride, I played a warped version of a favorite childhood game,
Except instead of pretending to be a princess, I pretended to be okay.
I managed to fool some, and even myself for a time.

The masks of this twisted dress up game became thick and elaborate,
Seeming to ever widen the distance between the Creator and me.
My anxieties grew exponentially, and rest completely evaded me.

And as the years went by,
I found myself walking on eggshells
When He had called me to walk on the water.

I couldn’t fully believe that God could love me,
Every step closer to the water made me tremble with fear,
I felt I was drowning with my feet firmly in the sand.

So I tiptoed along the shores of grace,
All while carrying heavy burdens that
I was never meant to carry.

I kept pursuing the world’s glimmering pyrite,
Plenty of ‘good’ things, but never the Best thing.
But all chase and no rest left me weary and stressed.

Every day felt like more than I could bear,
But even in the darkest darkness, He was there,
He sustained me even when I couldn’t see Him.

Never once did He stop pursing me,
The Light kept calling my name in that darkness,
Through songs, sermons, and studies.

He is the hero of this story, and not me,
He gave me more than I could handle so that
He could give me more of Him.

He took that spirit of fear that paralyzed me,
He gives me His spirit to replace it.
And He is faithful when I stumble and falter.

My sin was great but He is greater,
My guilt was strong but He is stronger,
And I am His both now and forever.

When troubles and doubts come to harass me,
And the fears once again charge against me,
He is my rock, my refuge, my protector.

He began a good work in me,
And He will be faithful to complete it,
For He lives in me and I am hidden in Him.

And in His goodness, He beacons me each and every morning,
To leave these eggshells on the shore and join Him on the sea.
And by His grace alone, I can do that indeed.

A Known Enigma

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A Known Enigma

I am an enigma, a mystery
What I say is not necessarily what I am thinking.
And what I do doesn’t necessarily represent my motivation.

I am a thousand piece puzzle,
With less than a thousand pieces present.
Even I cannot seem to put the pieces all together.

I am something that baffles,
Both myself and perhaps many others.
Chaos and confusion housed in my physical form.

I am an ocean of secrets,
And even I am afraid to swim to the ocean’s floor.
The depths are dark and dangerous, and not for the faint of heart.

But

To Him I am as clear as day,
Transparent, an open secret.
No clever words can mask what I’m thinking,
No lovely roses can hide the abhorrent stench of my sinning,
No sweat melodies can overpower the my internal screaming,
No fancy clothes can improve my being.

And

This is terrifying.
This is liberating.
This is the worst news.
This is the best news.

For healing can come only when the Healer knows what is ailing.

Casting: A Poem About Letting Go Of Anxiety

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casting

You say to cast all anxieties on You,
And going through the motions, I say that I do.
But how many times have I cast
With strings still very attached?

Like a ball and chain imprisoning,
Or like a handle for carrying?
Checking in my luggage for the baggage car,
And re-claiming it again before I get too far?

Like a pack mule with a back aching,
I’ve trudged on in a desert of my own making.
Carrying baggage I’m not meant to carry,
My soul only becoming more and more weary.

My worries are really just masks for my heart,
Filled with pride, unbelief, and spiritual rot.
Heavy façades I got used to hauling,
That only grew heavier with every new morning.

These masks may have fooled me, but not my adversary.
He knows the truth of the weight that I carry.
He prowls around with never-ending hunger,
Seeking proud souls like mine to devour.

It became too much and I fell to my knees in exhaustion,
And in a moment of surrender, I was given the gift of adoption.
The LORD lifted me up and beckoned me to follow,
And reminded me there is no room for this particular cargo.

These masks had fooled others, but not my Father.
He knows all yet still loves and to me now gives the power
To stand, to resist, to let go of the masks, and to believe
Not criteria to meet but a gift to receive.

And with His gifts of grace and mercy,
He gives strength to throw what I once struggled to carry.
He cared for me today, He’ll care for me tomorrow.
Like the anxieties I cast now, I can cast the ones tomorrow.

Lessons From the Garden | The Sensitive Plant

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Lessons from the Garden_ The Sensitive Plant

I’m a firm believer that the natural world around us can show us things of God’s character and give us important reminders as we journey through this life. After all, He is the creator of it all. Art reflects the artist. We just have to open our eyes and pay attention.

Where I work, we have several gardens and probably a couple hundred different flowers, vegetables, herbs, etc. There is one particular plant that has fascinated me ever since a co-worker showed it to me last summer: the sensitive plant, also known as the “shame plant” or “shy plant.” It gets its name from the fact that when you touch it, it immediately folds inward and droops on the ground, as the picture below shows. In a few minutes, it starts to perk up again and soon, it is as if it never drooped at all!

Sensitive Plant

Sometimes life’s circumstances seem like a sudden punch to the gut. Sometimes we crash and burn. Sometimes our faith falters. Sometimes our situations look hopeless. We may turn inward. We may see our lives looking like the shriveled up leaves this plant has when it is touched. Things looks dead and hopeless. But as long as we have breath in our lungs and are still rooted in Jesus like the plant is rooted in the ground, there is hope. Things aren’t always the way they look at first glance.

That’s a frequent theme in scripture and in life. Sometimes our senses and our feelings fail us. They are not 100% accurate. There is always hope even when all seems hopeless. Even on the most hopeless day in history, the day that Jesus died a gruesome death on the cross, there was hope. He came back and will come back again. If Jesus could come back from the grave, then we can know for certain that there is hope in the seemingly hopeless in our lives too.

Of course, it may take exponentially longer to get up than it did to fall down. The same is true with this plant. It folds inward almost immediately upon being touched, but takes five or ten minutes to come back out and face the sun again. It doesn’t happen all at once either. It’s a slow, moment by moment comeback. And that’s the important thing: there is a comeback. One touch from some other force beyond the plant’s control does not keep the plant down. It is resilient. As God’s sojourning children in this world, who do not fight evil forces on our own but with the power of God, we can be resilient too. We do not fight this battle alone. We can and will rise again.

“Rejoice not over me, O my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.”

(Micah 7:8)