Constant as the Sun

Constant as the Sun
The sun remains fixed in the sky at all times,
And even when we cannot see it, we can see its signs.

For every tree, shrub, and flower,
Is a testament to the sun’s power.

And while every sunny day must come to an end,
The sun is not gone even when darkness descends.

For when the sun sets in one place it rises in another,
And night comes to both the first and the latter.

You may not see it from your place on the earth,
But no matter how long the night, a new day will come forth.

Hope is present like the sun is present,
For in every moment, hope is existent.

We cannot always see it because of our perspective,
But sometimes our thoughts and feelings are subjective.

Hope remains fixed and true, and beacons us to continue on,
The darkest night of the soul will end with the coming dawn.

A Thousand Words & An Incomplete Story

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

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

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.

Clenched Fist: A Poem About Letting Go

the words "Clenched Fist" over a black and white image of a clenched fist

I’ve held on so tightly to what is not mine to hold,
Grasping for control like a drowning man violently flails,
Trying to save himself from sinking when the lifeguard is approaching.
Clinging to the shimmering pyrite I worked so hard to obtain,
Turning away from true treasure, the only lasting gain.

My fists have been clenched for so long now,
Knuckles white, fingers stiff –
Difficult to flex, painful to unbend.
My hands grip the remnants of my pride,
Serving the master of self that ought to be crucified.

Once a slave to sin, I know this master well,
No longer my king yet still a brutal power.
I belong to another Kingdom now,
But Pride holds on tightly to the prey it seeks to devour,
Lulling me back like a clever, abusive lover.

I’m afraid of surrender,
Defensiveness is my nature.
Fists are great for holding but also for fighting.
I’m weary and burdened yet still terrified
Of the pain it takes to loosen my grip and kill my pride.

Yet I cannot change the past,
Nor ever tame the future while still in the present –
And I cannot hold onto this good façade forever.
The control I thought I had and carefully clung to,
Was really just a figment and not something true.

This life is not my own.
I was bought with a price at Calvary.
He saw me then, He knew His purpose for me,
For I was formed by the hands that made all things,
And forever belong to the King of Kings.

By the strength of Him who opened His hands on a cross for me,
Whose arms now embrace me and whose lips call me ‘beloved,’
I can learn to slowly unclench,
To let go of this wretched pride,
To surrender and follow my Savior, my ultimate guide.

For only with open hands can I receive
His gifts that are never earned but always given freely,
The grace that abounds, the mercies that are new each morning,
And learn to stop fighting the Lifeguard who came to me,
When I was sinking under the waves of the deep sea.

Casting: A Poem About Letting Go Of Anxiety

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.

The Circle & The Tangent Line

The Circle & The Line (2)

I’m tired of running in circles,
But afraid of running a tangent line.

In the circle, I find my comfortable masks that I know too well,
But on the line there is no room for façades, only authenticity.

In the circle, there are lies and warped truths to lull me to fitful sleep,
But on the line there is truth and rest and life.

In the circle, there is no true, permanent hope,
But on the line there is hope that doesn’t put the holder to shame.

In the circle, there are chains to hold me down and keep me spinning,
But on the line, I am free and the one who Christ sets free is free indeed.

I’ve ridden the circle many times, more than I can count.
But I long to walk the narrow line with my Savior.

My feet are inclined to turn and walk the curves,
I’m dizzy from the circle and cannot always stand.

In the circle, I ran alone, desperate and tired.
But on the line, I do not walk by myself.

In the circle, I relied on my own strength,
But on the line, my Savior steadies me and keeps me from a deadly fall.

In the circle, I followed a predictable cycle,
But on the line I walk in sweet, pure freedom.

I have run in circles all my life long,
But now I want to walk the line.

The Pieces of My Shattered Heart

God can take the shattered pieces and make something full of life & beauty

When my glass heart was shattered,
Some pieces went missing.
I tried to pick them up,
But the shards only caused more bleeding.

Yet every day I return to the ruins,
And once again I try to pick up the pieces on the floor.
But I drop them again as more blood falls,
Causing the few fragments to become many more.

See the flesh on my hands was never capable of truly repairing.
All they can do is collect some of the pieces,
As I wince in pain and bite my lip,
And attempt to apply some temporary adhesive.

But there are minute pieces that are still missing.
No mortal hand could find the full amount.
Some hide in crevices, some in the dust.
There are more pieces than I can understand or even count.

And even if every piece was accounted for,
No human effort could put them all together.
It would be a puzzle beyond one’s finite comprehension,
Not a question of “if” but an answer of “never.”

But there is one called the Great Physician,
Whose hands are stronger, whose eyes see deeper.
His skills are unfathomable and unmatchable,
He is the ultimate Healer – not just a reliever.

He takes the shards of my sin-sick heart,
And carefully trims, shapes, constructs, and assembles.
Sometimes it cuts, sometimes it stings,
But He knows when to apply pressure and when to be gentle.

He is not just repairing,
But rather He is creating.
A new heart, pristine and beautiful.
The process hurts now, but ultimately, it’s liberating.

My cold, hard, once dead heart,
Is being transformed to one that is full of life and His beauty.
And while this life may still batter it,
It will not and cannot destroy it completely.

For it sits in its Maker’s hands, strong and good
From His throne on high it will not fall,
His steady hands hold it now and for always,
I know He will see it through it all.

The Potter and the Clay

But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.

I know the clay has no right to say
Why the Potter shaped it some particular way.

Yet I cannot help but wonder
And so, I sit, I cry, I question, I ponder…

Why did the Potter make me so–

Prone to anxiety,
Easily swept by pride,
Overcome with feelings so deep,
So shy and awkward,
And easily afraid?

Quickly jealous,
Painfully indecisive,
Susceptible to crippling doubts,
Often impatient,
And lonely?

My hope is that these things aren’t me.
That these things are not the end of the story He wrote for me.

That these things may somehow be used to glorify Him,
As he skillfully shapes this lump of clay with a plan and not on some whim.

That He won’t abandon this mess I’m in,
And that He sees a brighter future, not just where I’ve been.

That His hands will shape, trim, and cut when needed,
And that He won’t leave me uncompleted.

That I will not be burned up in that fiery kiln,
But that he will take away all my burdens and sin within.

That the vessel that comes out is beautiful and purposeful,
Pointing to the Maker and His grace so bountiful.

That I am a creation being created,
Now and for all my days that He allocated.

pottery process

A Light in the Darkness

light blog

Darkness has covered the world as a shroud covers a corpse.
Light cannot ignite on its own, and hope cannot come from even the best of our works.

In this darkness, with a blanket of death wrapped around us, we lie spiritually sleeping.
Our heart may still indeed be beating, but death is really all that we are reaping.

When the time was right, and darkness seemed to permeate all of earthly existence,
The ultimate Light of the World came and shone with an unexpected brilliance.

This Light came like a small burning flame, humble and simple,
But this Light was more than just an ordinary candle flicker.

In him was life, life like mere mortals could not fathom in their comfortable sleep,
A life of peace in the midst of struggle, a hope so different and unique.

This Light was, is and will be light of people, a light that shines in the deepest of darkness,
The Word of God, alive and incarnate.

The world was made through this Light, but the world esteemed it not.
Still the Light came, without hesitation or any second thought.

The Light knew there would be rejection,
But still came to save us from our own self-destruction.

The brightness of the Light hurt the eyes used to the night,
But no matter how much the world tried to extinguish it, the Light still shone ever bright.

Darkness could not, cannot, and will not overcome it,
In fact, the darkness cannot hide and will ultimately submit.

The Light gave a hope to all who believed,
They became sons and daughters of God on high, adopted and redeemed.

By the Light, we can see and do things impossible in the dark,
The Light invites us to follow and with him to walk.

And as one flame can light many fires,
All believers have the light, though we often try to hide it because of fleshly fears.

Darkness can be comfortable, as it keeps our deepest secrets hidden
But only in and by the Light can all our sins be forgiven.

If the Lord is our Light and salvation, of whom shall we be afraid?
Though we are prone to wander, our Light does not stray.

We are children of the Light, lamps made to illuminate the night.
And in the pitch black of night, light shines spectacularly bright.

And so, our Savior says “let your light shine before others,”
That they might glorify the Father with awe, praise, and wonder.

May we live, love, and serve wholeheartedly,
As messengers of God’s great grace and artistry.

And as a candle’s wax eventually runs out,
So does the end of our days on earth eventually come about.

And while our physical forms wear down and decay,
The light of life permeates our souls forever and always.

The Light of the World is Light forever,
And so we are His, forever and ever.