To The Cascades

When my soul's song is sighs,
Weary wells drain my eyes,
And disappointment dies to despair,
Still I know I can fall
At the feet of Him Who fills all
And receive His intentional care.

So run away, oh my soul, to the cascades!
Let the waters wash over your fear.
Limping soul make your choice
Hear the echos of His voice
In the rushing waters; know He is here.
Hide away, oh my soul, in the Goodness
Of the Spring that will never run dry.
Though parched and drained, enter rest.
Soak in peaceful hope expressed
Through the waterfalls, and be satisfied.

When my heart hates and halts,
And I salve my sores with salt,
And isolation drives me to doubt,
Still I know I can fling
My whole being on the One Who sings
A deliverance song, a victory shout

So run away, oh my soul, to the cascades!
Let the waters wash over your fear.
Limping soul make your choice
Hear the echos of His voice
In the rushing waters; know He is here.
Hide away, oh my soul, in the Goodness
Of the Spring that will never run dry.
Though parched and drained, enter rest.
Soak in peaceful hope expressed
Through the waterfalls, and be satisfied.

Broken Windows

I look beyond the window
Of the house wherein I dwell.
I long to dance upon the moss,
Drink water from the well,
Engage in conversation
With the children playing there.
But my longing turns to tears
As I breathe this stuffy air.
This room with four square corners
That I know is not my call.
Why must I then be stuck here
While outside Autumn falls?
With all that is within my heart,
I want to self-combust.
I raise my fist to break that pane.
One whispered syllable: "Trust."
Angrily, I shake my fist
"But now, NOW is my time!"
And out of frustration
I sit to pout and whine.
But the still, small voice just waits
For me to settle down.
Then speaks in tones so gentle,
"I'm not trying to keep you bound.
I don't want you to bust the window,
But that doesn't mean You're doomed.
I only want to protect You.
Broken windows badly wound.
I'll open it up in my timing;
Child, soon you will fly free
And do those things I made you for,
But for now, please trust in Me.
I can't tell you what I'm planning;
It must be a surprise.
But when I do it that sight out the window
Will be too glorious for your eyes."
I look beyond the window
Of the house wherein I dwell
And the excitement builds within me.
As I know this: All is well.


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To read the Oregon Journey blog post that corresponds with this poem, go HERE.

Desert Flood

Endless miles of sand ahead,
Behind, around, fill my soul with dread.
Why was I by Him this path led?
Could He not choose another?

My soul is heavy, weak, and dry.
Where once light, strengthened, satisfied.
My week's most frequent word is "why?"
Could He not choose another?

And yet while it appears at hand
That I walk in water-lacking land.
The deluge of rain I cannot withstand.
Should it not be one or the other?

Pelting drops that sting my face
Join a river's torrent; my feet displace.
My tears join the current; I plead for grace.
Could He not choose another?

My soul is drowning, water-logged.
Where once abundant: sorrow-bogged.
The amount of change left my senses clogged.
Could He not choose another?

How could I be both dry and wet?
Would not one the other offset?
How could I combine them yet?
Maybe I could choose another?

I fight to keep the water near
That I might the desert re-engineer,
But it only more quickly disappears
Till I turn my gaze to Another.

Abba, I don't know how the Grand Design
Allows for seasons so undefined
But I know Your plan is better than mine
So I won't seek another.

I'll crawl through the desert, bowing my knee,
And sing in the rain of Your fidelity.
I'll trust Your perfect placement for me
Until You choose another.

Each day You ever my life preserve
Such that I can't give the praise You deserve.
For if so, what kind of god would I serve?
For my God is like no other!

Fading Mist

Drops of water

Converged

Once upon a time

To make a cloud.

Closely

They interacted:

Laughing and Crying,

Giving and Taking,

Sharing and Bearing

As they passed together

Over the mountains and valleys of fleeting

Moments.

But the winds!

How they continuously

Batter the bonds of 

Friendship.

And the sun--

How it relentlessly

Melts the marks of 

Comradery.

So the sorrow begins

As the mist is forcefully

Divided.

Not knowing at what time

It may unite again.

Nevertheless,
Time marches on

With uncaring pace and unkind intentions

That slice stubbornly

And scream silently

Through the fading mist.

The Young Man and the Sea

Cerulean waves of depth, threatening 

The young man's hope.

What is the scope

Of the horizon?

It surprised him

How well he knew the sounds

Of wind and rain.

He turned around to bait his line

Casting it to the depth of possibility

Doubting his ability.

Yet knowing he must to it cling.

Gray waves of exhaustion, overwhelming

His clouded mind.

Faith and Doubt intertwined

With harsh reality. 

The winds of joviality--

How they had dissapated to doldrums

Of boisterous calm. 

He felt the weight tugging his line.

Lifting it from the sea, he sighed

For the hook held only Disappointment Applied.

When would he land opportunity? 

Silver moon of reflected light, gleaming

Over the man.

As he fights to stand

And flourish and live.

What the light's glimmer gives!

How it paired with the stars points

To True North!

He grasps at the bow, thinking.

Renewing his purpose, line he cast

For he'd harbor no bitter thoughts of the past

For lack of faith could destroy him.

But what could defeat him?

"A man can be destroyed but not defeated." ~Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

Abba, Why?

for the family and friends of Camryn Pass, a precious, dynamic young lady that God took to heaven on October 9th, 2011

In pain and confusion

My heart questions, cries.

And I wonder if I'm sinning

By asking God, "Why?"

Why must death happen

To those who love You?

Why take the young ones

When there's so much to do?

Why hurt their families?

Why pain their friends?

How does this prove that

Your love never ends?

My heart is all numb;

This doesn't seem real.

I ask all these questions

But then guilty feel.

What if I'm not supposed

To question Your plan?

What if asking "why"

Is not trusting Your hand?

But a wise friend brings comfort

And helps me to see

That You want my heart's trust 

And yet full honesty.

"It's okay to ask why;

That's not a sin.

It only sin when you want 

An answer more than Him."

Abba, I want an answer;

I'm not going to lie.

But deep down, more than that

I want to draw nigh

To Your heart by Your promise

That You stay the same.

This is all for Your glory

And the praise of Your name.

So whether You answer me

Or blind trust request.

I will rest in the promise

That You do what is best.

Thank you, Abba, for letting 

Me ask You, "Why?"

And for counting each one

Of the tears I cry.

While I'd love explanations

For the the things that You do.

Above all else,

I want to know You.

Important

He sat writing,

Penning word after word again.

It seemed that every time I saw Him

Over and over in my dreams

He sat there, papers scattered 

Around Him in reams.

I could not help but wonder

What words lay under

His pen.

 What did He consider so 

Important?

I sat copying

The Words of Abba into my journal

Combating my discouragement with His paternal

Promises of peace and hope

That say nothing is outside the scope 

Of His watchful eye.

When I cry--

According to Psalm 56--

He makes a list;

Not one tear is missed.

He sat smiling.

Looking up from His writing, He turned to me,

Whispering, "Come here, my child, and see."

It was then I knew

What He found so 

Important.

I stood crying

Viewing trillions of pages:

The record of tears over the ages,

The ledger of Adam and Moses and Sarah,

And everyone thereafter to this very era.

And not only the tears but every heartache

Found it's way on the page with a time and a date,

Proving Psalm 56:8.

He sat writing,

As I observed the proof of His faithfulness.

And when I turned to look into His eyes

I realized

He was marking down those tears, also.

Those tears that overflowed

As I thanked Him for love so unrestrained

That He could consider me and my pain

So Important.

"You've kept track of my every toss and turn through the sleepless nights, each tear entered in Your ledger, each ache written in Your book." (Psalm 56:8)

God, Listen! (Psalm 143)

Listen, 

My God and my King

To what I am asking!

And after hearing,

Answer me!

Please!

Oh, God do not base

Your help on my merit

For I have none.  But grace

May Your child inherit!

Satan seeks to knock me down

And into a corner back me,

Convincing me light cannot be found

And victory is utterly lacking.

I'm overwhelmed within, without;

My tears have become my friend.

I try to rehearse, even shout,

Of the wonders You did "back then."

I stretch my arms out to mirror my soul

"Oh to know You more," I cry.

As in a desert land, I wearily toil;

My heart is thirsty and dry.

Please answer me, Abba! And fast!

Lest my spirit break or I fall!

Don't turn away or shirk my grasp

For without You, I've nothing at all!

Point out the way that I must walk;

Give me clues to unveil my mystery.

May I not simply talk the talk!

From idols, may You set me free!

Save me from all those who hate

Your will; All my hope I will place

In Your grace and mercy, and I'll wait

In Your presence till You show Your face.

Teach me how to live to please

You only. Let Your truth be shown!

For Your name's sake, all my worries seize

And make Your glory known.

Listen, 

My God and my King

To what I am asking!

And after hearing,

Answer me!

I am Your servant.

Identity

Pain clouds your eyes,

And you try

To be

Better

Stronger

Sweeter

More Unique

More Beautiful

More Lovable

Less of a burden

Less weary

Less emotional

More Hopeful

More Helpful

More Holy

Smart

Skinny

Best

But do you not realize?

You are

So Much More

Than what you DO.

Your identity goes beyond

Your body, too.

Your brains do not say

Who you are,

And you treat those labels

Like make-up on a scar.

Do you not know?

You are

So Much More 

Than DO and DON'T;

Your identity goes beyond

How you'll act and how you won't.

Others' approval

Cannot control

Whether you feel 

Half or whole.

Only the promise

That His love never fails

Should define you;

Crown of thorns and the nails

And the life of One

Who was perfect and true

Can label you

Not what you DO.

Only that Savior

Who died for me

Says who I am;

I'm free

To simply BE

Loved.

Spotless.

Beautiful.

Redeemed.

Righteous.

Real.

One-of-a-kind.

A new creature.

Fully alive.

Pure.

Whole.

HIS.

You Talk Of...

Note: The poem below may not be suitable for young children as it deals with human sex trafficking.

You talk of freedom

That American dream ideal.

But is it real?

Is freedom your house

With a white-picket fence?

Or something left entirely 

To the National Defense?

But if some are still enslaved

Is freedom still free?

What of the girls 

Who long to be

Free?

You talk of freedom

But will you show it to her?

You talk of change

That we mustn't lack

But you turn your back.

Is change the metal

That fills your purse

Or what you in 

Various banks disperse?

What if each night she

Seeks sex fifteen times

To meet her pimps quota

Or pay her fines?

To fate she resigns.

You talk of change

But will you show her the way?

You talk of love

That emotion that impacts

But you ignore these facts.

Is love the abuse

Of a lustful john

Who uses a child

As a turn on?

Today, as every fifty-four 

Seconds have passed

A child has been harmed

In Atlanta; may I ask

You to act fast?

You talk of love

But will you show her what it truly means?

You talk of a future

That hope in tomorrow

But what of her sorrow?

Is a future the fact

That four-hundred will be

Trafficked in the next month

In Atlanta, our city?

And if seven thousand

Three hundred men

Will purchase sex from these slaves

Month and month again?

What then?

You talk of the future

But will you show her one?

You talk of your God

Who has power to heal.

But is your faith real?

Is your faith the thing

That you do on Sunday?

Or that thing that you claim

When at mealtimes you pray?

What if alone she cries

In the dark of the night

For someone to show her

Her value in life,

The light?

You talk of your God

But will you show Him to her?

May I Do What You Bless

At times when the clouds 

Cover my skies

And I can't see the road

For the tears in my eyes,

When I'm mad at the world

And the people in it,

When I look at my failure

And want to forget it,

When all of my hopes

And all of my dreams,

Are falling around me 

(Or so it may seem),

May I look to Your heart

And take in Your presence.

May I hear Your soft whisper

And know its assurance.

May I feel Your embrace

And Your love that's unending.

May I be real with You

And forget my pretending.

May You smile on me, Abba!

My greatest desire

Is to know You more

At my day's-end than prior.

May You show me Your glory

And remind me of peace.

And at the end of it all,

May my faith be increased

That wherever You lead, 

I will answer You, "Yes."

May You not bless what I do;

But may I do what You bless.

I Want to Hear

The chaos in her eyes
Because of lies
Cries
For hope in her mess,
Nothing less.
Yes,
I hear my name;
I'm called to proclaim:
He came.
His word is true,
And He makes new.
Do
I stand still
To hear His will?
Fill
My heart with Yours;
Lord, open doors.
More
Of You, less of me.
Only You can set free.
My plea
Is to show her
That pain You cure.
Pure.
Lord, here I am;
I seek Your plan.
You can
Soften hearts
And give me a part.
Start
To work; they cry
In Satan's lies.
Why?
I incline my ear;
I want to hear.
Draw near!
All You say is true,
And things that praise You
I'll do.

My Goodness

Those around me who follow sin prosper.
Am I following You in vain?
What are You doing? What are You up to?
Can't You hear me speak Your name?
I can't tell Your people how I feel,
But I'm questioning. God, please hear my cry!
Everything is difficult; life is painful.
What is this old world coming to? My,
Goodness!

Lord, I come into Your presence,
Throw my thirsty soul to Your grace.
Suddenly, I see You, Your perspective.
I weep for joy; You show Your face!
I see the realities of their "prosperity,"
How their destruction lies nearby.
You hear my voice; You know my pain.
Why did I doubt You? My,
Goodness!

You hold my hand; I see it now.
You guide and counsel, never leave.
You're the One that I desire;
I run to You; You're All to me!
My flesh and my heart both fail,
But You're my Strength; Lord, You draw nigh
To me as I draw nigh to You.
No matter what I know You are my
Goodness.

"But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked...All in vain have I kept my heart clean and washed my hands in innocence... But when I thought how to understand this,it seemed to me a wearisome task, until I went into the sanctuary of God; then I discerned their end... Nevertheless, I am continually with You; You hold my right hand. You guide me with Your counsel...there is nothing on earth that I desire besides You...My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the Strength of my heart and my Portion forever... it is good to be near God..." (Psalm 73: 2-3, 13, 16-17, 23-24, 26, 28)

Prowling Perfectionism

Perfect
Black and white
Wrong and right
Always higher
Expectations

People practicing
Pretentious performance--
Constant criticism,
Demobilizing discouragement,
Rigid rules.

Does God really love the righteous more?

Ponder
The Words of the God of Grace:
"My strength
Is made perfect
In weakness,
Your weakness."

So think again.

Could brokenness be the key to holiness?
Could our mistakes be the way He shows His beautiful Love?
Could our ugly things be how He shows His glory?
Could His grace be that which makes the imperfect holy?

Consider:
He is perfect;
We are in Him.
Why should we then strive?

Mirror on the Wall

for Maura L., that you might remember that you're beautiful...

Mirror on the Wall,
Reflection of my face,
You speak the truth
Yet lie to me
Simultaneously.

Like a ruler
You show me
That I don't measure up.
Like a detective
You uncover my faults.
Why show me
Truth
Like pimples and dark circles?
Why not lie
In moments
Such as these?

Mirror on the wall,
You're a liar.
You tell me
I'm ugly
Because I don't look like
A super-model.

Let me tell you
Something:
I don't believe you.
You're a coward--
Going with the flow of
Modern culture.

Mirror on the wall,
How dare you?
Woman in the reflection,
What will you
Believe?

Perceive past the pimples
To the smile.
Delve deeper than dark circles;
See the eyes.

Eyes that show the
Joy
Of a compassionate heart.

The beauty that the
Mirror on the Wall
Overlooked.

Struggling

She does the right things
Or at least, she tries.
But it's never
Good enough.
She gives up trying
And does the wrong things.

She knows that is not
The right attitude,
But she's yearning for acceptance
Just as she is.
Why try
If nothing can satisfy
Others?

Why can she never make the mark?
She feels so empty.
Where is her purpose?
Where is her God?