My Lifelong Motif

Weak creature as I am,
Too weak to lift this gram
of weight set before me,
burden of which I am unfree.
This burden indeed I wrestle and fight,
but Your burden easy and yoke light.
How am I to truly believe
that you have granted eternal reprieve?
Your joy and love set before us.
I pray and pray. I should. I must.
I believe, yet help my unbelief.
this cry of love my lifelong motif.

Not One Is Missing

“To whom then will you compare me,
    that I should be like him?” says the Holy One.
“Lift up your eyes on high and see:
    who created these?
He who brings out their host by number,
    calling them all by name,
by the greatness of his might,
    and because he is strong in power
    not one is missing.”
Isaiah 40: 25-26 (ESV)

Not one is missing…

How often I feel unseen and unheard. I speak and wonder where or if my words fall to good, yet

Not one is missing…

How often I sit in a place feeling ignored or unwanted. Do they care, these people who claim friendship? Do they love me, these people who claim to love Christ? Yet

Not one is missing…

How often I lay in bed wondering if I will ever have a family to call my own, wondering if someone will lay beside me, wondering if I’ve been forgotten. Yet

Not one is missing…

How often I work and work towards good, towards what I believe is Your glory. How often I put my fingers to task day by day in order to bring Your renewal and feel left behind in my dreams. How often I feel like everyone can accomplish their life goals, yet

Not one is missing…

You do not miss me.
I do not escape You.
Even when I do not feel it, this is the truth of the situation. Even when I do not want it, it still remains.

You do not miss me.
I do not escape You.
Your hand is here on me reminding me of Your Presence and Your strength. Your hand is here reminding me that yes,

Not one is missing.

Lord, I believe, yet help my unbelief.

For the Forsaken

Terror. Fear. Agony.

Whatever your name for it, it makes us quake. These forces take away our ability to reason or even to focus on what is deserving. We make rash decisions from them, and they inevitability lead to death. They are not life-givers. They are life-takers, life-rapers. They steal (or attempt to) our humanity.

Our Father looks to us and asks, “Do you feel healed?”

I feel but a shell of a person. I feel once a whole person, and now each piece of me eaten by the ravens. They have feasted on what they could. I feel pruned to the root in the ground, void of feeling anything but loneliness and despair. I believe I will grow again not out of hope of it being actually so. I believe I will grow again because I want to see you prove that You are who You say You are. I know I will grown again from this ash, yet I know not when.

Then the resounding chorus offers its hope. We are but life-givers. That which attempts to take from us cannot because of the power that we have. We have been given our humanity, and it stands within our grasp. This resounding chorus is what I wish to hear to no more. How do we reconcile being life givers when the world within us is in turmoil? When we don’t feel like or quite honestly just don’t want to give life? What do we do? How do we not give into terror and fear and agony? How do we let this resurrected Messiah invade?

I begin to believe that perhaps silence and rest is what space my mind needs. I intentionally create that space just to find that it indeed has had too much space to roam free in its thoughts and intentions. Perhaps laughter with friends will satisfy this need, but it only lasts for a minute. It turns into reminders of what I don’t nor will I ever have. To be alone is devastating. To be in company is devastating. Where does my hope lie?

This is what I offer you:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Invitation.

Hear the word sweetly caress your soul.
You have invitation into the Loving Embrace, where terror and fear and agony do not reside. You have invitation where loneliness flees from His presence and darkness gives way to light. You have invitation where community around a table will last into eternity. You have invitation to feel healed again, to watch the flowers bloom into a beautiful array of flowers full of life and vibrance showing to all the deeds of His hands. You have invitation to take part again in the resounding chorus speaking hope into the lives around you.

And of this I am certain: you can.

I believe one day you will be the scent of roses upon our Lover’s hand for He has dealt tenderly with you, not allowing thorns to be your identity. Yes, I believe in you. And perhaps that is just what you need- to know that God believes in you and I do too.

Invitation to the Feast

Sit we outside the city gates
Longing to be clean.
Sitting in this shit is our fate
Putrid smell obscene.

The trumpet sounds for all to hear.
Downcast our faces turn,
Uninvited to that feast so near.
In misery we churn.

What can we bring before a righteous King?
All we have are filthy rags.
Never in a distance to kiss his ring,
Surely at this stench He gags.

My face turned down staring shamefully,
I see two feet approach.
The scars appear, unmistakably.
My slime the Prince dares broach.

Outstretched His hands towards me remain.
His eyes so welcoming.
He comes freeing slaves, easily breaking chains.
I stand with strength, overcoming.

He walks me through the streets so grand
To a throne, so intricate with grandeur.
No one from the table ever banned.
His presence announces the final cure.

The whispers penetrate my heart,
No longer can I ignore.
He gives me leave to take part,
His bride is who this feast is for.

This feast so splendid, I take my fill.
My cup ne’er to stop flowing.
My brother has already paid the bill.
As my Father stares at me glowing.

Our space to me so precious.
He is my lifelong delight.
This invitation more delicious
I rest, no longer to fight.

To the Dungeon

There is a dungeon where we all reside. Stone walls, rusty bars, a shit filled corner. It smells of piss and shit. Nothing to stay the sickness. We heave a dryness at our feet for our stomachs have not been filled. The chains on us give us just enough room to move to relieve ourselves of what nourishment we have been given, if we have the strength to crawl. We sleep with our backs against the walls, watching the rats grow from our filth as they nibble on our gangrenous toes. The locks tight and bonds uncomfortable. The guards can’t even stand our stench as they curse us to damnation in condemnation. They slide moldy bread to us that tips onto the floor soaking up the cursed dung and a water bucket partially filled, enough so we won’t die. Living in this filth is what we were destined to do, and the guards give us just enough to survive.

Then there is a great earthquake so that the foundations of the prison are shaken. Light breaks in and blinds our eyes. We raise our hands to cover our sight because the light is so foreign, but the light breaks through victoriously. It will not be kept out. Immediately all the doors are opened, all the bonds are unfastened. The Messiah has risen again to free us from our chains! The guards run scared when we realize we are free! He steps in, reaches down, and looks us in the eye. He comes to offer healing. We look up at a Christ who took on pain to free us from ours. I lift a small finger to touch His hand for it is all I can muster, and a change happens. I am no longer broken. I am clean. He has cleansed me for eternity.

Jesus, our Brother, constantly comes to us, and in the midst of our stench and filth, He slides loosened chains from our feet. Yes, he even reaches out and takes our hands. He carries us up to the table full of feast, where our Dad has been sitting lovingly and longingly. We come to nourish ourselves with His Presence.

Sometimes we look around, and we don’t see our brothers and sisters sitting there at the table. We look to God and ask, “Where are they, Dad? Aren’t they hungry too? Don’t they want to sit here?”

“Yes, my love,” He answers softly. “The invitation is always open. i always desire to sit with them. Would you mind going to get them?”

So we leave the table and go to the dungeon. There sits our sister in her filth again. In that moment we don’t run and find Jesus and ask for help. We don’t yell at her or berate her to just stand. We don’t scream from across the room telling her to come. No, we walk to her and gently place our hands on hers. We take the loosened chains that she is fidgeting with and trying so hard put back on. We cast them off. We wipe the shit off of her that she smeared into her skin. We lovingly place our hand beneath her chin, lifting her eyes to meet ours as a tear runs down her cheek, and we say, “Dear sister, our Father waits. He has already declared you free. He sits at the table where you are chosen, approved, and accepted. He told us to come get you because He desires our presence together. Won’t you come? The invitation is here.”

Indeed God does call us out to declare freedom and feast. And indeed when our brothers and sisters are hurting, we have authority to bring them to the table with us.

Come to the table, my love.

How Cheap We Are To Think

How cheap we are to think
Your power so easily bought.
We cast our pennies at Your feet
Yes, a penny for Your thoughts?

How cheap we are to think
Your goodness so easily earned.
We cast our deeds at Your throne
Thinking Your face we have turned.

How cheap we are to think
Your love so easily redeemed
We cast our words on Your ground
Oh, our eloquence so esteemed.

How cheap indeed we are to think
That perhaps in us the power lies,
Yet You so graciously remain
Whispering Your desire we abide.

Teach Me How to Love

Father, Creator of all and Giver of passion and dreams, I have been obsessed with Your Love.

For so long I did not know how to love for I was not taught how. For years I was taught how to be self-deprecating and to give to others. I hated myself because I did not see that I was lovable. I chose to disregard my dreams because I did not see that others willingly and joyfully chose me. I chose to run away because I believed that You ran away from me.

I now see that I believed lies and lived in chains though You had set me free.

Father, forgive me.

For so long I believed that I was unwise because of what one person said. For so long I believed that I was only worthy if I performed at an above satisfactory level. For so long I believed that I was only okay if I put everything on the back burner in order to support and invest in other people’s dreams.

I now see that I was not okay and lived in chains though You had set me free.

Father, forgive me.

For so long I thought that by burning my candle for the sole purpose of the letting others see was my way of loving You. I thought that burning my candle just to burn was useless and inefficient. I thought that hiding my story was a way of self-protection and self-love. I thought that shame was stronger and bigger. I thought that fear was the conqueror.

I now see that shame has no power and I lived in chains thought You had set me free.

Father, forgive me.

And this day I choose the path of righteousness. I choose to let Your love permeate every fiber of my being and every area of my life. I choose to let my candle burn especially when You are the only one who gets to enjoy it. I choose to denounce ungodliness and fear and shame. I choose to give You the power. I choose to walk out of the chains. I choose to let You teach me how to love by letting You love me and choose me. I choose to let You love me.

Father, teach me how to love.

Whispers Permeate

Whispers permeate
Wakened, words of choice
Lifting sleep’s great weight
The heart’s full rejoice
Walking the path straight
“Me! I am the voice!”

He gives this great authority
For me to speak so lovingly.

Loving You

Insecure and exposed.
Emerging from the womb
Birthed in love and harsh reality.
Unprotected, no repose
Until I step into this room.
All I’ve known is self enmity.
Twenty-Seven, my foe of foes.
Unable? Unwilling? To see Your tomb.
Drowned in my own insecurity.
The truth that me You chose
That you will come to me soon
That You hold Hell’s gate keys
Sealed from the moment You rose.
Can I believe or be led to doom?
I failed to walk in belief.
My spirit within me froze.
O Lord, change my whistling tune
To one rising to Your ears sweetly.
A tune Your glory shows.
Music of a flower bloom
Approved. Chosen. Accepted. Free.

I long to love others fully.
First I must love myself sweetly.
All overflow of loving You truly.

The Number of the Days

The Lord, who is our Father in heaven, come to be with us today.
You wrote down our days before we ever had a day. You numbered them before we were ever conceived.
You are intimately acquainted with our days, and even more so our days are precious to You.

Forgive us, Lord, for not believing this.
Forgive us, Lord, for not abiding.
Forgive us, Lord, for not living as if You love us.

Father, I don’t know what number I am on, but I know that I have gone through difficulty and trial in order to accomplish a great work within me. For so long I have seen myself as the supporting character in other people’s stories. But today I see that it is my story. I am the main character here. I will be the voice here. I will be the words that declare Your power to this generation. I will be the testament that declares Your desire for these people. I will be the letter of love that reveals Your intention and pursuit of these friends. I will be the story that describes the freedom you have to give to humanity. You wrote this story before the creation of time, and I will no longer stand by supposing things will happen for me.

No, for indeed I myself will awaken the dawn.

For indeed I myself will abide in the riches of your grace to accomplish this great work.