The Moon

Tonight the moon halo shines bright.
Alone under the great eye of the night,
I stand little and small in its gaze.

Am I afraid in its sight?
No, I'm comforted to be in its light.
I'm reassured to be seen.

My realities shift like the sands on a dune,
my anxieties are secret, but known by the moon.
And like a rock that hates to be hewn,
I fight against the hands that would open me.

But the moon listens;
the moon knows;
the moon sees, and
the moon understands.

A halo forms the iris of the night,
and the deep dark of its eye is
illuminated by the small twinkling
of billions of galaxies distant.

The moon demands nothing of me,
expects nothing more, sees nothing less.
I am naked, bare, and exposed under its eye,
and it feels good to be finally seen.

The moon is not brilliant, but soft;
not incredible, but humble.
And in its humility it lights up our entire world
in its cool, all seeing dimness.

And I wonder, sometimes, on a night like this,
Who hung the moon in the sky? 
Who gave a source to its knowing light?

For maybe He is able to see me too.
Maybe He is able to make me unafraid.
Maybe I can stand naked, bare, and exposed in His sight,
and risk no condemnation at all.

Racing

Chai latte,
beautiful snowy day,
a pen in my hands.

Clouds hanging,
guitar strings twanging,
and a poem in my heart.

These are the things that I am thankful
for today, a measure of the good Lord's
grace, the gift of breath in my lungs, and
the wondrous beauty of the world around me.

If I could number the ways that my 
Jesus has blessed me, I would be numbering
those ways for an eternity. I'm glad that instead,
I get to spend my whole life with Him.

Finding wonder and beauty in the racing
world around us can often be much
more difficult than we would like, but God
offers His rest and comfort to all who seek Him.

Oh, may the Lord be praised! May my song
rise to Him in the morning, and my gratitude
in the evening. For He is enthroned and reigns
forever and ever in heaven and in our hearts.

Storms

Heart on a storm-tossed sea,
can barely hear Your love for me
amidst the crashing thunder and pounding waves;
feels like this tempest might last for days.

Throwing unneeded things off the side,
lightening the load into the surging tide.
I toss away what once held importance
in a desperate attempt to leave this dance.

There is one thing that I hold tightly to,
a burden I refuse to just let go,
and even if I chose to forsake all else,
I wouldn’t dare send this one to the shells.

The Lord, my Light, who gave me life,
He took my broken heart and healed my strife.
He freed me from sin, a price not cheap
and it is my Jesus that I choose to keep.

Should I be lost to the wind-crazed sea,
I know that forever He’ll be with me.
When upside-down I find myself,
He calms the sea and is my help.

Wilderness

A return to the wilderness.

There's nothing here.
Just you, the wind, and the grit that covers the ground.
It brushes against your ankles as the breeze sweeps it across the barren terrain. 
You listen closely, yet hear no sound.

This peace is what you searched for;
the quiet is not.
For this quiet is loud with the screams of your heart;
the thoughts that endlessly loop in your head.

But you let the thoughts come, and with them, pain.
The memories of the past come rushing back,
and there is nothing to stop the torrent.

But as soon as it came, it passes, and the quiet isn't loud.
The quiet is still, and calm, and broken only by the moan of the wind.

And then, a voice. A still, small whisper far off in the distance. At first, it cannot be understood what the whisper says, but suddenly, the understanding comes in a rush.

"Be still, My child. Lay down your burdens. Let Me be the one to offer you strength; to restore your weary soul; to give you new life. For I am the one who created you, and I love you so deeply, you cannot know. As tall as the mountains are high; as low as the oceans are deep, I love you more."

Peace and love, warm and sweet, rush over you in waves. Washed in this grace, the warmth spreads and fills; replacing the void just before filled with chaotic, violent thoughts. The quiet is not loud, nor is it silent; and the wilderness around you becomes an oasis. 

Set a stone in the ground, young one; remember this day forever. For today is the day the Lord has led His Bride from the wilderness, and back into His merciful presence. May He be praised forever and ever!

"Therefore, I am going to persuade her, lead her to the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. Then I will give her vineyards back to her and turn the Valley of Achor into a gateway of hope." - Hosea 2:14-15

Stepping Back

When constant distractions all around, 
seek to drive me to my knees,
I come and pray and ask that You
would speak and calm the seas.

My life gets cluttered and cramped,
and there’s so little time for You.
And yet, You hold me in Your arms,
and are with me in all that I do.

Your whisper is hardly heard
amidst my crazy days.
But in the quiet moments of my life,
Your love prompts my praise.

You teach me of true worship;
a song without words or tune.
Instead, it’s remembrance of grace,
and the desire for You to come soon.

Instead of my questions and doubts,
You only hear my voice.
You call me beautiful, wonderful child,
and calm all the hectic noise.

You are always loving,
kind, gracious, and true.
Your beauty astounds me, 
and this life is a reflection of You.

When I take a step away,
and forget the concerns of my heart,
Your Spirit reminds me of how good You are,
and gives me a fresh new start.

My Beautiful, Incredible Child

My beautiful, incredible child,

do you not see who you are?

You've let your pain define you;

your past full of ugly scars.

You run from the fear and the hate,

but you only fear and hate yourself more.

But if you would only stop the running, 

I'd tell you I love you as I walked in the door.

I have so much more for you

than all of these empty pursuits.

But first, you have to lay yourself down,

for surrender is at My love's roots.

I've loved you from the start,

though I knew you'd stray from Me.

I had promised My love to you,

and I'd do anything to set you free.

I was killed for you, wonderful child,

beaten and torn for your sake.

And all the while, I was crying for you,

because of the pain you'd have to face.

Do you not see? You are treasured,

precious, valued, loved.

You are My child, and I your Father,

I the lover, you the beloved.

Invite Me in, and feel the freedom I bring,

stop pushing Me away from your heart.

I promise I can handle the hate and the pain,

I already beat Death; for you I was marred.

You haven't gone too far,

and I don't love you any less.

I just want you to be happy and free,

and the freedom I offer is the best.

My beautiful, incredible child,

can you not see?

My love for you knows no bounds,

and it's this very love that will set you free.

The Road Before You

A road lies before you,
it's your very own road.
It holds many dangers,
but to riches it goes.

Many have tried,
but none have succeeded,
to wander this road,
before you unimpeded.

But you can try.

Some, filled with doubt,
walked this road for a bit,
then thought it too hard,
so they stopped to sit.

They watched others go by,
and when asked why they sat,
they made silly excuses,
smiled, and tipped their hat.

They never arose.

Others, filled with courage,
plodded on towards the goal,
filled with hope and desire
to reach the riches foretold.

But as their apathy grew,
they lost sight of the prize,
and their focus turned elsewhere,
which led to their own demise.

They never arrived.

Still others wore armour of glistening steel,
a feather in their hat for show;
corded muscles flexed and moved,
as they strutted down this road.

But they trusted too much in themselves,
and were, to be honest, quite vain.
Their resolve proved to be like mist in the sun,
as they faced the trials and the rain.

They never found glory.

Accepting defeat and sitting from fear,
leads to a lifetime of what-ifs;
and apathy will drive you to and fro -
restless like the sands that shift.

Courage isn't found in armour
or beauty, but in persistence.
And since vanity holds little resolve,
it never can go the distance.

Every traveler failed.

The truth is, they just weren't you;
they tried to live a life not their own,
and ill-equipped for the struggle ahead,
they didn't reach the end of this road.

You are the best for the job,
the perfect traveler for this road.
And if you don't give up now,
you'll reach the riches foretold.

You are amazing.

So don't try to walk another's road,
and wish to be like them.
You'll fail every time,
because you weren't made for it.

They have their own road,
unique to their own strengths.
For you to walk theirs, well,
it's like them walking yours:

It ends in disaster.

Be content with your life,
knowing you'll one day succeed.
You'll find the riches,
and finally be freed.

And think of the trials,
and those who come against you;
You'll overcome that which opposes,
something no one else could do.

The Bridge

The man walks to the bridge, and peers over the edge.

"How far?" he asks himself.

And immediately the answer: 37 feet.

Three stories to plummet to the fate that awaits all men. He considers the numerous evenings he's been out here, wondering. He's been out here so many times that it's become habit to ask that terribly cold, unfeeling question. The answer doesn't bring comfort, doesn't even consider the broken man. And yet, he asks,

"How far?"

How far to the icy river that pursues its own course, ignorant of life it passes by? In fact, many pass him by, ignorant of the broken man. They don't see his hurt; they too are the icy, dark currents that push their way past his life. He searches for hope, but no one offers him any. So, he asks,

"How far?"

How far would someone go to save a life? He put his life on the line for this country, but now, he is disregarded. He cared for the people of this nation, but do they care for him? As he stands alone on the bridge, wondering, he thinks about if his life is worth saving. 

He looks at the river, and then at his feet. He looks to the city skyline, wondering, ever wondering. The steely cold river remind him of war, of machine gun fire, and of death. How much was worth it? Did he make any difference?

He puts his life on the railing; he lays down three medals, worn from sharing a pocket with nervous hands. He lays them side by side by side. No one notices this broken man, standing on the bridge, in the middle of the night. No one sees the man who wonders, how far? He looks at his medals, and acknowledges their futility. They mean nothing to him. And yet, they mean everything. He pockets them again.

His routine has almost run it's course, as the river runs its own course three stories beneath him. Every night, the broken man is out here, at the bridge. And every night, as he gets ready to head back home, determined to face just one more day, he lays one more symbol on the rail. Not a war medal, because he knows he's no hero.

He stares at the blood-stained cross necklace, sitting there on the railing. He remembers his life; full of pain and death. He thinks of those he's hurt. And then he thinks of Jesus, whom he has hurt the most. He never got to sacrifice like Jesus did, but he knows how hard it can be. He watched his best friend die beside him; the one who pressed this cross into his hand as his own life drained away, and death seeped in cold and bitter, like the river. Bullets, cold and steely, don't consider men's lives.

The broken man knows that this doesn't end tonight. Life goes on, and he'll learn to face his past. He does so every night. He looks down to the river, and says, "Not tonight." Every night he says that, and every night he's back. He knows that Jesus holds his life, and no river is going to tear that from His hands. The man's mistakes were no match for grace.

One final time, the broken man asks himself, "How far?"

And immediately the answer: never too far.

Oh, to be with My Savior!

Oh, to be with my Savior!
My soul longs to go.
To forget the chains of the tired old earth,
and the wonders of heaven know.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
And sit at Jesus's feet.
To be still and know that I am His,
and comprehend a love so sweet.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
Firm in the Redeemer's hand.
Never more to stray far from grace,
alone on Him, my soul will stand.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
At last face to face.
Undeserved, but unashamed,
I'll run to His embrace.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
And with the angels sing,
"Holy, Holy, Holy!
is our resurrected King!"

Oh, to be with my Savior!
Pain and death no more.
I'll sit and weep tears of joy,
as I sit at heaven's door.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
To be still and contemplate,
the wonder at all that I've finally reached,
the shining pearly gates.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
And know what Holy is.
No longer ignorant of how great our God;
and know the weight of sin.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
Made perfect in His love.
Jesus's grace is solely the reason,
I'll be able to reach heaven above.

Oh, to be with my Savior!
And from His blessed lips,
hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant!
Now enter into eternal bliss."

Still I'll Trust You

You made the earth and heavens,
teemed them with wondrous life too,
and since You've got it in Your hands,
still I will trust in You.

I've seen You move mountains,
when help seems overdue,
so when I encounter trouble,
still I will trust in You.

Though my body, weak and frail,
succumbs to sickness's cue,
the Great Physician watches me,
and still I'll trust in You.

When angst on angst is piled high,
and my blessings seem so few,
You remind me of all You did,
and still I'll trust in You.

When I face my fiercest foe,
and I pray my courage true,
You'll grant me the help of angels,
and still I'll trust in You.

When I have a lot to say,
and You bid my words be few,
I've faith that You hear my cry,
and still I'll trust in You.

When I see my faith is small,
but want to fill my Daddy's shoe,
You smile and see my pure desire,
so still I'll trust in You.

When I know that my heart is rock,
and wish it be made new,
You give me a tender heart of flesh,
so I will trust in You.

When I run far from home,
then return in humble servitude,
You say that I'm still Your son,
so I will trust in You.

When crashing waves make me fear,
and there's little I can do,
You calm the storm and rest the boat,
so I will trust in You.

Sometimes it's hard to see,
Your goodness shining through,
but when I'm blind You help me see,
and so I will trust in You.

Your peace transcends, but flutters down,
just as the morning dew,
and through it all, I know You're there,
and so I will trust in You.

Snow Poem

Snow

Falling gently to the ground,
the flakes whisper to me:
"Although we make no sound,
we proclaim our Maker's beauty."

I gaze through my window,
across the blanket white,
and wonder why God made snow so special,
and pleasing to my sight.

It doesn't boast loud color,
nor does it demand my attention.
And yet I stare at the wondrous snow,
and admire the little creation.

We lose sight of our God's originality,
that makes every flake unique.
An adornement so small, so tiny,
that it almost seems meek.

But in it's smallness,
it shows it doesn't want glory for itself.
But rather, when we look closely,
does it magnify God Himself.

It quickly fades away, 
and leaves behind no trace or strife.
Instead, it encourages growth,
and its remembrance lives on in new life.

We don't often pause to consider,
the one flake in seven billion,
but sometimes, one flake is all it takes,
to help another realize God's magnificence.