Stained...

My eyes are falling whirling dripping

Your song echoes deep within my soul

Still you say to me be still

Only you can rest my calm-less soul

Until the day when faint becomes sight

Leaning out and away from the countless shadows

Inside my heart I feel a throbbing, a pulsing desire pounding forward

Still you say to me be still to my pattering twittering fluttering heart.

Stained, I see on my heart an indelible stain

The marks of indelible grace

And when I consider the source of the marks my heart falls silent

In a second glance the pounding turns to seconds falling

Never shall I forget this stain

End shall pass and come and go, and the times fail

Day after day I will consider it, the stain will remain displacing others...

D.O.E.

Wow... Its been over a month. Hmmmmmm well I resurrect the blog today with a poem actually wrote for my friends blog "A WOMAN'S GUIDE TO LEAF RUSTLING" I hope you enjoy:


(D)are to (O)ver (E)xcite.
D.O.E.

I walked through the woods
where the dripping trees sang
softly to my weary heart
and matched the ebbing away of my greatest desire.

Speckled coat, blending into beauty
moved swiftly through the trees of green.
and into the darkness of the unknown
where my greatest quarry now became.

Running along with the ground grasping me
gravity called to my weary man.
yet onward I push with a new desire
to catch up with my angel, this demon I seek.

Quickly she dodges, and smoothly she moves
over and under obstacles take me down.
tears and sweat fill my vision solely fixed,
upon her dew rests and glistens in the half light.

The tears mix with blood as the brush cuts my face
and the rain washes away the semblance of strength
my determination waxes and wanes
as the sight of her I seek fades into nothing.

My burden gets the better of me as I sink into
the unforgiving ground breaks me into
pieces of love lost in the evenflow of weakness
while the mist devours my fleeting sprightly doe.

I lift myself up from the mud and leaves
fallen from the hopeful spring of the year
and brush the dead brush from my coattails and eyes
and glance once more into the depth of the unknown.

She has escaped and faded like the mist in the trees
running over dead and barren branches
dissipating with the new dark of the morning
and leaving desires and hearts to mend.

I stand silhouetted by the bleakness of the morning
a mere shell of the man I started out as.
The strength that rushed has ebbed to a trickle
and my will has left me for another.

The thrill is gone and I feel alone
in this wood of strange shadows and empty
faces flash in my mind and call me on
back to the place from where I started.

I will myself to move and rise, my gait lacks all the pride
My stomach turns inside my head and my steps fade into dreams.
The shadows all have names unknown, they laugh...
I walk this road alone.

Step.
By, step.
And each, step.
I take will, step.
And brings me closer, step.
To the edge of my, step.
Sanity comes on fast and, step.
The mist clears from my vision, step.
And the valley green becomes visible, step.
and stop.
. .. ... .... .....

I see the morning breaking over the hills
and in the break of black I see light.
the hope subsided sides again
and my faint strength faintly returns.

This hunt that was my life breathed in.
fades quicker than the dusk.
and hope like morning fades to strength
and my mind clears with the light.

The mournful sound of the woods to my back
and the glorious light, lights my face.
My heart thaws out from the cold dark night
as it faces this bright and brighter day.

Thoughts from a Graveyard

Today I went walking through a cemetery. Not for any particular reason did I feel the urge to walk and while walking sing many dirges but rather because when in a contemplative mood I like to walk, and a cemetery seemed the best place to muse.

Life my dear friends is an anomaly at best and at worst entirely unexpected. I found myself wandering beneath the trees ablaze with death and color while gazing on stones of cold and unearthly gleam. I thought of my life, how each and every day is filled with struggles and hopes and dreams and nightmares and how each and every minute differs so greatly that one would be hard pressed to look at two separate hours and try to draw a line between. I looked down upon the stones covered with the dead clipping of grass and the shells of leaves unrecognizable to their former glory. I knelt down and brushed aside the debris from two graves, small graves... two children, one died a year previous to the other, both lived only a few months. The hardest part of this tragedy to grasp was the fact that the entire story of a young couple trying to have children and having their precious offspring be taken from them twice in the course of two years was the fact that their entire lives were summed up in two phrases... Born... Died. Nothing was said of the hope deferred, of the hope again for a child that would live, of the joys and agony of carrying the children, of the planning of lives of the joy and ecstasy of childbirth and the sorrow and despair of loss, only two phrases... there were only four grave stones in the plot.

To think that in this one cemetery there are over one hundred and fifty six thousand stories all being reduced to two phrases, unless you were rich and could afford a eulogy, but if not only raw data was given. To think of all the monuments to death, the thousands upon thousands of pounds of stone used signify death and burial. And yet forgotten to the world are the vibrant lives of these countless men, women, children, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, couples...

I was struck by the image of the trees... amongst all these monuments to death as monuments to life yet even then so truly alive still touched with death. And as I stood under the trees bridging the gap between earth and sky I saw myself, a monument to death and life, standing in mockery of death, but at the same time a mockery to life. I mused at the possibility of such a grand contradiction and realized that we as humans are in fact a greater contradiction and as Christians should be even more so...

We as humans stand as living dying beings. We die living and live dying, we are truly alive yet so strongly are we being drawn to the grave that its hard to keep in mind that we actually live. From the moment we start our existence we are working toward one ultimate unstoppable destiny, death. No matter what we strive for in this life no matter how vigorously we push ahead we will never avoid the inevitable. Our bodies are made to fall and fall they do "From dust to dust".

As Christians we too are bound to the inevitable we are firmly grounded in a graveyard our leaves are dead and dying a symbol of our temporary existence. Yet one thing sets us aside from the cold glossy monuments that point to death as well... We are alive, we have source of life, though we look as though we pass away and stand dormant there is something in us that gives us hope for spring. While we are firmly attached to the grave but we also lift our hands to the heavens because we know from where our help comes. What a beautiful contradiction, dead yet alive, alive unto death and death brings life, our live comes from a death from which comes the end of death and the beginning of life everlasting, where death everlasting is no more. What a contradiction, Now we can stand as a dying mockery of death, because in us dwells life everlasting.

Thursday

Today is Thursday... and Thursday inevitably is followed by Friday which is inevitably followed by saturday and so on and so forth... I am sitting here at my desk deciding where this leads when all of a sudden I am struck by the idea that time is no respecter of persons... It rolls along whether we want it to or not, our lives may stand still entirely but the sun moves on... so should we be subject to this thing which is subject to only God? I'm not sure...

Cracked lips....

Just some quick random poetry this time... Descending into despair..


I hurt.
I feel.
I bleed.
I cry.

I think and
sleep
and then I
sigh.

the tears I shed
run down my cheeks
and rest on curves
of broken lips.

A sigh escapes past bleeding mouth
from swollen throbbing tongue
it rose and fell with change of heart
and sways and swells with lung.

My emanating cry rose up
through curtain, bone and air
it echoed through my empty frame
and continued like a prayer.

The room in which I dwell alone
Is cold and devoid of friends
the coffee’s long been chilled and old
and the lights have all been bent

The shadows playing in the corners
creep along the walls
they rest upon my darkened soul
and slink down narrow halls.

Cries rise up from broken lips
from the throats of desperate men
the screams of a thousand shattered hearts
Rise up and take the wind.


And that is where I stopped... For no particular reason....

You know its funny how our ideas about life can change so drastically... One day all seems fine and then the next the cobwebs seem to come out and play. But one thing that I must keep in the forefront of my vision is Our God is God whether I feel like He is or not... and I can avail myself of his hand.....

Perspective...

Another quick thought for you today.... When something is closer to our view it seems larger to us. It simply must, this is a law of perspective. Did you know that a penny can look larger than a mountain when held close. This is truly a strange phenomenon that something so small can dwarf a thing truly millions of times larger than it.... You know, sometimes I think we are this way with God... He seems so small in comparison to the things we are going through right at this moment, but that is simply because He and our problems have switched places. Our God is infinitely larger than anything in this world but see we have to place him first in our vision. And when we place Christ first in our life, even if our problem truly is the size of a mountain it will be dwarfed by the majestic splendor of our God’s never ending Love, Mercy and Grace....


Perspective.

He IS....

“He is my Light, My strength, My song.”

Ah.... I love that song. “In Christ Alone” A beautiful wonderful reminder of our Great Father. I find myself singing that oh so often. It has become second nature to me, I will be moving along in my daily routine when I find that I have been singing and no other song than that one. I was singing this today when I stopped to think about what I was saying. “He is my light.....” I had been singing that song for years but I think in my mind I never put what it was saying together, In fact I think I entered my own thought in that line “Lord be my light, my strength, my song”. Which Is a true heartfelt cry to our father, but isn’t he already? All along I had been asking God for something that he had already done. He already is my light and so on. I think that this, while not a radical idea, can be a life changing one. When we think about the fact that Christ has already accomplished all, that he was slain before the foundation of the earth, that all our days are written in a book before we were thought of. When we think about these facts Is it to much to think that christ is already our strength... Now at first though this sounds wrong... you will say that this thought supposes that it has nothing to do with us, that we don’t have to ask him and that it takes all the responsibility away from us and now we can live passively... Ok stop. Most of you have a family... and most of your families have homes. Now You as a child have this house at your disposal. Now when it is raining outside you have the choice to run inside for protection, you could stay outside but you don’t, you go inside and maybe even get a change of clothes if you had gotten wet. Now imagine how silly it would be for you to stand outside in the pouring deluge and ask “Home, will you be my protection?” Here is another thought. Would you stand outside an empty house lot and ask and yell and plead that “You will be my protection? Ha... well some might, but most sane people don’t make a habit of that. Sometimes I think we look at God like that though. We look at him like an empty house lot and ask and plead for him to become our protections and refuge when He already is a place that we can run, an “Ever present help in times of trouble”.

So what are the benefits of this kind of thinking? Well first I think it can totally change the way we respond to trials and hard times. For when we know that all things that we need have been provided for, we can walk in the new faith that comes with its security. Second I think (for me at least) it paints a much grander picture of our great God, For everything we might need, down to the smallest most miniscule thing has already been made and provided for me..... everything, strength when I am weak, my song when I need comfort, my light when things seem so dark and my fortress when I am vulnerable to the battle called life. This Is my God, and your God as well. Hallelujah.

But we have to realize this, and not only realize it but avail ourselves of this great grace and mercy that our Lord has provided for you and me.


In Christ alone my hope is found
He is my light, my strength, my song
This Cornerstone, this solid ground
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm
What heights of love, what depths of peace
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
My Comforter, my All in All
Here in the love of Christ I stand

Smoldering Wick

A smoldering wick...
what once was bright and flaming
smokes and smolders
barely
holding on to hope of oxygen
feed me revive me make me come alive.
In days long past
I burned for you
a light to you for nations.
A gentle breeze I embraced
as a comfort I took it
slowly
I drew from it into a
corner where i could feed myself
and hide in, from the darkness
I was meant to dispel.
Now I cower under a basket
with the smoke wafting up
the darkness that frightened
the cold that scared
the burning.
Yet a new life is breathed
Into the very soul of my souls
And a fire starts to burn
on the tip of my wick
It is barely there.
Hands come from nowhere
to everywhere and shield the burning
flame.
No cold and stormy blast will reach
the heart of my fire and the flame
that grows ever and anon.
It grows slowly still and
greater with each gentle breath
from his mouth he feeds me.
The flame still small and barely
wavering.
Not between the dark but towards the light.
He takes me from my corner
the basket topples down the
table and rests on the floor.
He moves me through the
heavy black which turns to smokey gray
and sets me on a pillar.
And there he holds his hands around me
which don’t suppress the light and
brings the world around me
to see and speak of his greatness.
So on the stand I stand anew
a token
of his loving kindness. I
Will not again retreat
to the darkened corner of myself
that suppresses the light he gives.

A bruised reed he will not break,
and a faintly burning wick he will not quench.

Isaiah 42:3

Isaac and ropeburn....

“Ropeburn”

Dark skies, heavy breath
a wind that stills the motion
a rocky climb and lightning flashes
the thoughts of desperation.

A burst of thunder brings no rain
the wind dispersed the heat
the beads of sweat and tears of salt
fall down to ragged feet

the incline steep the dust it chokes
the rocks fall on their own
the heat in waves washes over doubt
and the heavy mood moves stones

The wood we have and the fire too
the knife is gleaming bright
but the sacrifice...atonement made
seems all by my own might.

Salvation seems just like a word
redemption redeems its own.
To the sacred place we bring ourselves
and to the altar of stone.

The altar stands against the sky
a sign of death and glory
and in defiance it raises itself
and brings the haughty lowly.

The bloodied stones cry out on high
of the tears and life all shed
of the offering made and the price that was paid
and the atonement that came when bled.

The silence is stifling as we arrive at the top
as the wood and the rope are let go
I sit and look over the mountain and vale
when I feel heavy rope on my wrists

I turn around and see my father
weeping with rope in his hand
I look in his eyes and there understand
The lamb we will sacrifice is me.

He binds my ankles and my wrists
yet beds the altar with hay
he lays my down like a newborn child
and brushes the hair from my face.

I feel a tear upon my cheek
And hear a stifled groan
down my face it quickly runs
and mingles with my own.

I feel the breeze from his raising arm
the breath is coming fast
the fire moves close on my neck
and the wind now blows in blasts.

I stop and think of lives now past
of the things I thought I knew
Of the rams that stayed where I now lay
And the thought I knew were true.

There was always a spotless lamb
from the beginning of the earth
God’s way was known to all who heard
But it now seems to have lost its worth.

And yet one thought pervades my mind
like water to the driest rock
That his mercy and love and grace remain
No matter the hard road we walk.

I clench my teeth and weep inside
“Provide a lamb Oh God!”
My father weeps and screams aloud
And his head bows in a nod...

Provide A Lamb Oh God Oh God!
Provide Oh Holy One!
Provide for us your chosen seed
Provide for us your sons.

Breath.
Heat
Tears
And sweat.
I give myself to Him.
I let it go and fall flat limp
And wait for the strike of steel.

I feel not the searing pain of steel
nor the cold pain fire brings
But instead I hear a bleating ram
and to the Lord I sing!

My father prostrate falls and prays
he weeps aloud with joy
the ropes he cuts and fire drops
as He lifts up his baby boy.

We kneel both down on the cold gray stone
and a rain begins to fall.
we lift up our voices praise the one
whose mercy always enthralls.

Atonement made, redemption gave
faith and hope was built
Mercy triumphs all day long
and Through Him we have no guilt.

The altar seemed a cold dark place
where life was taken and burned
but now I see that through the pain
True Life was gained in the end.

I look at my hands my ankles and wrists
I studied them long and hard
For any signs of fire or knife
and for any signs of harm.

Unscathed I passed through the fire and steel
laid on the altar and lifted away
tied up so I couldn’t lift even an arm
But then shown that The Lord Has a way.

Like I said... I was thinking.

Reality vs. Truth

Here is a thought for you...

Reality is not in direct relation to the truth.

The Dark Knight... a study in depravity. sorta.

"Why so serious?"

Last night I went to the midnight showing of "The Dark Knight" It was perhaps the most beautifully dark, amazingly morbid and sensationally wonderful films I have ever seen. A pretty high order but when I think back on it I can only add more adjectives relative to the ones above. It was beautifully acted (Heath Ledgers Joker will be remembered for years to come) and written (a taut plot with amazing characters and startling twists and turns.) The visual style and sounds and everything was perfect. Oh yes and the depravity, you mustn't forget that. This film was dark, it gave a wonderful (if horrid) picture of man and where his depravity can lead. But perhaps more than the film I was startled by the audience in the theatre. There were moments in the film where I could barely help but avert my eyes away from some fiendish act being portrayed, But to my dismay and horror these were the parts the audience lived for. People would burst out in laughter as The Joker (a raving sado-masochist) would pull of antic after antic and watch wide eyed in delight as the body count was raised by another ten. At these moments I could barely watch and everyone else seemed transfixed in a state wonder and delight. This was sad to me, It reminded me that we don't need a "good film" to show us a perfect picture of man in his ungodly state, we have so many reminders all around. I walked out of the theatre perfectly aware of mans depravity but also not without a sense of wonder in a God who can take us in this state and make us like him. Imagine that.

Deathe with an e

I was sitting in church about three weeks ago musing death. I cannot explain why I was musing this "most unpleasent" of thoughts but it doesn't change the truth. I have this interesting trait, If I have an idea I don't generally go immediately to my blog and write it down... maybe I should. hmmmmmm. So after a few weeks of rumination I now give you "Death with an e"

Deathe. (some scattered verse)

Deathe
Life
a dance so delicate
stray but a little and you may fall
Life and death is a thin grey line.

Breathing, gasping, stillness.
in a moment we lose our grasp
in a second glance we lose this thing
This life at which we gasp.

A thin line grey, a tightrope light
a lightened brightened blackened sight
a thread we tread with which the dead
long again to once more tread.

You might be thinking why on earth am I posting this. That this is as unrelated to reality to be irrelevant. Well sometimes our thoughts take this grand journey, which is what I desire to do. Now among my few (or is my grandmother's computer out of service) readers I count several of you to be intellectual and good thinkers. Allow me to rephrase that. I count all of you as good thinkers. So I am hoping that some of you are psychotic enough (yes I said psychotic, the good kind) and now understand why there is an "e" at the end of death. . . . Ok let me enlighten you.

Like I said I was thinking, And an idea occurred to me, death is so imperfect in its spelling, it's missing something drastic. I pondered this and realized the the spelling and idea behind the word (at least the english spelling) was entirely devoid of any sort of complexity a word of that magnitude deserves. D E A T H. Bordering on the boring I decided to take matters in my own hands and add a much needed "e". Deathe. It looks nicer and even though the pronunciation is the same it carries more of a weight and beauty. But now you want to know why.

What is the last letter in the word Life? You shouldn't have to think long. And if you just can't place in in your mind It is here for reference a mere twenty three words back. The last letter of "LIFE" is in fact "e" And I thought is so ironically fitting to place the last letter of life at the end of death...e. Perhaps this still seems extremely useless and you think I am wasting your time. Now let us look at the idea a little further and I think there are actually some very interesting thoughts to be mused.

So aside from the word looking perhaps a little more formal and proper what else can be gained from this little change in spelling? We already have the irony so how about a little truth. If you are a Christian this especially applies to you. The end of life "e" is also the end of death "e". How fitting. Wouldn't it be poetic? That the same letter that brings life to a close also brings death to a close as well? Now you may be wondering why I even took the time to write this down. After all I am not going to get everyone to change the way they spell a word. I suppose the point of this exercise in futility is nothing more than and exercise in thinking. So whether you read this or not, whether you get it or not, whether you change the way you think or not realize that the mind is a horrible thing to waste. And even thinking over a simple misspelling can be a wonderful thing...


Deathe.

Wandering...

Ah the promise land. A land that was told to be flowing with milk and honey. A land that the Israelites longed for and an inheritance the Lord desired to give. If you think about it, the whole promise land thing was an amazing thing. The israelites had everything going for them, why then did they wander so long?

I was thinking the other day (yes I do it quite often) when this story came to mind. I couldn't help but wonder and laugh at the children of Israel. They had alot going for them, On their pilgrimage to Canaan the Lord provided them with clothes and sandals that never wore out, a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, a wonderful supply of food each and every morning not to mention the countless other miracles He performed on their behalf. Yet they still ended up wandering in the desert for forty years, forty years! I thought to myself "What a group of ignorant people. If I had all those things I wouldn't even dream of grumbling and complaining."... and then it hit me, Hard.

As of late the Lord has been sending me through some trying situations and I have been guilty of the very same thing I condemned Israel for doing. Grumbling against the Lord, seems stupid doesn't it? But the Lord forgives and all is well. Then the other parallels started to out and things got a little more uncomfortable. I, like the children of Israel have a place I long to be in my life, it may be different for everyone but I think everyone has got one. I, like Israel have a God who has a place that he wants me to be, A place he has for me specifically. It may be a vocation, a marriage or anything and my desires might even coincide with it. I, like the children of Israel have so many thing provided for me. Just consider breath and food and not to mention the ever steady companion of his word! I, like Israel... the comparison could go on and on. And then I thought back and remembered the one thing that kept them from entering in when the Lord had planned. Grumbling and complaining. Can anyone say conviction?

Sometimes I wish the Lord would just teach me things that are easy. No such luck here. I find myself desiring so many things, things that I feel the Lord desires as well but I am never satisfied with the journey I must complete to get there. I find myself asking for meat, when he has given me all I need in manna. I ask for the leeks and onions of egypt, I ask for an instant teleportation to where I want to be. I ask for everything to be easy when a hard journey is what will make me appreciate the glory of where he is leading me. What I don't ask for is the Lords will to be done.

So is it possible for us to be on the road that the Lord has for us and make it take longer than it need? I think so... And I will try by the Lords grace to stop grumbling and complaining against His work in my life and the way he is working it out... I dunno just something to think about.

"Stay your hand"

“Oh Lord stay your hand. . .

I was thinking about this today. I know for me when life gets tough and the remembrance of my peaceful existence is drowned in the brutal reality of life and its hardships it is easy to plead “Lord please stay your hand”. Recently I have gone through a time in my life where it seems that I and everyone I know have been bombarded with painful situation after painful situation. Situations alone monumental but when stacked up one after another seemingly insurmountable. It is in situations like these that we acknowledge God’s Omnipotence but question His motives. Last week I was at work in a miserable state of mind, I was worn out weary and weak from everything that had been happening and on top of that I was having issues with my job. Life sucked. I was praying for some of my friends and for the situations they were going through when I said in a despairing voice “Lord, please stay your hand I’m being crushed.” Then I felt as though I heard a voice saying “But how then can I hold you? Whether it was thought of my own or something else I don’t know but what I do know is it really made me think. Sometimes we forget that God is our Father as well as being ruler of all things. We see that He orchestrates situations but we fail to see how he cares for us in those same instances. Sometimes it is the hard times that brings us to the Lord, Sometimes life hurts so that we may be drawn closer to Our God, Sometimes we must fall so we may be lifted up higher. Sometimes hurt and comfort go hand in hand and to ask Him to stay one is asking to stay both. I know I was praying for comfort from my situations but also asked that he remove his hand for a moment. It cannot be done. I know I want the Lord to comfort me, so I must also bear through the hard times if only for the sweet moments of being held and comforted by Him who ordains the universe yet cares for one as small as me.

. . . “But how then shall I hold you?”

An Acronym

Life

Little

Idiosyncratic

Failures

Everyday



Yep. . . and it sucks.

Growing Pains.

"Blue, forty two hut hut. . ." It was raining hard. The mud under our feet was ankle deep and rising. It had been four long days since it had started this torrential downpour and it showed no signs of letting up. "Hike" The men on the line leapt forward sending a wall of dark water up behind them. As we tried to hold them back we lost our foothold and fell to the ground. "whoosh" the ball flew through the air and was caught by a virtual behemoth of a man. He stood head and shoulders above everyone there, and in addition to his height he was nearly three feet across. As He caught the ball and sent the mud flying up behind him I looked back on my team and found them floundering in the mud. It was all up to me. I leapt over the prostrate form of my team captain now disfigured beyond all recognition by the mud and sped after my quarry. The mud was up to my shins now, the effort in every step now burned in my calves as I pushed forward through the mire. The object of my exertion was now a mere three yards ahead of me. . now two. . . now less than a yard! I reached out and with the last of my strength made a flying leap toward my prey. The impact was treacherous, raw muscle, sweat and blood all poured from both of us as a last attempt was made to evade my clutch. It was futile, he was going down. The world seemed to stop turning and the rain to fall in slow motion as gravity started to work it's wonders. We were close to the ground and in a futile effort to break my fall I extended my right hand to the ground. . . Impact.


Well At least that was what it seemed like. In all actuality it wasn't raining and the ground was dry. Come to think of it Nick isn't three feet wide. I suppose the only thing that happened exactly as I said was the impact between the ground and my wrist. The result of said impact was extreme pain and swelling, slight discoloration and frayed tendons. Yep a sprain. Funny, now that I am sitting down typing ever so gently and wincing at the pain my thoughts stray to growing pains. Yeah, you know those glorious aches and pains that you were subject to as a child all because your body thought it fit to grow up. Yep now you remember, perhaps you remember waking up in the middle of the night because your legs hurt so bad, or maybe crying uncontrollably because your arm felt like it was gonna fall off. Ah, Glorious Growth.

Recently there have been several incidents in my life that have brought me great pain (apart from the above mentioned maiming) and pain always has a way of making you think. You know, as hard as it seems sometimes the greatest pain in our life can also be associated with the great times of growth. Today I was thinking about the difference between Growth and immediate Change. How many of us are not guilty of at one time or another wishing that things would just immediately be different, perhaps its an event in your life that you wish would just be over with and done. Maybe it is personal growth, the kind that really hurts, the kind that you wish would just be finished. Whatever it may be, no doubt you have wished it at some point or other. I was in that category this afternoon, wishing that I would be able to skip all the buggy beta versions of me (Yes I am a nerd) and jump right to the final product. Then my wrist started to ache and my mind somehow drifted from computer programs to growth pains. Could you imagine if one day you woke up from being a child and suddenly you were full grown? At first it might seem like a beautiful thing but now I ask you to recall those growing pains. The tightness in your chest the pain all over, the tears you shed. Could you imagine having those countless pains and trials and tears all condensed into one day? Don't forget, the pain has to be there, It is a natural response to the changes. My thought Is that our frail forms would not be able to handle it.

You know, I would be the first to say that growth sucks. In fact I would be the chief advocate of a facebook group trying to kill it and replace it with sudden change. But when seen in the light of physical growth with all the pain it entails it suddenly seems a mercy. I know I thought of it like that. For without it being a slow process the small trials we now have that seem so monumental, that seemingly bring us to the point of death, would come crashing down and crush us to a pulp. Wow would have thought that the Lord could even use such a painful thing and make it a mercy? You know. . . sometimes life is funny like that. And how did I get here from telling you about my wrist? Well it all started with a little ache and a wish that all would be well. . .

The Tale of the Moon

My it's been awhile. Well here we go. . .

The moon, like an opalescent eye in the midst of the inky, silky night, shone down upon the earth in full glory. She thought to herself how brightly she illuminated the shadows and mused the fact of her wonderful size in the night sky. Though she was proud she never let it go to her head, she was just happy to be of use. Tonight was an especially wonderful night for her, it seemed everything had come together perfectly to make her display as wonderful as possible. The clouds had parted, the city lights dimmed and the haze of the day had dissipated into a clear and clean night. There she stood bright and beautiful, no other light could compare. As she rose in the sky she heard some men whispering about her, about her beauty and honor and grace. She heard perhaps more than she should, for at that moment she started to think of herself a little too much. Why shouldn't she receive praise? She thought to herself. After all, she had been chosen out of the countless heavenly bodies to be light to earths night. She also controlled the tide and was a sign of the seasons. Why shouldn't she receive high honor? At that moment her mind turned, and as must follow her heart soon after. She began to think it was something of herself that attracted the attention she received, perhaps her wonderful size or unique surface. As she begun to think of it, her thoughts of giving light and being a sign to men lessened and lessened till all that she dwelt on was her own glory. She began to look down on the other heavenly bodies, she scoffed at their seeming worthlessness. With her change in attitude came also a change in her work ethic, she was tardy with her control of the tides, she was often late and would sometimes forget altogether which caused untold havoc on earth. it got to the point where she was completely useless. She could not be trusted for a light, she could not be used as a guide, and the tides varied so much that it was dangerous to dwell near water much less attempt to sail. The sun watched all this and thought that now was the time to intervene. On a night when the moon was late coming out men sat outside their houses and watched as she rose into the sky. Then they witnessed a strange phenomenon, her light flickered a bit and then went completely out. She had been late before, she had been irresponsibly with her tasks before but she had always remained lit, What was this? Men cursed her and then withdrew to their beds. The moon herself did not expect it at all, one moment she was illuminated, the next she was as dark as the night that surrounded her. She knew what happened, the Sun had taken the light he apportioned to her and now she was cold and black. No longer did she revel in her glory, no longer did she draw from man's lips wonder and praise, all she now received was obscene words and curses. A fortnight later on a night when the stars were dim and the wind was stiff a ship of a certain land was returning home after a long voyage. Her crew, consisting of fathers, brothers, sons and husbands anxiously awaited the warm welcome they were to receive when they landed. As they neared the shore, they ran aground on shoals just outside the harbor. The wind and the waves battered the ship till it fell apart, the men on board jumped overboard but since the moon did not shine at all they quickly became confused in the darkness. Not one of them made it to shore, every one perished within swimming distance of land. The moon then wept bitterly, Her salt tears bleaching her surface. Oh had her pride had not gotten in the way perhaps those men would have been saved. She wept more and more washing away the dirt on her surface as well as the pride that had become her downfall. The sun witnessed all this, He saw the moon and how bitterly she wept, he saw her changed heart as well as her new countenance and decided to give her back her glory. When he directed once again the light towards her, the rays reflected brightly off her white surface and gave a new light to earth. Her old glory could not be compared to this new luminance that seemingly emanated from her core as well as her surface. the light was cleaner, brighter, more unadulterated it seemed, men everywhere stood outside their doors, on their porches and out from under tents to gaze at this wonderful sight. And men would follow suit for generations and still gaze in wonder even to this day. And that is why, once a month the moon's light becomes invisible to man's eyes, in order to remind her of her great sin and that the only reason she shines is because of the mercy and light of the sun.

I will leave it up to you, the reader to gain what you may from this little story.

The Children of Man

An Angel came down on a dull autumn day
To see all the deeds of the children of man
to see how he dwelt and how he had moved
and how he had been since The dawn.
Of the spring.
He saw their dwellings, likened to their hearts
extending farther out, up and beyond.
From places to places from city to stream
Always wanting, always seeking.
Something more
He saw how his rails though seemingly straight
were curved and twisted and lead
Like their minds up the hills and the valleys
never ahead, always around and through.
In vain circles.
And after he saw and looked all around
past building and alley, subway and street
he thought and he mused, all the time watching
The people that walked and floated around.
Oh so Blind.
“Won’t the obey the desire of their hearts?
Their hands strive after the wind and the sky
Yet they cease to obey the call of their God
And Sell, short change themselves eternally.
Won’t they see?
The angel then alights and spreads his wings
Flies back to the place from whence he had come
Yet The Lord and the earth Is waiting still
For the glorious Revelation of
The Children of Man.


“Always reaching, always reaching
Upward as to touch the sky
Gazing up with eyes of wonder
yet never lifting to God most high”

What Will I have in Common? (a story)

What Will I Have On Common
By David White


That moment, that one moment, the moment in existence that all but a few dread. I lived a good life, I did what I could. But now, as I approach the gates of heaven, a doubt crosses my mind “What will I have in common?” As I walk through this city, this great and beautiful city, I see on every face something similar, and I ask myself “What do I have in common?” I pass by these men and women who for the Cross gave their homes, their influence, their status, their success, their Life. I walk past these people, and in their eyes I see a Love. I see my face in a passing reflection, what do I see? Something? Anything? My thoughts come fast but one drowns out all others “What is it that they have in common?” I approach near the throne and in everybody's eyes I see something, what is it? What is it? Now I stand before God, and in his eyes I see something, “What is it that He has in common with everyone else here?” He looks in my eyes with a gaze so piercing, Oh, so piercing. He says “What do you have in common with all of us?" I crumble to my knees and kneel before His Throne and weep and cry out “I don't know” I lifted my head and His eyes meet mine, He says “You have seen it in the eyes of the saints, and on the faces of believers. You have heard it in the voices of thousands of men and women worshiping. You have seen it in the eyes of men and women on earth. I have seen it in the eyes of the martyrs, those who have given their lives. And what is it? What do we have in common?” I hold my breath awaiting and dreading the reply, and at last he speaks. In a voice that is like thunder, like rain, like laughter, and like sorrow. And at that moment He does what I least expect, He cries. Through his tears He says to me “The thing you see in all of our eyes, is a Love for my Son.” And when He looks at me, He weeps, and says“You don't have that Love in your eyes.” And at that moment I remember. I saw the look in my mothers eyes right before she left her body. I saw it on the faces of men and women that would smile at me though I didn't know why. I saw it in the faces and heard it in the voices of the people that would come to my door and ask if I would like to accept Jesus. I didn't. And now as Christ the Son of God walks in, I look at Him, and He looks at me, with a gaze that would have crumbled stone, but behind that gaze I see a sorrow. As he speaks to me His voice breaks “Depart From Me, I Never Knew You.” And at that moment I fell, and as I was falling I could only hope for those who were still on earth.


Think.

astroturf. a thought.

You know in the age old pursuit of the grass on the other side of the fence (it being greener) eventually we shun the natural and embrace the plastic green of astroturf. And it really is not a good trade off.

Thought of the day.

Change

Does it ever seem to you that life in general is made up of change and subsequently hurt? Does it ever seem like the only time things change is after you have developed an attachment to it? Does it ever seem like the only reason things change is to shake life up?

Yes. it does.



How quickly things just seem to change
Or maybe its me that changes things
One day everything seems so fine
The next waiting for what the rain will bring

A beautiful day, the sun shines bright
the clouds seem so far off
you feel as light as the air or a feather
And then it hits you like a rock

Reality, falls on your parade like hail
Your picture perfect happenings just aren’t
Everything you hoped and dreamed
just had fallen and turned out wrong

The euphoric sense of complete control
Of having your cards all in a row
Of planning out your every step
Of feeling like its all gonna go

But then again sometimes I think
I think I understand
The reason for this non control
Is because there is a better plan

A plan thought out from the dawn of time
Written in book,
Sometimes I long in my foolishness
That I would like to take a look

But I never can, and I never will
Not until my days are done,
When my life has given up
And we all shine like the sun.

On that most blessed day
on that bright and far off shore
I will look back on the life I lived
And see that God worked all for good

Oh what a God that concerns Himself
With us so small and frail
That would take his time to write it out
And say what our life would entail

So when the parade that I had wrought
Is over, done and gone
We still can count upon Our God
For it is us that he has bought.


But then again, there is always a reminder of the truth.

Hallelujah!

Redemption

Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I ponder. Sometimes I think I think of all. And then again there are times when I am just in awe. Now is one of those times.

You wanna know something amazing? Mankind are sinners. Sinners deserve death. Death is eternal. You wanna hear something? God is just, Justifies sinners, sinners become saints.

Many times I hear this and gloss it over as simply theology, or teaching. But when you really think about it as Christians this should be the thought that occupies our every moment. For without this amazing redemption we would be undone. Have you ever stopped to think of the effects God's grace and mercy has upon you? I have but the times are so few and far between that I forget them so easily, without Gods grace we would not be able to face tomorrow. Knowing what we know about the utter depravity of man and his ultimate sinful nature we simply could not even justify getting out of bed. But thanks to god we have a hope that even though the day seems dark, there is a light that never goes out and it is worth living for. Oh what an amazing redemption.



A whisper of a breath
A breath of a kiss
a kiss of death
A death unto life.

Live unto a shadow
a shadow of the light
A light in the darkness
a darkness defeated.

A mirror in a field
A field of dreams
dreaming of a crowd
a crowd crying out.

A echoing noise
a noisy silence
a silent aching
an aching heart

A bleeding people
a peopled land
a land of desert
a deserted love

An outward cool
a cooled heart
a heart shaped void
a voided debt

A bleeding side
beside the way
away on a hill
a hill hard climbed

A thorny crown
a crowned head
ahead of his time
times run out

A tomb in the rock
a rock in the front
a confronted guard
a guarded heart

A light sound
a sound of life
a life remade
made to live

glancing down
downward soul
soul lifted up
upwards drawn

healed hands
hands that touch
touch the heart
hearty joy

A breath of life
life of his breath
breath of God
God’s son come

P.S. (a side note)

Now no doubt you all (all two of you) have grow tired of my "poetry" It probably is not very good so I will try to write more prose. Unless of course I can't, in which case you two will have to deal with it.

Invisibility (ie. invisible)

Light passes through
Darkness overwhelms
The wind alters it not
A stoic unfluttering
cloak.

In a room full of light
a room full of dust
a room full of emptiness
a room, nothing in it
But me

I’m standing in a window
longing to feel upon my face
the light to expel the coldness
the pale moonlight overwhelms
All of me.

I move through the room
from the window to the wall
a wall of steel-ish cold
with chains and shackles riveted
Shackles meant for me.

I try to lift the chains
they pass through my hand
a clanking on the floor
a ringing in my empty ears
Empty me.

Yet as I lean against the wall
the chains begin to move
The clasps open slowly, creaking
and now upwards move
My neck

The metal is at my chest now
moving upwards slowly
at my neck now moving closer
to wrap, circumference, bind me
To the wall.

I feel the steel upon my skin
I feel, a tear, I feel,
down my ashen cheek it runs
and rests upon my curving mouth
I feel.


A euphoric feeling of feeling cold
to finally feel at all
How much I gave to get me here
now I shall be content.
It’s cold.

The icy fingers round my neck
squeeze what life had brought
This feeling I had so long sought
is not what I had thought.
At all.

The tear that ran down my face
left a blazen trail of red
a blush that touched my icy cheek
was now fading fast.
The steel.

Pulled into the cold hard wall
trying to consume me
I try to scream but my mouth won’t move
all that escapes is a prayer of a breath.
A Prayer.

And as I am consumed alive
alive and well and whole
I see the window across the room
in a glorious unaltered view.
A warm light.

The cold pale moonlight has gone and left
the icy bluish light
a warmish, orangish, glorious light
has come and is promising life.
Save me.

The feeling that I had longed and loved
now chokes and cuts and hurts
I see the light not afar off
but I feel slowly pulled and jerked
I Fight.

A helpless cry escapes my lips
a rending heart wrenching cry.
The light reaches within a foot
I reach and writhe and cry.
HELP.

The heavy chains fall away like grass
The clasps just disappear
The light has just now touched my face
and melted my frozen tear.
Warmth.

The light it pierces my every vein
It warms and softens my skin
It permeates my every breath
Oh now true life, true feeling begins.
Life

Sing

Love

Hope

Feel

Sing

LIVE.

Sometimes

Sometimes It takes more than a thought
Sometimes a thought is enough
Sometime enough is a little
Sometimes enough is enough

Life

Co-existent beings sitting in a stream

Floating gently backwards

in an unaroused dream

Is

To exist in a nutshell

A world all your own

A world without worries

A world with unknown unknowns.

Hard.

unbroken thoughts are difficult

dreams unshattered beautiful

Shattered promises unbearable

Bearing guilt, unthinkable

A Thought on P(rose)oetry

Poetry.
Not bound.
By any. . . Strings.
But only by the love
ing strokes of the pen and mind of the poet


To be free like the wind
to blow where it wills
to forget about the staunch harsh
cords that bind

A love is formed in the words not rhymed
by the words not in meter or
at all visually formed
but only by the way they form a complete idea.

Like red,
roses, with a sharp bit of blood
pouring down the stalk, a cry for help
and tears of pain, beauty.

or wetness, in a blue cloak hides it mysterious
ness( ).
A monster, a flower, a ring of gold
perhaps a sphere of purity.
White.

or a tear, a crystal, a drop in a bucket
full of the tears of men.
it’s half full now but still filling
upwards. why?


Or a sound of fear
a sharp report, a trumpet, a siren
a whirling intonation,
of lights and drear, and
forgiveness.

or perhaps a rhyme that is a rhyme
of an idea, a thought or a dream

Like a pool of blood
a cloak that was scarlet
a rose that happened upon a crimson
sunset. Of red.

Of a deep night so
Black (ness) envelopes a(n)
empty (ness) minds play for the thoughts of
mankind was dying a
death (that) is not the end.

Thus is an imperfect study in
the Idea that all (none) of poetry has to rhyme
in the
least bit.

Good Friday.

They will look on him whom they have pierced. John 19:37

And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. John 3:14-15

You all perhaps remember the story this second verse is referring to, The Israelites were in the desert and were complaining against The Lord, and in return were afflicted by broods of snakes that were biting and killing many of the people. God then told Moses to erect a pole and to place on it a brazen serpent. He was told to tell the people that whoever looked upon the serpent after he had been bitten would be saved. And they were. 

Yesterday I was on my way to work when I realized that it was Good Friday, the day on which our savior was Crucified. When I realized this a verse immediately came to mind It was John 19:37. "And they looked upon him whom they had pierced." Him whom I had pierced. When this though occurred to me I was overwhelmed, I had been the cause of Christ dying, my sin, my lies, my thoughts had all been the reason why our saviour died. And while I was still thinking over this another verse came to mind. The verse about Moses. 

The Israelites were being punished for their sin, for their rebellion and disbelief. Yet in his judgement God provided a way of grace.  "And the LORD said to Moses, Make a fiery serpent and set it on a pole, and everyone who is bitten, when he sees it, shall live." Numbers 21:8 All they had to do was look upon it, for looking upon it was their testimony of faith. When I though about this, the first verse I had thought of came back with so much more meaning, They looked upon Him whom they had pierced.  

Isn't that just like God? He is always looking for a way to save and draw people to himself. To provide a way to be saved and even to offer it unto those who had killed him. Those who had mocked Him and divided His clothes amongst themselves now had a way to draw near to the father, and it was sitting before their eyes, "raised up on a pole in the wilderness".  Hallelujah what a Saviour.

They will look on him whom they have pierced. John 19:37

A thought on John 9

The other day I was listening to the gospel of John over and over on my iPod, an exercise I would highly encourage anyone to take up. I think I was on my third time when something struck me as interesting. In John 9:5-7 the writer says,  "Having said these things, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva. Then he anointed the man’s eyes with the mud and said to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam" (which means Sent). So he went and washed and came back seeing." The first thing I noticed in the verse was the heavy imagery used, We have some very common word pictures that are used throughout the scriptures. Basically what I got out of it was this:

When the Word of life (the product of Christ's mouth) comes in contact with unseeing man (who came from the dust) The only possible outcome is the healing of blindness.

Just a thought.

Is Art Practical?

Last week I was in a conversation with a group of friends when the subject of art was brought up. We were discussing a film we were doing and how many artistic corners we had to cut so we could get this done quickly. It was then that an idea struck me, "Can art be practical?" The thought amused me and I decided to ponder it awhile. What is art by definition and how does it relate to everyday life. It was said by an artist that "Life is a two way road  separated  by the median of art, It is always there but seldom appreciated, yet without it our entire system would collapse and become no more than a giant multi-car pileup." I am apt to agree, art is definitely a necessity in this life, for without time to stop and ponder without time express our feelings we would so quickly become a race of machines denying the soul that God put in us. Now onto the question about it's practicality. 

In it's very essence art is never practical, how practical is it to pause and take time out of our busy days to appreciate something beautiful? How practical is it to stop what we are doing to sit and think about our lives in a different way? How practical is it to consider the world a dance when it seems like everything but? How practical can it be to ponder colors and their harmony? Funny thing about life, There are a lot of things that are necessary but totally unpractical. Consider sleep, why would someone stop their work, which provides them with a way to live, to lay down and dream of things that have nothing to do with reality? Ah you say, Sleep is absolutely vital to life, without it we all would perish. I think there is the problem, no one looks at art as being that important.

Granted, there were people groups that considered art as the highest goal to aim for and their nations suffered for it, most of the times they fell, so it is viable that it can become over important, but so can sleep, so can food, so can water. Think of every group of people ever recorded, they all had their own type of art, they all had a different way to express the things they went through, the feelings they had, the life they experienced. Be it music, paintings, stories, poems, or songs. It was a vital part to their life, without it life was monotonous and hard. So though it may not always seem practical, we should all take time out of our days to appreciate or create something beautiful. When we do I think we will find that life comes at us a little slower, and we have more time to appreciate the things the Lord has given us.

"Life is a two way road separated by the median of art, It is always there but seldom appreciated, yet without it our entire system would collapse and become no more than a giant multi-car pileup." 

A non-Rhythmic poem, or thinking.

A while back I wrote this in a time of trial. It started out with me really questioning the Lord and his will. These verses are the result of my musings.

I heard that the sound of the wind is not always in sync with it's effects.

I heard that as far as you can see there will always be something that you don't

I heard that life is not always as easy as death

I heard the sound of many a nation crying out.

I heard the sound of the footsteps of death fast approaching 

I heard the sounds of of despair even at my door

I heard the sounds of my soul weeping for life

I heard the sound of of darkness suffocating light

I heard the sound of life, crushed from the innocent

I heard the sound of the innocent crying for love

I heard the sound of despair clutching at my heart

I heard the sound of my heart caving under its pressure

I heard the sound of my spirit screaming for the truth

I heard the sound of The Truth speaking softly

I heard the sound of my heart melting

I heard the sound of The Life calming my soul

I heard the sound of my soul embracing Life

I heard the sound of the Way being shown

I heard the sound of my spirit responding to Life

I heard the sound of a voice

I heard the sound of the Love

I heard the sound

I saw the Light 

The Way

The Truth

The Life.

I beheld the Face of Christ

Introduction

Today I observed a phenomenon that I had doubtless witnessed multiple times before but never processed. I was in a room that had no source of light save a window which faced the east. I was sweeping up when I noticed something, as I stood in the beams of light all the particles of dust showed up in startling detail. I began to hold my breath when I thought about what I was doing. "The dust is in the air all the time, Why is it now that I am refraining from breathing?" It was because I could see was in the air. Then a thought occurred to me, "Doesn't this apply to our Christian life as well?" If we are standing outside the light of God's word, how can we see that what we are doing is wrong? It is impossible,  Psalms 119:105 says "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." Thus if we are concerned about what we are actually being exposed to (which we should be) it is vital to remain in Christ's light. And if we stand in the light and see the state of things, maybe, just maybe we will consider what we expose ourselves to. My prayer for this blog is that by reading these posts you will be encouraged to place yourself in the light and consider all the things you do habitually. and when you see the imperfections in it you will be encouraged to remain more and more in the light and to consume less and less "Motes of Dust