3 Poems

Most of the Time

Most of the time, poems come

from a deep broken place;

it’s a conundrum.

I like to write poems but do not like

to be in that place. Good thing

life does not let me choose,

most of the time.

 

Evening Poem II

To wish that others be happy seemed to be

such a good wish to wish, then

I actively wished it and witnessed my happiness whisked

away. Is it my mistake or theirs, that I wish it? Perhaps

the wish is not wrong, but the insistence that

the wish for happiness be what others wish too.

Wish them happiness I will, and to wish–but not insist–that they wish it too

won’t hurt.

 

Less-Than-Human, Worriness Poem

The police in me woke up;

I awoke with depression. Never had I interested myself in

rules or the line one must walk

certainly, with exact step and without stumble. I danced,

then, brought to a thin place, I scrutinized daily motions necessary for life to determine

which I could neglect and still cruise by the state

trooper, with a decent justification, and not get pulled over

for being less-than-human. Yes, depression makes me feel

less-than-human because I cannot fathom closing the fork drawer

much less mustering the energy and will to braid my hair or hold a full

conversation with another who may notice my less-than-human.

A full conversation may awake the police in them to finally incarcerate this restless mind

for being less:

10mg less than human.

30mg less than alive.

If I cannot close the fork drawer, or leave my bed without counting to ten slowly,

am I enough to merit the space I take up? Ask the police

of my mind–she still does not know.

 

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Surrender Poem

Tears fall

my chest with a knife lodged

my abdomen tied like rope

my shoulder scalpel-ed by every inhale

my feet with naked bone touching ground

all remind me it was born to die,

this natural map, from toe to pony-tailed tendril.

I laugh white teeth with gap in between

because I’m closer to Heaven than ever before.

No spiritual song, no kiss in moonlight,

no day on the lake nor mountaintop moment

offers this free fall forward so explicitly.

In front of my face, inches away,

is a God who says,

“I’ve put your soul into a broken jar.”

All I can do is flatten my feeble frame

against the floor and say, “Thank you.”

This is where I get my faith:

debate between Emergency room or living room.

He waves white flag for me,

ushering me into the abundant existence.

This broken jar is brimming,

to breathe is to be blessed.

And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.~Romans 8:23

I’m laying down my sickness and pain for the glory of the Lord~Darrell Evans

What the Tornado Took

He bolstered me for a trial of which there was no foreshadowing.
God was so near. In the blue lights, His Spirit took hold and spoke through me, when my shock was great.
Those are moments that I ask for the strength and memory to hold in my head and heart as pillars of faith in a living God.
Selfishness, frustration, and lack of faith bares its ugly teeth,
All while I seek to enter the pain again and again, to be rid of it.
It hurts now to laugh as family and friends seek to cheer me up;
Their support is invaluable.
May Jesus’ people be mobilized to support those with no (loving or living) family.
I had forgotten how physical the pain of a broken heart is.
There is a a heavy rawness in my chest
That wells to the forefront of my emotions when I see the wreckage, see the swathe of destruction.
My mind takes me to the place where the curtain was torn in two;
How much worse was Christ’s pain?
I could have washed my friend’s feet many times over with the tears that I have shed for her.
Let me live in such a way as to be washing the feet of those I love
(everyone)
Daily by my actions and sincerity of heart.

He takes our transgressions away, as far as the East is to the West.
He loves us to the sky and back.
(Psalm 103)

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared. I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord
more than the watchmen for the morning
more than the watchmen for the morning.~Psalm 130:3-6

Chosen Are We

I just can’t seem to sing it away
No way
No way

I can’t stay strong with my own burden.
Imagining Your pain
Brings me to my knees, yearning.

God I’m hurting
My heart is a knot
Tied up
But not in You
No it’s not
No it’s not
So lost in myself
Tied up in me
I
I
I forget how great You are.
I remember only how miserable I am
With-
With-
Without You.

But I’m not done
He’s still the One.

There’s a fountain that flows
For you
Me
And for all.
By all I mean you.
It’s my Kingdom, it’s Your Kingdom
It’s His Kingdom.
If we get on board,
If we say “Jesus” instead of
“Just us”,
We stop caring about our kingdom
(Of dirt)
And start living for His.
What I mean by
“There’s a fountain that flows
For you
Me
And for all”
Is that you’ll be seeing
Every race
In Heaven.
Hallelujah!

He cares
He cares for ya.

Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the Kingdom, which he has promised to those who seek him?~James 2:13

He has chosen the poor
Lord, Lord
I am yours

Yours.
The word melts on my mouth like a heart-shaped chocolate.
I belong.
I am being made whole.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Everybody love somebody.

Let Me Learn By Paradox

Pain crawls up my legs
From the balls of my feet it comes,
Slowly, achingly treading its’ way up my body.
Calves, knees they shake now, hips feel out of joint.
My back aches, arches, contracts, fights against me when I try to stand. Inhale. Keep going. On and on and on. My body is telling me that it won’t go anymore, that it just won’t work right.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day ~St. Paul

Meanwhile my heart and my head and my soul are excited for all the work there is to do.
I carry a message the way my Mama carried me. Everyday it is ready, longing to come out. I want to tell! There are more people everyday who need to hear this Truth. The Good News is eager to be shared. There is so much work to be done: look at the immense fields, ready to be labored over. Souls are ready to be won for Christ!
I long to work in the “fields” from sun-up to sun-down, and I know it is what I’m supposed to do.
Until my body slows me down

And I’m quite confused.

He’s my God and He never lets me go.
He said, sing it on the mountain.
Or fight in valley low
Every man is going to see,
And everyone will know
That peace runs deep in Him.
~Josh Garrels

Amazing Amazing

Always I’ve thought that happiness comes from circumstances, and joy-of course-from God. Joy is awesome to think about but not a reality, happiness is what we really want (shh.)
Not true!
Never have I felt such joy until now.
Little did I know that happiness follows joy that has found its’ root in Christ.

I would close my eyes to take it in but I’m driving.
It’s not the music that my stereo is retching out, it’s not the sun-striped hair on my head. It’s not the 2000 Nissan Frontier that is mine per use of hard earned cash, nor the lovely day that I’ve had.
Nope; it’s Jesus. Him, all Him.
This is what all that light burden and easy yoke stuff is about.
This is the joy that will either implode or explode. It will be shared with others or from me it will be withheld.
Say to the weary one, “Your God will surely come.”

What keeps the fear at bay?
Certainly not the pain in my neck and feet, the challenges that I face. Not friends or church or work or family.
It’s that Spirit settling down in me, like I’m being baptized all over again.
Amazing, amazing grace.
My arm finds its way out of the window, into the pressure of the wind rushing by. I wave at the trees, the clouds, and the people of my little city, just for the sensation of it.
A plea for joy that led to loving. Love that told me about grace. Grace that paves the way for peace. Peace that manifests itself in happiness.
Blessed am I!
Oh that my attempts to show people His love were half as poor & selfish. I wish to see my joy manifest itself righteously, as Jesus’ did.
By the power of the Spirit, it is possible. By the power of Jesus, love wins the war. By the power of the Father, everyday can be better than the last.

He did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped but humbled Himself by becoming a man

Do I Care?

Would I really?….

My grandmother has back pain. Terrible, crippling back pain. She literally must sit all day; sometimes she lays down if it gets intolerable. So my grandma, after a lifetime of working hard, and constantly being in motion, sits on the couch and watches TV. Unable to work full time as she always has. Unable to be comfortable. Now, her only joy in life is her family. The 5 minute phone calls that come once or twice a day; the Christmas visit. A once-independent woman now relies completely on others to take time from their busy schedules to stop by and make her smile. That’s her life.

I am young. I have much hope for my future: college, a career, kids, adventures. I have great friends, a handful of good jobs. I have a church community as well as my own truck and the ability to come and go wherever I please, whenever I please.

Would I, given the chance, trade with my Grandma? Would I turn away all the hope of my future for the sake of relieving her pain? Do I care that much?

Is she more important to me than…me?

I like to think so, but I know that I could not take on her burdens without sinning against her, and God, in the midst.

That’s the difference between me and Jesus. He did what I am incapable of doing. He looked down from perfection, saw pain and swirling torture. From my shoulders He willingly lifted the weight of Hell, and for 33 years He lived far from the perfection He deserved.

All for me.

All to free.

This Continual Conversation

And I entreat Him again using countless cliche complaints:

When will the pain float on?

Will there be another day without the groaning, aching, and ripping plaguing my every posture?

Please take it away; will you not take this cup from me soon?

You have promised to end the hurting; when will that day come?

He answers with characteristic immutability:

I won’t say when, but the day will come. I promise. It is the same day that I have promised to the young mothers in Uganda, Brazil, Brooklyn. You’ll share that day with the sufferers in Syria. That is the day when prisoners will be released and returned to their families. That’s the day when the needs of children with bellies bloated from hunger will finally be met. The kids who sniff glue, the men who worked day and night just to watch their first born commit suicide, the women whose hair was stolen by cancer; all await that day. The planet earth groans in its’ impatience for the time to come.

You are selfish in thinking that you alone know pain.

 

Hallelujah, there is hope.

My heart overflows with gladness.

Even so:

Come, Lord Jesus.

 

Head, Hands, Feet

So I went to sing songs in the kids class this morning (like I do every Sunday) and we sang the hymn When I Survey the Wonderful Cross.  Then I migrated to my “adult” (what does that even mean, really?) Sunday school class where we sang O the Wonderful Cross: a slight rendition of the aforementioned, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.  I enjoyed that because it was a little bit different.  Yay.  Guess what we sang in actual worship?? When I Survey…!!!   Hahahaha!  Funny, but I wasn’t as annoyed as you’d think a typical American would be over that. Why?  Because I saw a parallel between it, and my life.  That song contains the Gospel.  Week after week, day after day, God shows me the Gospel.  He lays it in front of me saying, “Eat this, the bread of life,” and then He weeps as I exchange it for the bread of the flesh.  He holds on, however, and He offers the bread once more.  He plays that song again:

When I survey the wondrous cross

On which the Prince of glory died,

My richest gain I count but loss,

And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,

Save in the death of Christ my God!

All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,

Sorrow and love flow mingled down!

Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

That were a present far too small;

Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all.

On Sundays He sings it to me like a melody. Most of the time He has to scrape it into my skin like tattoo ink.

Thanks for doing that, Jesus. I love you.

Dry Up For Me the Jordan

I am strong and Titan, she said.  She looked in the mirror and there was Strength.  A girl with no loyalty, only power.

I can do anything.  Here is what I can do for You, God. Let’s go!

Then God showed her a bit of Himself…twice.   She cried out:

All. All for and to You! Draw me nearer, You are the wind in my chest, the breathe behind my sails.

He stretched out His Heavenly hand and touched her.  She believed she was ready to go, sold out for His glory.  He knew it wasn’t time yet.  She was not broken enough.  He weakened her, let her be torn apart-limb from limb, dream from dream.  Physically, emotionally, socially, financially:  all fell away like sand in an hour-glass.  He wanted her to let Him take over in order that she become 100% His servant-slave.  But doubts crept into her heart; she looked in the mirror and the demons told her:

Weak. Undesirable.  You’ll never be happy, worthless girl.

She believed them for a moment and the pain rolled over her like a cement truck until her Saviour renewed the Divine hope within her soul:

Don’t give up, Beloved.  There is so much more to come.

He whispered to her heart:

This too shall pass.  Press on.  I am a God of miracles.

Life.  Real, extraordinary life is around the corner!