Maybe it’s good enough
that God is good enough,
and I am not.
Maybe it’s enough
that He loved me enough
to show me tough love
when I fought.
Maybe my pride can find a hole and die
And my soul can accept a love
that’s not about how hard I try.
*It is. He is.
Violence
You can handle
the violence in my spirit,
the quiet screams that sear it.
They burn fears and clear pith.
Draw me near with
arms that destroy interference.
You fight for my deliverance.
I hide in the strength
that fights my assailants,
the purity that hates
all that hates me
and kills with fire
the dross, selfish desire.
Your counter-attack
will never lack
the efficacy
to take me back.
Moon and Sand
Try to tell me my worth
And I’ll keep passing through.
Held by the gravity of earth,
But not caught in its monsoon.
But every now and again
My head sinks to sand
Beaten and left to dry
By the water and the sky.
Built up into tiny castles
And then swiftly razed
By thoughtless waves.
Kicked and thoroughly sullied.
Taunted by sea-gullies.
Dear Jesus, I need far more
than I know how to ask for.
Joy beyond the sky where
I can breathe without air.
I’ll hide my face above the atmosphere.
Where You and I can disappear.
And draw me back from the dust
When this planet gets between us.
Indelible Security
With glorious light in my face
I look over to
Love that delights in
All that I am without hiding.
He walks with me in plain sight,
Illuminating my frame.
This joy. It’s so much a part of my soul.
My body, spirit and soul.
Valuable beyond my control.
Worth set in stone.
Loved before I was known.
Joy is my story.
The certainty
of indelible security.
Unforgettable
Irremovable
True.
My Savior’s love defines me.
His righteousness assigned to me.
Now there is freedom to rest and do
With nothing left to prove
Or earn,
Only His love to return.
Understood
Good morning, sunshine.
I missed your smile in the night time.
The shadows over your troubled mind,
covered your hope and made you blind.
But good morning, my love!
You are awake in the light of day.
You are not defined by the dumb things you say.
You are loved beyond every little mistake.
The One who loves you is good,
By Him, you’ll always be understood.
In the Desert
I am your bride in the wilderness.
I’ll follow you
In the desert, I’ll follow you.
In the desert, I’ll drink of you
The heat and sand won’t keep me from believing that you are making an oasis in this place.
How I Look At You
You love when I’m hurting
How I look at You
When my soul is yearning
How I look at You
And I am delighted by Your Presence
Fulfilled in Your Presence
Even when the pain is still present
I will look at You
And when I do
Your smile down on me
Your heart bursts to hear me sing
The fullness of my every feeling
And You delight in and You love me
And I delight in and I love You
My King
I am amazed by You
My gaze is for You
And You dance around me
A whirlwind around me
Together in the Throne Room
My Bride Groom, My King
Silence, Gravity, and Serenity
Lately, I’ve not had much to say. On the phone with a friend last night, I mostly let him talk. There came that oft’ dreaded silence… “Well… I should let you go…”
I had thoughts, but none seemed important. Or they may have seemed valuable, but my voice did not have the strength to carry them. They resided in a place more honored by my silence.
Lately, I feel the same when talking to God. I don’t have much to say. He knows my troubles, and even the thought of mentioning them exhausts me. Not that they are much more than anyone else’s woes. The more I talk with people, the more I see that they are common. And maybe that’s what makes them feel heavier. A very deep and wide weight that affects us all, like gravity.
Waking up is hard. But this morning, I had somewhere to be, though I felt like I had nothing to bring. And that’s enough. It is enough to simply bring myself. As much as I want to be worthy of eternal love on my own, Christ gives this gift to me freely. He sees my weakness and loves me completely. It’s enough to be me. And this world I try to carry was carried for me.
And in that place, I felt the sweetness of His friendship. Not detached from sorrow, but more like my feet could be planted in it while my arms reached all the higher in love and hope. My Savior loves my friendship. And this is not some irreverent thing. It is entirely holy; built on my weakness and His strength. He carries me happily. He carries me – this happy, hurting, and growing tree. I drink freely of His love as He waters me.
Tell Me Why
Tell me why I should pry
these hands apart and try
to make and maintain
a hidden peaceful terrain
that no one else sees,
if it only blesses me.
My child, let Me explain.
Your home is my home.
The places you roam
are under my reign.
I plant flowers undiscovered
in fields under covers of snow.
Where only I know, they grow.
I make stars and galaxies
far from the sight of technology.
And I swing planets on a string
beyond your wildest dreams.
I form wonders on the floor
of oceans yet unexplored.
I set the path for birds to fly
where no heart can know to sigh
or lament its fall from the sky.
My thoughts and my creative care
reaches there.
What do you believe about Me?
I do not neglect the lonely.
It blesses me to bless you with peace,
And someday you will share
what has been hidden with care.
Iconoclastic: reflections on A Grief Observed
I had to look that word up. C.S. Lewis does that to me – makes me look up words. And it’s a good one. Iconoclastic. It means “attacking or ignoring cherished beliefs and long-held traditions, etc.,as being based on error, superstition, or lack of creativity…”
In A Grief Observed, Lewis dives into the necessity of shattering our false ideas about God.
“My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of His presence?”
And, of course, the main subject of the book is Lewis’ grieving the death of his wife. Therefore the following relates to the image and ‘cherished beliefs’ we have of people being shattered, particularly of loved ones. He wrestles with the fear of loving the memory of her rather than her herself. He loved her iconoclastic reality.
“All reality is iconoclastic. The earthly beloved, even in this life, incessantly triumphs over your mere idea of her. And you want her to; you want her with all her resistances, all her faults, all her unexpectedness.”
Can I swoon for a second? I want a love like that. Love that cherishes the reality of who you are and not the mere idea of you. To have the freedom to contradict the idea of yourself, and still be loved, and loved even more for being real. ❤ How many of us have lost love for not being “what I thought you were” ? Surely then, we were in love with an idea rather than a person.
If indeed we love people and God rather than our ideas of them, it is a relief when our ideas are shattered. What a relief to be shown where we are wrong! Oh, God, I didn’t know! And now “I have come to misunderstand a little less completely,” (Lewis) What a blessing it is to get that much closer to You by destroying my false ideas about You!
“And all this time I may, once more, be building with cards. And if I am He will once more knock the building flat. He will knock it down as often as proves necessary.”
And at the possibility of being even better understood by his wife after her death, he did not shrink back – confident in her love.
“For this is one of the miracles of love; it gives – to both, but perhaps especially to the woman – a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted.”
And this intimate knowledge and love is what our Savior Jesus Christ possesses for us.
“His love and His knowledge are not distinct from one another, nor from Him.”
Hold Up My Hands 