The Family Business

I’m not looking for an occasion
To abandon the steeple.
I never came in persuasion
To win friends or sway people.

I don’t care for renown,
A following to keep-
Wherever my ground
I want to feed Your sheep.

I’ve acquired no taste
For the kingdoms we build
Out of our own waste,
With hands unskilled

When You waste no splinter
Tending the clippings of our souls,
Our barren winters
Blossom into beauty untold;

I miss those who see as I see,
But whether foreign ambassador or humble witness:
I just want to be
About my father’s business.


Dear God,

In this moment I am
A foreign language unto myself
I’ve been trading for time
Against my spiritual health,
My deep convictions,
And emotional well-being
Now, in this state,
I can’t trust I am seeing
the forest for the trees.
Alone so long in this place
My heart, my speech, is losing
The seasoning of grace.

But if I can’t love them,
How can I love You?
I want to be done,
But I want to see it through
To the proper end-
Then withdraw to mend.


Praises Bloom

Soft morning, the gentle rain
Plucks the earth
As falling breathy notes
Harmonizing rebirth

Sighing, soothing melodies
Drenching the earth in song
Yielding to the sonata of sun:
Warm, vibrant, strong

And the music calls forth life
Bursting choirs of green
Accompaniments of blooms
Singing to the known and unseen

Maestro of song.


Faithlight

To go by what I see
Illuminates by sorrow
A broken world of bigotry
Cruelty inherited tomorrow
From the carelessness of today

But there’s another way:

To walk by what I believe
Casting light on circumstance,
So the shadows only grieve
Until what is coming supplants
All that has been

And earth is healed and purged of sin.


The Lame Child

I am not
a mover and a shaker,
except for being moved by You,
and quaking
before Your Holy presence.

I am not
ready to rattle the gates of hell,
where I grew up,
but I must tell
how You brought me out.

I have not
been educated
by anyone but You,
nor dedicated
by any but You.

I have not
the lungs for the sprint,
nor legs for the marathon
Can the lame be sent?
Yet even on my litter

I praise You.

I have
seen Your kindness blaze
beyond the darkest sins
and most broken ways
to weep with us.

I have
been indelibly marked
by Your deep beauty
the grace that embarks
on a selfless crusade

I am
changed by Your story
the timeline of love,
of promise, and unstained glory,
of tears cherished and abolished.

I am
the little one You saved
too weak to be strong
too wounded to be brave
but You’ve dwelled with me

And I will ever praise You,

as long as I have a song
it belongs to
The Great I Am.


The Quotidian Sisyphean

I’m in wonder before a panoramic view:
An overturned sock hamper,
A room thrown askew
With toys and trash and odds and ends
Rocks to push uphill, then blink,
Then push uphill again.
Vehemently my back complains
As everything falls out of reach
I struggle for motion through the pain
But a thing at rest tends to stay still,
And a thing in motion
Is only rolling down the hill.


Each Part Equal

There is a balm in Gilead!
Your Word brings comfort to my spirit
Stilling my anxious heart,
You open me to hear it.
The world entire may spurn
This offering I bring,
But I bring it to You-
These are my special things:
Gifts You gave me to offer,
And, in time, I believe I’ll understand
The work Your finger
Traces in the sand.
I will not call good evil,
Or roll my eyes at Your gifts
Which are all good and perfect
And each gift fits
Perfectly in the other
One complete tapestry
Each string valuable,
Woven in mastery
By Your fiat.

Praise You for who You are,
Within Yourself,
And for allowing us to look,
To see,
To know You,

To be healed,
To be set free
To serve You freely.