Tag Archives: God

I Can’t

My whispers collect here.
Have I been in the cold
Wandering all these years?
Hope is the old man
Singing through his tears
To the child in my soul

I can’t, but I know
God can.

Caught between the crashing waves
My desires wash out to sea
Slipped between fingers that could not save
I drop to my knees in sand.
At least the child was brave;
What is left to make of me?

I can’t, but I believe
God can.


Exuberant Agony

I sing to You
Though sweat may roll across my brow
Pain dancing along me in waves
No cure for now
But I have already been saved
In my helplessness, and in my helplessness You’ll see me through

And what is a little turmoil against eternity?

I sing to You
In withered state,
Onlookers guessing at my loss
Perhaps a well-earned fate
But I have always thrown this on the cross
Regardless of who may accuse;

Even when I accuse, You defend with authority.

I sing to You
Not to appease, nor to procure
Some relief or resolution
But because Your worth is sure,
Incapable of any iota of diminution.
How unworthy am I to be pursued,

Yet You overtook me with Your grace.

Even if these were my last breaths
You are worthy of every song I have left
And eternally more.


Knock Knock

Here is what I know:
There was a judge, an infraction,
And a widow who would not let go
Or succumb to distraction.

Here is what I know:
Jacob took hold, wrestling,
And would not let go
”Until” he said, “You bless me.”

Here is what I know:
You’ve told us to pray,
And I refuse to let go
Until You have Your way

In this heart,
In this family,
In Your house,
In this city,
And beyond.


Doubting Me

Ruminating
On the substance of man
The intangibles of hope, and faith,
That fuel and fan
Our brief, burning existence.

Striving and dying
In the same breaths
That framed the common lives,
Ambitions, and inevitable deaths
Of heroes and villains.

And without scales
To weigh this substance,
To ascertain its purpose, or value,
It’s just wandering circumstance
And wishful thinking.

Religion,
Man’s answer to man’s dilemma,
Is more striving at dying,
Temporary solutions or agendas,
Without a Creator.

And I’m thinking of witnesses,
And historical accounts,
The dependency of science,
And it all amounts
To the idea of God.

How easily I doubt,
And how often I look
To the Author of life,
Of time, of the Great Book
That weighs these intangibles,

And makes sense of circumstance.


Sparrows and Sorrows

We toiled at the crossing,
Long days ere we deployed
With frantic errands fit between,
But our work became our joy
Preparing to cross the bar,
To meet our fellow brothers
Co-heirs adopted by our Father,
Born from different mothers.
Embarking with meager belongings,
But carrying hearts full brimmed
We eagerly journeyed through
A stranger night, soft dimmed,
Barely closed eyes opening
Onto a day born new
All the wonder of our hope
Painting a lovely view.

I cannot know, looking back,
What caused the quiet schism
Was it cultural habits of expression,
Stiff-lipped stoicism,
Prejudice or snobbery,
Or some other slight assumed
Caused by some prior phantom
Also born from my mother’s womb.
Their call extending to every nation,
But touched with contempt for mine
As the bonds of brotherhood dissolved,
So also our grander design,
And our love evaporated
On the cold and distant shore,
And our full hearts were emptied,
And our value full ignored.

So I call on you, our father,
Who gives life unto the dead,
And you love your varied children,
To the very hairs upon our head
Mend the boats we sank,
And purge our dark intentions
Teach us to love beyond our faults,
Our prejudice and apprehension.
Our value solely found in you;
We are lovable because you’ve loved
And all that’s worthy in any flesh
Is given it from above

And how I know you care for them,
And how you care for me,
But oh the depth of salty tears
Filling this expanse of sea!


Me ‘n Matthew

I’ve succumbed to this infirmity,
Like spiritual leprosy,
Slipping beneath the pallor,
Aching in my joints:
It only hurts where I bend.
And I’m numb again,
My nerve-endings fall mute
But I have called to You

And You are willing.

I hold my breath.
Still on my bed, like stone death
And my fears crush my feet,
Clinging like gasoline and smoke
Paralyzed under the weight
Tormented by what I can’t escape
And I can’t get up, get away,
I can’t crawl to You,

But You will come; You will speak.

Tossed in feverish apparitions,
Bound by my inhibitions
Fueled with burning skin
And thought and imagination,
What is true, objective reality,
And what is birthed inside me
In the flame and misery
Of these spiritual infirmities?

But I believe You’re able:
Touch these hands
Set this fever to flee
So I can stand, so I can see

So I can serve Yours as You’ve saved me.


Strike Anywhere

This under-the-bushel life:
This hush-or-you’ll be seen,
Silent in the strife,
Lucid in the dream,
Choking-out-the-light life

When I should let it burn.

This habit I’ve worn,
These lies I’ve swallowed
Hiding what’s torn,
Filling what’s hollowed
By grief or scorn

With whatever can’t burn,

I keep the wick trimmed
Waiting for an invitation,
But when beckoned, I dim
In reckless hesitation
And sin

Because the light burns

But these dark nights
Call my name
And if light gives sight,
Bring on the flame
It’s time to ignite

My resistance and my purpose
To see what burns,

And what remains.