With failure stamped across my brow,
In mercy I must trust somehow.
With guilt and sorrow so forlorn,
My trust in God must be reborn.
On only Him must I depend,
Else tragedy my soul will rend.
With Jesus I must place my fate,
His righteousness, His justice great.
If on myself I lean too hard,
Perhaps I’ll fall, like house of cards.
In Jesus will I now believe —
My soul to save, my angst relieve.
It’s really not your fault –
Perhaps my fated cross.
Some days I live in clinging fog;
I’m swimming through a bog.
And yet I see a Light
That keeps me in the fight.
Won’t God His precious promise keep?
He’ll make my soul complete.
Poor thinking got me here –
Poor thinking, and much fear.
Must reconstruct my mind;
New truths I need to find.
And here’s were God comes in –
His life must grow within.
His Word I must digest
And of my fear divest.
The past I must let go;
The lies and fears forego.
The resurrection nears –
Let there be joyful tears!
How to know
If I’m at fault?
Or would this person
Find fault again?
O broken heart,
How many failings
Did I impart?
How many breakings
Were caused by me? —
Or did the devil
I cannot live in frozen fear
And yet, I often do
Fear of what you think of me
And what I think of you
I need the Savior’s loving grace
His wisdom, bright and true
His love for sinners and for saints
His love for me and you
That He would give my being
A voice to speak His love
His wisdom, truth, and mercy free
His view from heaven above
If You did not my soul inflame,
If You did not fill lungs with breath,
If You did not my mind engage,
Sure, that would be my sorry death.
Without Your spirit, none can live,
E’en those who do not yet believe.
It’s by Your providence, I know,
There’s reason to rejoice, or grieve.
We cannot understand Your ways;
We grope about, sometimes in ruin.
Or graced, find better ways of life —
But death, the whys will then illumine.
I’ve rarely been in frozen snow;
Those icy winds I do not know.
Nor traveled in the desert sands,
As hot winds blow ‘cross dried-out lands.
I never crossed the sea by boat,
Or walked in jungles lush, remote.
I’ve never seen the northern lights,
Or watched as geese took southern flight.
I never knew a grandpa’s smile,
Nor heard one say, “Just sit a while.”
Nor sat upon my daddy’s lap,
Laid down my head, and took a nap.
At least, I don’t recall that time
Of knowing father’s love sublime.
He seemed so distant, far, remote —
While sitting in his chair, he spoke …
Of intellected things, refined —
Of politics, and words sublime.
I did not understand his heart —
Perhaps in heaven, we will start.
Why, in scattered dreams do I
Remember childhood fantasies,
Of growing up, of painful times —
And also happiness and ease.
Who can give the why, wherefore?
Who can know why life is spent
On fruitless searches, till the time
God’s grace on other road does send?
Am I to blame for all those years
In ignorance and darkness spent?
Or must the drama take its course
For story to have happy end?
Sixty washers and sixty dryers,
All going ’round in circles,
Never ending …
Until a buzzer rings,
Until the fat lady sings.
Here’s a family with two kids,
Here’s a senior, down on the skids —
Changing his clothes just after drying.
Here’s a young man just returned,
His clothes have disappeared, he learns,
Surprised and shocked, he looks around.
I’d wondered ’bout that lady who
Said, “Don’t know
Who these clothes belong to –
Are they mine?”
Well, eventually it was straightened out.
Indeed, she’d taken what was his
And into the dryer, along it went
Tumbling ’round and ’round, along with hers.
Next week, I visited once more.
The young man came inside the door.
I asked him if he’d got his clothes.
Of one pair socks, he was depleted,
He shrugged, not seeming too defeated —
Serenely accepting an item deleted.
I must believe God’s faithful love,
Else madness will my soul o’ertake.
If on myself I fix my eyes,
Despair will be my sorry fate.
I must believe, though I could choose
An easier path; with tide to swim,
To let opinion rule my life
And let the light within me dim.
I must believe the words God speaks,
When worldly cares do contradict.
As storm does rage; no shelter found —
But in God’s boat, all grace begins.
I must believe, and then one day
A shining light will lead my soul.
No longer strife and stress to sway,
My life at last found healed and whole.
A tiny speck, a mote of dust.
One of millions — of wind, a tiny gust.
A tiny atom, or particle minute.
All but invisible; a trivial pursuit.
So insignificant, mostly unknown.
Almost invisible — like a bird now flown.
But in Your eyes, Lord, as Your gaze falls on me,
I am soon made whole, and touch eternity.