The enemy will tell you lies;
Don’t be surprised.
Says you’re no good —
You ought, you should
Give up and never try again.
He worms and wiggles,
He really squiggles
Into your mind —
He gets inside.
Will twist and turn,
Pervert and squirm,
Ooze into you,
But you must choose.
Rebuke the lie —
Yes, you must try.
Receive the grace
And win the race.
Wounded is this world
By sin and strife.
Unhappy people,
Unhappy lives.
Dissatisfied and —
At an unpeace.
Looking for something;
Needing release.
Compassion is needed —
Understanding, love.
God’s intervention,
Grace from above.
Love to your neighbor,
Give compliments.
Brotherly friendship,
It only makes sense.
Build up; don’t tear down.
Encourage; not bully.
Don’t take it personally;
Grudges are silly.
Now, if only I can
Take this advice,
I’ll be one person
Making things right.
Blest are the broken,
Shattered and torn,
Those who are weeping,
Those who now mourn.
In our deep sorrow
God is so near.
He walks beside us —
We need not fear.
From broken pieces
He now creates
Mosaic of His beauty —
Majesty great.
Be not ashamed now
Of broken heart.
Know that He loves you
And make a new start.
What is the beauty in a flower?
What draws me to its fragrant bliss?
All I can think, and only this —
It praises Father every hour.
Why do the mountains call to me?
Why so majestic, bold, and grand?
They often tell me of His plan,
His might and power, His purpose grand.
Why does the ocean call to me?
Why crashing waves do beckon still?
Only because my Savior’s voice
Is hidden in their mighty power.
Why do I till and dig the earth?
Now planting seeds that will give birth?
Because the seed that once seemed dead
Will bring new life upon the earth.
Now every day He speaks to me
In seed and flower, in meadows bright.
Though blind and deaf I tend to be
His light and love will make me right.
Rush of the rain,
In waves and showers.
Thirsty the earth,
Now will come flowers.
Like Holy Spirit
Comes the rain.
Watering soul
And life again.
Dry was the earth
And hard as iron.
Dead was my soul
‘Til caught on fire.
Spirit of God
Will now break forth.
Like little seedling,
Life brings hope.
If all the world is trouble,
And everywhere I step
Seems some poor soul is suff’ring —
These things I can’t forget.
Within me stirs compassion
And tears do often fall,
But better still if I knew how
To answer action’s call.
It seems sometimes I’m in a dream
Where body cannot move —
The spur to action paralyzed,
Though there is much to do.
How did I end up in this fog
Of thick pea soup — so still?
Can’t speak, can’t shout — I don’t know why,
But truth will conquer still.
On my nightstand in a pile,
Lie twenty books or more.
Inside each one I’ve read a bit
And then found them a bore.
Yes, this is one I’ve read before,
And that one’s just too gross,
Another one’s too shallow,
The fourth one’s too morose.
Perhaps these lands of fantasy —
Where books my soul do bring,
Can they no longer satisfy —
Reality’s the thing?
But as a child I wandered,
Devoured every word.
One book a day I swallowed
And ate the printed word.
And still I’ll wander to those lands
For, yes, they help me dream
Of that which can, or yet will be,
Of worlds as yet unseen.
The wound of sin
Festers within,
Until God’s light
Can make it right.
Why try to hide
The pain inside?
The healing comes
When brought to light.
Shattered by silence,
No words to express,
Mumbling and muted —
No words will caress.
No great approval,
No smiles of delight,
No healing laughter,
Or love at first sight.
Crippled emotions,
Frozen in fear,
Unfounded notions,
And buckets of tears.
Come out of the darkness,
Come into the light,
So wounds be acknowledged
And wrong be made right.
I walked into a painting,
A seascape rich and grand.
On one side the scudding waves,
On other, emerald lands.
Above the waves, so aptly hung
A rainbow of all-colored hues;
Like fairy bridge it spanned the waves,
And hung ‘neath cloudy view.
I could not tell which land was real —
The painting or my troubled life.
The peaceful setting did give lie
To oft-felt turmoil, strife.
The vibrant air, the soft sea spray,
The colors of the flowers’ hue,
Did stir within my weary heart
A joy and peace anew.
I walked into a painting,
And will I ever know
Which land is real, which fantasy?
Seems only time will show.
clarakatalin 