Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Agony

Agony is all I feel
Until I get to You and see,
Until I let You get to me
And set me free.

Struggling, striving,
Ever hiding,
Not abiding,
Until surrender.

When I let myself let go,
When you live in me and grow,
When I let You set me free,
Is when I see.

I catch the glimpses from above,
I’m sometimes drowned within Your love,
But other times I lose the vision,
Have no focus; feel division.

I thank You for the battle won,
I thank You for Your Holy Son,
For Him who died upon a tree
And will complete good work in me.

Our Purpose in Life?

In recent years, I believe my purpose is to show the love of Jesus to others. And yet, lately I thought, “If I’m lying unconscious in a hospital bed, how do I show the love of Jesus to others?” Perhaps sometimes, our purpose is to receive the love of Jesus or let others love us.

I really believe each person is loved by God and was put on earth for a purpose. “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11) A blind, deaf, and dumb person may have a purpose — perhaps he or she is used by God to teach others compassion.

I would love to hear people’s thoughts on this.

On Jagged Cliff

On jagged cliff
I stand on edge.
For love of God
I take the chance.

Or stand at start
Of tunnel dark
And enter on
A somber lark.

I walk the rope
Twixt light and dark.
Upon His word
I must embark.

I cry and cry,
I moan and sigh,
And then He says,
“Just trust Me now.”

And like a child
I take His hand,
Beginning now
Adventure grand.

Wild and Free

Wild horses

Wild and free
Someday I’ll be;
Wind in my hair
And not a care.

To soar so high,
Up towards the sky,
With eagle’s eye
And no more lies.

I’ll run and run,
Out towards the sun.
Thy will be done;
Thy Kingdom come.

But now on earth,
The suff’ring hurts.
Until life’s end,
And to new birth.

[Photo credit: http://animalwalls.blogspot.com/2011/09/white-wild-horses.html ]

Like the Beauty …

Rose pink and white

Like the beauty of a rose,
My heart unfolds.
The raindrops glistening in the sun
Tell stories of the past storm.

With thorns I may have pricked your hand;
I could not understand.

I hope the fragrance of my flower
Healed bleeding hand.

And when you plucked my rose so fair,
I could only lie there;
And let my beauty speak to you
Of love divine.

[Photo credit: http://www.hdwallpapersplus.com/free-rose-wallpaper.html ]

I’m waiting for that day
When He returns
In bright and shining glory.

I’ve got to tell the story
How He loved me all the time,
But I — confused in mind.

He always walked beside me,
Tried every way to guide me,
But there was no way I would see.

Couldn’t seem to grasp His story
My ears were stopped, and surely
My eyes were blinded too.

I walked in deepest darkness
Lived life in blackest starkness
My heart was frozen.

Now He leads me through the night
I look to Him for light
Like a little child.

Thanksgiving Prayer

I thank you, Lord,
For the gift of this new day.
You created me out of love,
And only out of love;
You did not need me.

Thank you, Lord,
For the warmth of the sun on my skin
And the chill in the air,
Which spurs me out of lazy inactivity.

Thank you for genuine friendship,
For without it life would be truly dreary.

Thank you, Lord,
For the people who somehow annoy me,
For they teach me unconditional love.

Someday, Lord,
I may be able to genuinely thank you
For those who have deeply hurt me,
For by Your grace,
And only by Your grace,
They have made me stronger,
More compassionate,
And able to empathize with others’ hurt.

Thank you, Lord,
For your patience with me, a sinner.

Thank you, Lord,
For all the hurts, trials, sufferings,
Annoyances, discomfort,
Awkwardness and shame;
For without these
I may never have looked for You,
And been complacent in my comfort.

By Your grace,
You make all things new again.

A Ball of Yarn

There’s a ball of yarn

Inside my chest;

Something struggling to get out.

Don’t know what it is.

 

Sometimes I feel

Like a mute

Who can only

Make noises but not speech.

 

I had a voice once

And I will again.

Only time will tell,

Will tell, will tell

 

The story,

The mystery,

So well.

[I thought I should explain how this poem was inspired. I watched a documentary about the real story that the book “The Hunt for Red October” is based on. See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mh0N3iG-7Uc . In the true story, a Russian naval officer is disillusioned by the way Communism had played out in reality (although he was still a Communist). He tried to start a revolution to bring back Communism to it’s ideal (helping the common people). The documentary also portrayed the Cold War in an interesting way. I thought about all the hopes and dreams of people from very different backgrounds. Then my mind jumped to other differences, like Protestant and Catholic, “conservative” and “liberal”, etc., and I thought, “I wonder if we are all wrong about each other?” Not too say there are not good reasons for the differences and conflicts, only that each person in his heart has a dream that we need to listen to.]

I thought you were my enemy
But someone had told me lies about you,
And so it seems,
Someone had told you lies about me.

We went around in a fog of falsehood
That seemed so normal
Because the fog was constantly around us.

Then the light
Began to break through
For me, for you.

The mist still mystifies
But it’s getting thinner.
Slowly the sun’s light
Is burning through.

Are we just relating
To ideas of each other
Or who we really are?

If I could see
With eyes divine
I would not believe a lie.

Quote on Suffering

“A hunter sometimes makes his dog suffer — for instance when the dog is caught in a trap, the hunter has to push the dog further into the trap, to lessen the tension on it, before he can get him out. That hurts, and [the dog] can’t understand what we can: the mechanism of a trap requires this push further in that causes such pain because this is the way out. God does the same to us sometimes, and we can’t understand why he does it any more than the dog can understand us.” Peter Kreeft in “Making Sense Out of Suffering”.