I have missed our appointment
more times than I can count.
You never cancel.
You put up with my
tired excuses,
showing undeserved kindness.
You buy my coffee
and listen,
refilling my empty cup
every time.
Poetry
Monsters
The Lord created all things good, and we
Created monsters, metaphors of life
Now marred and mangled. In their eyes we see
Extremities of loss and waste and strife.
We know our state, our status, and we feel
The curse unyielding, so we turn our tales
To terror and temptation, to what’s real,
To time within this dark and tear-filled vale.
But in the foul creations, we perceive
A purpose buried, still more real and true.
Beneath the vilest horrors, we believe,
Lies hope that what is lost can be renewed.
For death is not the final word, and night
Will always break before the dawning light.
Photo by Enguerrand Blanchy on Unsplash
Provision
My mind is all alarms sometimes, and I
Wonder, worry, whether all is well, as I
Misinterpret signs of life, sensing
Danger.
But you know just how to speak, to
Move, to be, disarming faulty defenses with
Laughter, comforting me with a gentle
Touch of your hand.
Image by Madelynn Duke
Do You Love Me?
Despite his good intentions, promises,
And passion, Peter three times failed his Lord,
And though his doubts were not like Thomas’s,
He fled at costs he thought he could afford.
Back to the boats, the nets, the fish, the sea.
He’d tried another life, sought something more,
And made a wreck of it. Could there still be
A place among the faithful? Then from shore,
A voice familiar called, harkening back
To early days of hope and ignorance.
He asked of the supply and knew the lack,
But then he spoke, and all was providence,
For his is love no shame can e’er efface
That meets great sin with more abundant grace.
Photo by Dave Herring on Unsplash
Though the Earth Gives Way, Though the Nations Rage
I believe in a light overcoming
And that good will endure to the end.
I believe there’s an end to this running.
When I feel most alone, there’s a friend.
I believe in a hope not unfounded,
In foundations untouched by decay,
In desires fulfilled, grace unbounded,
In the imminent breaking of day.
I believe that assurance is granted
Despite all evidence for the lie,
That the future’s a seed that’s been planted
And yet grows under God’s watchful eye.
I believe the existence of trouble
Doesn’t mean that the trouble will last,
That a garden can grow from the rubble,
That good days are not just in the past.
I believe in a rescue from ruin,
In salvation that’s certain and sealed,
In a day with no sorrow to rue, when
What is broken is finally healed.
By Surprise
God’s grace is like
The first fall breeze,
A certainty
That always catches me
By surprise.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
Questions and Answers
One asked, “Why do you think of me?” in awe.
He saw the stars, the heavens, and was filled
With holy fear, in wonder at the law
At work within the world. It left him stilled.
One asked, “Why do you think of me?” and wept
At losses greater than a man should know.
Accused but innocent, this one was kept
Alive to cry to heav’n from hell below.
One said, “Do this. Remember me,” and broke
The bread for broken questioners and poured
A cup for all the thirsty as he spoke
Of death and life and suff’ring and reward.
The third knows well the two, the joy, the strife.
Encompassed in his knowing is his life.
Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash
The Return
The earth is gods and goblins ev’rywhere,
Host of antagonists attacking good
Through counterfeit and subterfuge, like wood
Too wet or rotten to be useful, fair
Of form but fearsome, felling those who dare
Distrust the king, stand where the prince has stood,
Lay claim the throne as if they ever could
Create, control, or care. But though the air
Be dark with smoke, there blows a hopeful breeze
That parts at points the shroud and shows the sky
And lets in light and warmth and something more:
A whisper of an answer to our pleas.
The king’s return is sure and drawing nigh.
He will arrive and bring an end to war.
Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash
Reflections on the Kings of Judah, 2 Chronicles
Lord, keep me weak if I can’t handle strength,
For pride precedes destruction, and I fear
Forgetfulness, the turning of the ear
To people’s praises. I would run the length
Of life in faithfulness, but know the length
Of steadfast years is short unless my ear
Inclines to you, unless a holy fear
Is fixed in me, for therein lies true strength.
Humility, my Lord, is my request,
To know my stature and to call it blessed
Whate’er my lot because I’m found in thee.
And temper henceforth every request,
Reminding me what truly makes men blessed:
True knowledge of themselves in light of thee.
Photo by Olga Angelucci on Unsplash
Professor Lewis
It seems that you were always writing,
Always reading, always smoking,
Always sipping, and I think your
Cup was overflowing.
But the romance of such thinking
Overlooks the daily living,
Working, growing, and forgiving.
Yours was normal life.
As I gather inspiration,
I am struck by dedication.
Life for you was no vacation.
You knew joy and grief.
But turning to the pen, you taught us,
Told us tales of truth that caught us,
Brought us to the Son who sought us,
In humility.
So let me emulate your seeing,
Work into my words that being
That knows what it is becoming.
Let me love the King.
as i learn to walk 