Mine is a life of much anxiety
Such that I scarcely know a state of peace,
For its pursuit oft entails other ends.
I second-guess my sense of piety
And journey with the rarest of release
From fear and tension, for the state attends
So much of life and ever doth give chase.
The hounding of my mind may never cease,
But in this sojourn, God in love extends
Provision through safe havens in the grace
Of friends.
Photo by Ashleigh Joy Photography on Unsplash
The grass grown here is named for St. Augustine—
The Florida one, not the church father,
Though the bishop’s name befits this place. Lust in
Its past plagues its present, and souls bother
With all manner of “wisdom” while the truth
Beckons from the lips of Christians homegrown
And transplanted into the hard soil. Youth
Still steal pears, or citrus here. On their own,
One might think it impossible they’d find
Their way from Desire. The city of God
Is near and far. Yet the Father is kind,
Answering Monica’s pray’rs, making sod
Like Sodom’s sprout blades of grass that grow strong
And vines that produce fruit further along.
Photo by Mitch Hodiono on Unsplash
I have been formed by faith and OCD,
The former giving language to the latter
That quickly learned to chatter and to batter
My mind and heart until I could not see
That what I thought was freedom charged a fee
And pseudo-peace did cut, curse, cripple, shatter.
The tapestry was torn until a tatter
Became the whole of my theology.
But faith in God does not require perfection,
And grace abounds the more in misperception.
In his good time, he trimmed the troubled vine,
Redeeming days I lost to the infection.
Truth triumphed over every deception.
My peace and freedom now are his design.
Photo by Abram Goglanian on Unsplash
I thought to write a postcard to myself,
The present to the past with some advice,
But chose to put the card back on the shelf.
Some plot points might be changed, but at what price?
For God redeemed the long and sleepless nights
And answered pray’rs I did not know to pray.
For ev’ry six wrongs, there were seven rights,
And ev’ry dead end then led to today.
My story is made richer by the hurt
That taught the truth of healing and of grace
Abounding, resurrection, flow’r and dirt
Together, both belonging to a place.
My life’s been far from perfect, but I see
The blessings of the road that made me me.
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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
God’s grace is like
The first fall breeze,
A certainty
That always catches me
By surprise.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
I cannot keep time
from passing,
but I can save it,
savor it,
accept it as grace.
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The tide rose to my nose before it fell,
Its inflow deepening the depths of fear
As I just tried to breathe. I was unwell,
Convinced I could not swim, that ev’ry tear
Was trouble self-inflicted due to sin.
The God of grace appeared to be austere,
Unwilling to relent. I had grown thin
Through waiting in the waves, and still I stayed
Till I had grown accustomed to my chin
Residing at the waterline. But aid
Was not far off. A voice called out, “Hold tight!”
‘Fore teaching me to see and swim. I prayed
And noticed water shallowing as light
Broke over all the breaking water’s pall
And in a moment brought an end to night.
Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash
When my thoughts were all
gum on my shoe-bottoms,
tripwires, and
straitjackets,
my decisions were all
running away,
confused striving, and
well-intended wounds.
Too few of my steps were right,
and I was left
at a loss for direction.
But every misguided misstep,
every freezing fear, and
every burned bridge
became a step toward
truth,
life,
and love,
and I see now
you are sovereign over time
even when I can’t tell it.
Photo by Simon Godfrey on Unsplash
as i learn to walk 