hope

Anxious Minds

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O Lord, be merciful when I reduce
Pray’rs to compulsions and repeat the lines
Like incantations till my mind lets loose.
I love you, but obsession undermines
Abiding and I get stuck in the steps,
Working to breathe instead of breathing free,
Approaching rev’rence, bypassed to precepts.
I struggle not to strive. But you know me.
You formed me in the womb and there could see
Each struggle I would face. I’m understood.
When I can’t do, you give me grace to be.
When all feels wrong, you still can make it good.
Remind me of this truth when scruple binds:
The Maker’s still at work in anxious minds.

Photo by Daniel Joshua on Unsplash

OCD and Grace

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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

Postcard

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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.

Photo by Murat Karahan on Unsplash

Snow Day in New Orleans, 2025

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It snowed ten inches in New Orleans yesterday-
That’s ten more inches than we get most years-
And gave the city an impromptu holiday,
A joyful breeze that chilled our undried tears.
We speak the language of precipitation
But not this dialect. We know of flood
But not of flurry or accumulation,
And frost’s not often what has chilled our blood.
But in a city mourning New Year’s tragedy,
Where bitter memories still haunt our sleep,
A snow day brought an unexpected melody,
Reminding us we will not always weep,
For songs that seemed forgotten in the night
Were found again and sung in winter’s light.

My friend Gary Myers wrote about how New Orleans needed a snow day this year, highlighting the news anchors who covered this day just weeks after covering a tragedy. I kept thinking about that observation, about the juxtaposition of tragedy and joy, and it led to this poem.

Monsters

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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

Though the Earth Gives Way, Though the Nations Rage

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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.

Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash

The Return

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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

Day 20: Turning Tides

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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