storm

Day 18: Harmattan

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment

In life, we’re met with gentle breezes, signs
That life is full of movement. Summer heat
Is broken by a cool front, and the pines
Carpet the earth with needles, catching sweet-
Est melodies as wind sings through their limbs.
But not all winds blow gently. Some appear
With power unapproachable, like hymns
Writ out of holy fear: we turn the ear
And close the mouth. We know our smallness well
Before the hurricane and Harmattan,
And like the sailors frightened by the swell,
We run for help to power’s paragon,
The man who has become our hope and peace,
The God in flesh who makes the storm-winds cease.

Photo by Caleb Woods on Unsplash

With a Storm

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment 
How do you respond
     (w)hen t(h)e w(i)nd (s)hakes your tem(p)orary dwelling?
     when the thund(e)r b(r)eaks your sense of calm?

     (w)hen t(h)e l(i)ghtning (s)trikes your storehouses?
     when all around you is (p)urifying floodwat(e)r and fi(r)e
          life-giving,
          all-consuming?

What do you do
     when the Father answers your prayers with a storm
          and a whisper?

Do you run away?
Where else would you go?

There is a response
     when the w(i)nd sh(a)kes your te(m)porary dwelling.
     when the thunder (b)reaks your sens(e) of calm.
     
     when the lightning (s)trikes your storehouses.
     when all around you is purifying floodwa(t)er and f(i)re,
          (l)ife-giving,
          a(l)l-consuming.

This poem would not be what it is today without the contributions of Andrew Wilson. He helped with both the structure and the content, improving the rough draft immeasurably and guiding the poem to its final form. I’m incredibly grateful for his feedback.

Photo by Victor Rodriguez on Unsplash

Reflection on Psalm 50

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment

At the word of the Maker, the earth
Is brought forth to revolve round the sun
To the praise and the glory of one
Who possesses an infinite worth.
He shines forth from perfection’s high’st form,
From great Zion, with sounds of a choir.
Ev’ry step is preceded by fire;
When he walks, he is shrouded in storm.
His salvation is given, not bought,
For he owns all that we could present.
Sacrifices for vices are spent,
Yet they profit the Almighty naught.
So walk not in the pathways of death.
Ponder life ‘fore your lips claim his pow’r.
Let the fear of the Lord fill each hour,
And let thanksgiving fill ev’ry breath.