I cannot do it all today.
I cannot do it all.
In spite of what I think or say,
I still will fail and fall.
But time will ever slip away
And stress will foster disarray,
And so I cannot help but pray,
For I am very small.
Yet in my weakness, you display
Your holy wherewithal
To keep me on the narrow way.
Photo by Vlad Kutepov on Unsplash
Matthew tells us the rich young man “went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions” (Matthew 19:22). When told to sell what he had and to give to the poor, he walked away, leaving the opportunity of eternity for his earthly kingdom. Perfection, it seems, cost too much.
I want to read but cannot find the time.
Responsibilities fill ev’ry day
With tasks and cares I dare not cast away,
And reading, sadly, can’t always be prime.
And on the rare occasions when the time
Presents itself with freedom to peruse
A poem or a chapter (which to choose?)
Uninterrupted (oh the joy sublime!),
I find my eyes work only for a time
Before I catch myself rereading lines
While heavy eyelids cover eyes that pine
After the peaks I’ve grown too tired to climb.
So words within my reach remain unread
As I desire books not so much as bed.
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I’ve been blogging for four years now. Compared to many writers, four years isn’t a long time. But when I think about where I began, four years feels big.
When I was little, I remember praying with my head bowed, my eyes closed, and my hands together. Prayer, at that point, seemed tied to posture, as if a change in posture might lessen the validity of the prayer. At least, that’s how my little mind viewed the situation. As I grew, I learned that one could pray without folded hands, without a bowed head, and even without closed eyes. Such discoveries brought a newfound freedom to my prayer life, yet they also became opportunities for the flesh as I began to self-righteously look down on others who still maintained the posture of the early days of prayer. I thought that I’d grown beyond the need for such posture, that I’d grown so mature in my relationship with the Lord that posture and setting became concerns of the past. I’m beginning to reconsider the importance of posture, however. Continue reading
I don’t have it all together.
Do flowers honor Father more than I?
For they do not rebel against his name,
Never abandon purpose to proclaim
Another glory. Ev’ry passerby
Is bidden by the bud to look beyond,
To glimpse the author of the grand design.
I point as well, but I demand a fine,
Some profit for the prophet. Still, the frond
Is ever faithful. Though its days are few,
Great kings cannot compare to its array,
A testimony from the soil and sod.
Look closely and detect the divine hue
And find the same at work within your clay.
All beauty bears the signature of God.
Photo by Milos Tonchevski on Unsplash
“-MO! And here we are! Oh look!
A thing! And stuff! And words to read,
The poet’s pen upon the page
With purpose, like in Pond’s old book.
Oh Pond… But wait! Oi! You right there!
You placed a call to me in need
Of inspiration in this age.
Well here I am with fez and hair!
… No, that’s a rubbish entrance. So!
You need a poem topic, eh?
Have you considered space and time?
Just pick a place you’d like to go.
The universe is out my door,
A new horizon ev’ry day,
Enough to fill your ev’ry rhyme.
See what the TARDIS has in store…”
. . .
Sometime, somewhere, in the future:
“Psychic paper text:
‘WRITER SEEKING DOCTOR’S NOTE’
“Well then… GERONI-”
The days increase that make up time behind,
And days unknown to us now lie before
Our feet, whose steps we never can rewind,
But must advance through this now open door.
The times around us change with each new day
Regardless of our feelings for the change.
Unsteady is the ground we wish would stay;
Our lives seem always set to rearrange.
But steady and unshakeable is truth,
And most dependable is God above.
For all the elderly and all the youth,
The constant in the universe is Love.
So hope as this new year begins to dawn,
And trust the Lord whose reign goes ever on.