Category Archives: Poetry

The Gallery

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I am a Canvas unfinished
Layers painted over with vibrant hues, tints and shades
Unfinished, yet hung in the Gallery

The Gallery opens tonight
This Gallery called the “Church”
Piece after Piece line the Gallery walls
Some finished, some works in progress
All unique in theme, texture and palette

Heavenly thrones empty
Unseen guests peruse each Piece
Dignitaries and Despots
Amazed and shocked as they read the Canvas stories

All Fall to their knees

For Trembling Powerless Despots
It is the dreaded writing on the wall
For Applauding Joyful Dignitaries
It is the fulfillment of their long awaited eager expectations

Nevertheless all react, all fall

The Mysterious Plan that the Creator kept secret
Now revealed in this Gallery of Art
Christ in us, the hope of glory

And I too, yet unfinished, am on display before the whole earth, as His masterpiece.

God’s purpose in all this was to use the church to display his wisdom in its rich variety to all the unseen rulers and authorities in the heavenly places. This was his eternal plan, which he carried out through Christ Jesus our Lord. (Ephesians 3:10, 11 NLT)

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What If…

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What if heart-pounding, breathless, tension life meant something?

What if tragic funeral lines, week after week sorrows, tears steaming meant something?

What if bleary-eyed, exhaustion, numb laying on the couch (I had no idea the ceiling had so many cracks) meant something?

A message in a bottle, screwed down tight, sealed with lead…

What…does…it…mean?

Through the glassy haze, in focus, no- out of focus, blurry I make out letters, words maybe, but cannot comprehend. I wrestle with the top, violently shake the bottle, yet it will not reveal its secrets.

Who is worthy to open this bottle and release this message!?

What if I am discovering myself and learning to get over myself?

Holy Spirit gently comes, place His hand over mine and pops the top off, no effort required. It flutters into my hand… RESTLESS.

…The culmination of “what ifs,”. I am restless because I was made for more. More relationship with my savior, more fulfillment of dreams, more power, more purpose… More, more, more than I can do by myself.

Therefore, work out your own salvation with reverence and awe and trembling (self-distrust, with serious caution, tenderness of conscience, watchfulness against temptation, timidly shrinking from whatever might offend God and discredit the name of Christ).
Not in your own strength, for it is God Who is all the while effectually at work in you [energizing and creating in you the power and desire], both to will and to work for His good pleasure and satisfaction and delight. (Philippians 2:12, 13 AMP)

There is a map on the back of the message, the X is floating… I think I’m going on an adventure… Stay tuned…

Good Morning, Be Present

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I take my seat.
Like cool, comforting hands, air rests gently on my shoulders.
Cheery chickadee excitedly chirps nearby.
Flame red cardinal spectator, still and silent.
Perching Robin rests in expectation.

As the tuning before curtain rise, A bird cacophony becomes symphony.
Backlight bleeds through to accent verdant leaves.
Wafts of fresh bouquet presented.
He makes beautiful things out of dust.

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Songs of Joy

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“But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.” -Psalm 59:16 (NIV)

Sing, sing, sing. Early bird perched in brittle tree repeats. Sing, sing, sing. Wind whistle, heat pump hum. Puppy’s sleeping huffs keep rhythm with ticking mantle clock.

If I’m quiet enough I can hear strains of strength and love, always – even when I am too brittle broken tired to sing. The music is everywhere, all I have to do is listen.

Having heard, I test my dry brittle voice. Sing, sing, sing my own songs of praise. Songs that soar far above self-pity into the heights of thankfulness. And all things become harmless voiceless shadows while this heavenly chorus sings. The birds, the wind, the heat pump, the dog, the clock and me.

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God Who Sees right where You are

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He sees me right now. He knows I’m moved by music, by words. Seed words that bloom into beauty in my life. God has prepared this garden for me… And maybe for others to enjoy.
He is my Home and my Garden. Finding warmth, comfort, nourishment here, I sow last season’s seeds to get a new, fresh harvest for the next.
I desire to walk with Jesus in this garden home – hold His hand. See this place with the eyes of a child.
Eyes like olives, ripe on the tree. A garden of trees, dripping with sustenance. Fruit best crushed, releasing the fragrance and oil of light. Crushed… in my own garden? Of course, oil of words must flow to bring light. Seed for the planting.
Sometimes, through no fault of mine, I find myself in the desert. Jesus teaches me how to give thanks and pray. Suddenly, I find a river in a desert land. And in that river, fertile soil. With dry and bleeding hands I plant these seeds, and He makes all things new again.

(words I received while worshipping with Jason Upton)

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Gray Daze

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Vintage photo dawn in varying shades of gray, cold, dreary, yet still reminds me grace will overcome all.

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Past Present Future

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fogFog. Ghosts of past wars emerge, marching past ancient gray palisades. Fade to mist as the Sentinels of the present wait for God’s presence to draw near in glorious light.

Something about the fog this morning made me pause, coffee in hand.  Just as that fog blanketed my forest, a spirit of depression spread over my soul, . Old memories came to me.  In trying to find something to be thankful for, I found dead places rise up instead.  Like those solid trees, I stood frozen in place trying to pierce through the gray ground clouds.  Dark and getting darker, still standing.  Praise God, a ray of light sliced through and I could see my familiar forest explode in glory! Fog quickly vanished and so did that mist over my heart.

Gentle whisper of my Maker, “No matter how dark life seems, I am Light and I will never leave you or forsake you.”  Sometimes the past creeps up on us unexpectedly, but He sees and brings light to the situation as long as we stand and wait.

Eucharisteo: Grace, Thanksgiving, Joy

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winterivy copyGlory light cutting through dead limbs, searching for hidden life climbing, covering grey with glints green gold and glorious. Teaching me to see what I could not before, that even in death there is always life growing again. He will always overcome death and the grave.

 

So this is grace and this is how eucharisteo works even in dead places.

 

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