Who He Says I Am

I'm one of those people,
who thinks things through
and then thinks them again,
picking apart each word,
each motive behind each word,
along with every tone,
ups and downs in voices
to piece together some knowledge
about something that's likely
not even there.
I take that "based on nothing" knowledge
and stir it around in my little head,
imposing it on myself
like a doctor, writing a prescription
until it takes over.
And it's only when I realize
that this little seed has been planted
for no reason at all,
that I try to uproot it
to replace it with truth.
But it's like trying to reattach
a lock of hair, after its been cut;
there is no sure way of undoing it.
If only I realized
that I am who I am
totally aside from any one else's
words, thoughts, feelings, experiences,
and saw truth
in who He says I am.

I will long to see the truth,
in who He says I am.

Shine

No,
no longer do I subscribe
to the late night television guide
where I feed my mind
lie upon lie
only to get through another night
only to get by
without trusting in a Father's light
so bright
in my small, yet wide eyes
and I will call it like I see it.
A fear I hide
away like a small, silent cry
that I'd cry and cry
as every sense of security walked out of my life
and into the hands of a crafted lie
that I am nothing in His sight
but rejected.
And I will claim my right
in my Christ who abides
and never hides,
this love and knowledge of me, infinite
like an ocean tide
that sweeps aside
every father's sin, and father's lie
until I remove my eyes
from an image of pride
and see a Father who has never tried
to do anything but set me apart.
No,
no longer do I subscribe
to a late night television guide
filled with such a temporary guise,
a ruse disguised
as a love that just hides.
Real love doesn't hide,
it shines.

Pearls to the Swine

This is a poem I wrote almost a year ago. I wanted to post it not because it reflects where I'm at right now, but because it reminds me of where I was. Enjoy. 


It's not that I don't listen, 
Or that I don't respect what you have to say, 
It's just that I'm so set in my ways,
Predisposed to disobey, 
When obedience would save me so much heart ache. 
And it's not that I don't seek your voice, 
Because all I want is to hear you, 
It's just that I've been lied to for so long, 
That I often forget what the truth sounds like. 
Beaten back, left for dead, sink or swim, 
I've lived, fighting to find you, 
And now that I have, I feel more lost and before. 
I can talk about the darkest things I've seen, 
With a perfectly straight face, 
I can pretend to be vulnerable, 
When the walls are only getting higher. 
Yet I can praise you for it all, 
Even when I feel like walking away. 
And at the end of the day, 
When I can hear you over everything else, 
I realize that all this time, 
I've been throwing my pearls to the swine. 
You deserve better than that, 
Much, much better. 

62 .4 .8

We love
like we have to,
rather than chose to,
with obligation
lacing our seemingly
good intentions.
And we love
like we know
what it means to love,
like we penned
the term and definition
ourselves.
We love
with greedy hearts
that look selfless,
and we wander,
looking for gain,
rather than for good.
And we love
by what we say
and what we do
and feel it
in what we hear
and what we get.
We love
as if we know
what it means,
and as if it's enough,
but we forget that love,
is not a word or a feeling.

He's the Creator of Heaven and Earth.

I Wish These Words Were Mine Sometimes...

O LORD,
No day of my life has passed that has not proved me guilty in thy sight.
Prayers have been uttered from a prayerless heart;
Praise has been often praiseless sound;
My best services are filthy rags.
Blessed Jesus, let me find a covert in thy appeasing wounds.
Though my sins rise to heaven thy merits soar above them;
Though unrighteousness weighs me down to hell,
              thy righteousness exalts me to thy throne.
All things in me call for my rejection,
All thing in thee plead my acceptance.
I appeal from the throne of perfect justice
              to thy throne of boundless grace.
Grant me to hear thy voice assuring me:
              that by thy stripes I am healed,
              that thou wast bruised for my iniquities,
              that thou hast been made sin for me
              that I might be righteous in thee,
              that my grievous sins, my manifold sins, are all forgiven,
                     buried in the ocean of they concealing blood.
I am guilty, but pardoned,
        lost, but saved,
        wandering, but found,
        sinning, but cleansed.
Give me perpetual broken-heartedness,
Keep me always clinging to thy cross,
Flood me every moment with descending grace,
Open to me the springs of divine knowledge,
          sparkling like crystal,
          flowing clear and unsullied
               through my wilderness of life.

-- "The Broken Heart",  The Valley of Vision, Puritan Prayers

Liturgy

I am no longer my own, but Yours. 

Use me as You choose, 

rank me alongside whoever You choose;

put me to doing, put me to suffering;

let me be employed for You, or laid aside for You, 

raised up for You, or brought low for You;

let me be full, let me be empty;

let me have all things, let me have nothing; 

with my whole heart I freely choose to yield 

all things to Your ordering and approval. 

So now, God of glory, 

Father, Son and Holy Spirit, 

You are mine, and I am Your own. 

So be it. 

And the covenant which I have made on earth, 

let it be ratified in heaven. 

Amen. 

-- From the Valley of Vision Puritan Prayers

Immanuel

Oh Immanuel 
Your day has come 
to bring forth redemption 
to a people so corrupt. 
And though we knew, 
of Your presence forthcoming, 
we still ignore, still ignore, 
the greatest gift we've ever received. 
Let us raise a voice of praise, 
to the day the Word became Flesh, 
because we deserve nothing, 
yet were given a King, 
of heavenly glory. 
Our king,
Oh Immanuel. 


Isaiah 7:14
"Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel."

Osterich

To those who subscribe
to fluffy, flowery, rose coloured faith:
You're fooling yourself.
Utterly, totally, fooling yourself.

If you think sanctification is fun
then there's no work being done,
and if you think surrender is easy,
then you're just holding back.

Because really,
the refining is painful
and challenging, and long.
And the offering up
of a life you think is yours,
is to die to yourself,
every morning, afternoon, and night.

To those who subscribe
to a surface level, mushy gushy faith:
wake up.
Get your head out of the proverbial sand,
and wake up.

Wally-Mart

I am a wanderer of your paths
resting my heels in your footprints,
breathing the same pollution you did,
twenty-some-odd hours previous to now.

I had my spy snag a look at you
as you walked through the automatic doors,
so I know where you walked.
I trace your steps as I whisper your name.

I pray to a God you don't believe in
to give me the chance to catch you again,
just so my words can have ears to fall on,
just so my tears can have eyes to witness.

You carry on as if unscathed
but your silence echoes your broken pride,
laced with the shattered hopes you once had
for something you never cared enough to invest in.

The burden of reliving you burns in my bones
as the aisles become father away,
and the doors shut on my reminiscence,
reality reclaimed in the hot summer night.

It's a building with no sign,
like your heart with no love,
like my faith without compromise,
and our time with no hope.

I wanted your arms to be inviting,
but they never were, were they?

Without

Slow breaths of cold water
Dripping down the back of my throat
Filling my stomach,
overflowing into my lungs.
Only one clear thought
reaching me in the panic.

Without You, this is what I am.

Translucent skin hot in the sun
No radiance this time and
No bronze sun tan,
Just pools of cells at my feet.
I search for your face,
as I hear your voice in my ears.

"Without Me, this is your eternity."

Your Love To Fall

I scream at the sky,
to bring on the rain,
in sheets and floods,
to remind me of Your love.
Oh yes, Your rain reminds me of love.
How You fall all around,
how You cover the earth,
and how you restore creation.
Your love brings life,
to the muddiest of souls,
washing away the iniquity,
falling, falling like rain.
In all my life, in every way,
I will yearn for the clouds to cover,
And for Your love to fall.

Seas to Drown In

From Your hands the water flows,
like mercy into the darkest depravity,
kindly supressing the burning of sin,
gently healing the years of suffering.
To the ground the cares will fall,
like leaves from the fall trees,
like dust in a dry summer,
displaying a peace that surpasses words.
In the dark the light will shine,
through the souls of the faithful,
trading the sorrow for redemption.
Because really, what else could be sweeter?
Not the taste of honey on a bitter tounge,
but the taste of eternity,
salvation and grace,
to taste the flavours of life unending,
like nothing in this life.
From Your hands comes your love like seas,
ready, ever ready,
for me to drown in.

Small Town Heart

One day I will live here.
Or at least somewhere that's like this.
I was never created for the bustle and the noise, I was created for the silence, and the beauty found in wilderness.
I was made for the safety found in knowing everyone's names.
I was made for serving those who walk the same streets I do, day in and day out.
The Small Town calls my name, and it's the same voice that called me to live each moment for a Great Creator.
He has created my heart to dwell in the quaint.
Call me simple if you please, but call me happy also.
Call me simple, because maybe I am.