Out Of Me

out of me
comes everything
that's filled my blood
with poison,
with toxins,
and now
with contrition
I speak as though
I've never wanted to sin,
and with fullness
I breathe a breath
that purifies my lungs,
flushes out my veins,
brings water to my eyes,
and buckles my knees.
out of me
comes everything
that I ever set out to be,
and now let it be
nothing.

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

Playing God

I have adopted

whatever looks similar 

to a concrete conclusion, 

because answers, 

no matter how inaccurate, 

are better than nothing. 

Right?

You have played this out
like a mad-libs game,
with "insert the name of God"
written under every blank space.
Because that's the only way
you can make sense of things.
Right?

And I have written

my own ending 

to this never-ending-story, 

because you already have, 

and I think it's only fair 

that I get the last word.

Right?

Wrong. 

Because we have both failed

in our attempt to be wise, 

to realize that we don't know the end. 

And you can say that you do 

until the cows and the pigs fly, 

but you don't. 

I'm sorry but you just don't. 

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."

Here It Comes

And here it comes,
what I called for last night,
a begging of forgiveness
because I know my anger angers you.

But Lord, I can't smile,
I can't laugh. I sob.
Into pillows, into people,
into my own failing hands.

Show me a glimpse
of your purpose in this,
because the more I don't understand,
the harder it is to push through.

I will try to trust you Lord,
but trying is all I can do right now.

I'm sorry

I Know I'll Repent of This in The Morning...

I have nothing more to say,
than this:

You saw my heart,
You knew my emotions,
You let them develop,
then you took it all away.
You've broken me,
to a point of confusion,
and I can't see You
or hear You
and I want You to know
that I'm not impressed.

You saw my fleece
and my honest cries
and you stomped all over it.
You saw us on the altar,
and our offering up to you,
and you provided no lamb.

In my anger,
I have nothing more to say than this.

Gideon

Here is my fleece,
on the ground,
in Your hands,
fully offered up.
Because I can't keep it.

Be faithful to me
Oh God.
Be faithful to me,
Oh God.
I need You.

Not tomorrow
not the next day,
now.

Here is my fleece.

Isaac

I remember an offering, 

not to many months ago, 

where I was offered up 

to atone for your mistakes. 

Twice I was put on that metaphorical altar, 

against my own will, 

(but yet so very willingly) 

and each time there was one result. 

And I prayed to a God

who allowed me no peace, 

but only allowed the remaining truth, 

that you were not to blame. 

The second time you saw me, 

broken for a crime you committed, 

your hands were no longer clean, 

and your heart was no longer locked up. 

So we prayed for redemption

and a healing of our scars, 

and your words became beautiful, 

and your heart became honest, 

while my words became strong, 

and my heart became forgiving. 

And something emerged 

from a box we had placed our God into. 

But now the altar is prepared again, 

a third and final time, 

but this time I am not bound alone, 

we are bound together. 

We offer up

our dreams and desires, 

our hearts and our lives, 

to a God who deserves all of it. 

And we trust in our Provider, 

since he knows our very souls, 

to remain faithful 

whether a lamb appears in the the thicket or not. 

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.

Someone Else's Prayer (3)

Jesus,

I am sure of nothing

but this: 

The fact that I am desperate

for more of your truth, 

more of your Word, 

more of all that you are. 

I need nothing but to surrender 

to your will and your ways,

But my feet hesitate, 

and my hands slip, 

over and over. 

It seems the only thing 

I never fail at, 

is failing. 

But Jesus, 

I see your faithfulness, 

as a promise, as a truth, 

and I will believe. 

Though I hesitate, fall, and fail, 

I will believe. 

An Open Fist

My fist is clenched,
knuckles white, palms red,
and it's clear that I'm holding on.
Because if I don't,
I'll lose you to the wind,
lose you to the rain.

I'm tired,
of the give and the take,
the give and the take take take,
so I will keep you hidden,
from the One who always sees,
from a God who always sees.

And we sit and cry
as if the end has already come,
as if the wind and the rain have won,
but we've yet to step outside.
We compare, contrast, categorize,
making sense where there is none.

Our incapable hands,
will be chaffed and bruised
if we continue this foolishness.
And as much as my heart
wants to keep you tucked away,
I know if I do, I'll lose you indefinitely.

So stand with me,
and raise your hands.

Such Praise

You hold me

like a mother holds a child

like a lover holds his wife, 

and I am fine. 

I am held, and I am fine. 

With your open arms 

I feel redemption. 

With your loving-kindness 

I feel chosen. 

You are mine, and I am yours. 

And when you watch me 

fall and cry and hope and rise, 

you know I love you still. 

This heart was crafted

to love you. 

Oh, such praise I sing. 

Stronger

You are stronger

than my weakness, 

You are stronger, 

than my pride. 

And though my life 

is always led to darkness, 

You're always the light. 

You've always been the light. 

Feet

I offer everything,

asking You to make nothing of me, 

so my hands can be truly empty

and my heart fully Yours. 

I see you in the darkness

like a light ever before me,

and as I lay these things at Your feet again, 

I know you have never left me. 

I stay at your feet,

right where I belong,

needing You to move. 

I know You are for me. 

I have no strength apart from you, 

No patience without you, 

No love without your approval, 

and no life without your death. 

For me, You give everything. 

For Your will, I will do the same. 

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."